Don't take it personal, sarge. It's nothing against you. Actually, the lads think you're a decent bloke. You're just a shit commanding officer, is all. We voted whether to frag your tent or not, and this won, so take that as a testament to how much we respect you.

The truth is, if you'd stayed in charge, you'd have gotten yourself and everyone else killed. Yeah, that body might only have a lifespan of a few months but that's more than we'd have gotten otherwise. So we're promoting you to chief morale officer for your own safety. And requisitioning your body.

It wasn't easy. We had to get you steaming drunk. And the cyberwarfare lads spent ages cracking your neural equipment while you were sleeping. Anyway, Private Abigail should be waking up with your hangover soon enough. We picked a girl to be you so you'd know she's not gonna be getting up to any funny business with your missus back home when your leave comes up. She's a total gentleman... so to speak. Plus she can actually recognize a fortified gun emplacement when she sees one, so that already makes her a better leader than you were.

Don't sulk. We'll put you back in your body once the war is finished, and they say it'll be over by Christmas. If that SUB starts to break down before then, they say they're sending us a pack of prototype bomb sniffers in a few weeks, so we can always transfer you into one of those. Assuming you behave, of course.

Anyway, morale officer, the lads would benefit from your attention. Why don't you stop sulking and give us a little twirl, hm? Maybe a dance? Huh? 'A uniform'? Oh, the morale officer doesn't have to worry about clothing.