My great, great grandfather was not a famous man. He loved his people. He loved his family more. He started his enlisted service in an infantry unit, before the first great war. Military life was harsh. You did what you were told, or their were reprecussions. Cleaning the latrines with a toothbrush, running until you puked, doing pushups until your arms were completely numb were some of the easier penalties. Ironically, he was thankful for these things. They instilled discipline, conditioning, quick response to command, things that would keep you alive in the battlefield. He even watched some suffer demotion for insolent behaviour. It was all with the goal of forging a unified military unit; one cohesive and deadly force.

When the great war came, we were faced with very dark and terrible times. My great great grandfather had a young wife and children at home and missed them dearly. On the frontlines, our troops were dying by the hundreds of thousands. My grandfather was a true patriot. Yet beyond that he loved his family. When his infantry unit was called upon to go to the frontlines, he knew his fate was sealed. He did not want to die. He did not want to leave his family behind. But what could he do? Duty was duty.

“There is something greater than duty.” he wrote in his journal. “Love.” He assaulted his commanding officer. Beat him good. As a result, he was thrown in the brig. He spent most of wartime there. Many accused him of being a coward. Many hoped he would die in that cell, but he didn’t. In fact, he went on to become one of the greatest military tacticians of the war, eventually achieving the rank of Colonel. That’s not my story today however.

I tell you about this great ancestor of mine so that I can relate him to our pilots of today.

We are at war. I think.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell really. I mean, my crew and I are out there every day, securing our systems, routing the enemy, destroying those we can, and I know other brave pilots and crews doing the same, but they are few and far between.

Back in my ancestor’s day, our government threw every bit of funding they had towards the war effort. There was no choice. We were on the verge of extinction, or complete slavery, a fate far worse.

In this war, the government cannot do that. They cannot supply us ships. They cannot supply us ammunition. There are trillions of our people in Minmatar space. Our new recruits complain to me all the time about this. They believe there should at least be a discount for our service. I will come back to the angering irony of that remark shortly. Even if our government were to discount us on ships and ammo, they would still have to pay the manufacturers, the miners, all the civilians involved in the process of getting us these things. To us capsuleers, isk is easy to come by. Really. A single isk would set a civilian on the good life many times over, yet you whine for a discount?

We are immortal. We are revered. We are capsuleers.

Now back to the angering irony. The militia is not some plaything. You enlisted to serve. You enlisted to bring all you have to the liberation of our enslaved brethern. You enlisted to secure our borders, to push back the Amarr incursion. You enlisted for the glory of the Republic!

Everyday, I see pilots refusing to follow orders. They can’t afford to replace their ships. They couldn’t be bothered to jump ten systems away to assist. They only feel safe if they are in a fleet of fifty or more and can attack enemy squads of two or three. The excuses are endless.

I have told you some of the things that happened in my great great grandfather’s day for this kind of insuboordination. There were reprecussions for your actions, or lack thereof. What penalty is there now?

Well, the obvious one is that Tribal Liberation Fleet Commanders are getting fed up with the new recruits. They are less and less willing to lead our fleets because they realize most of these green pilots have no sense of team. Capsuleers are an arrogant bunch. Everyone wants to be alpha. Everyone wants to be in charge and do their own thing. And none are reliable to a fleet commander engaged in this war. The Amarr thank you.

Another consequence is that we are seeing great withdraws from our militia. Pilots, tired of being on the front lines with no support coming. They abandon their posts, desert the military, and they are the ones called traitors. I think it’s the ones left behind, still in our militia, that should be branded as such. Had they done their jobs, those who were doing their jobs wouldn’t have felt so alone and betrayed.

If I were in charge, there were would be penalties. If you refused the order of a superior officer, that officer could flag you as insuboordinate, ground your ship and crew, and penalize you where it obviously hurts the most, your precious isk. How do you like me now? You can’t fly. That means no isk. I take away some of your isk. That means no isk. You think our universe is too harsh to you now? Be thankful I am not in charge.

I have spoken with my fellow fleet commanders. Not one of us buys into the excuses. Every fleet we have flown with has aided in covering the expenses of ship and fitting losses, whether personally from the FC or from group donations.

Really, there is no excuse for our pilots except cowardice. Give me ten willing and able crews over fifty skittish, isk worried pilots and crews anyday. I need to know that when an order is given, it will be followed. Period.

So where does that leave us? I honestly do not know. It is heavy on my heart. I cannot win this war alone, yet I will try with my very last breath if that is what it takes. I know what is to be a Minmatar. A Minmatar goes the distance, regardless of cost.

As my ancestor said, duty is second only to love. My duty is to the Republic. My love is for our people.

Come get some.