It had been the same way in the War. Serenity Valley, Hera, 2511. The Colonel had heard many accounts of the battle- the wretched struggle, and the sudden, devastating end. Fire falling from the skies like rain on the tattered remains of the Independent forces. It was a deluge so thick that it had washed away even the wildest hope of victory from men’s hearts.
Men like Malcolm Reynolds.
-- Phoenix Feathers, Part III, Chapter 1 by MirandaGhost