Glory to Mankind

We colonize space
The vast resources of the stars are ours
Our economy booms, energy is nigh limitless, factories expand through entire star systems
Harsh conditions in space and the need for having only the very best means eugenics to improve the breed
We are fruitful and multiply, becoming stronger, smarter, faster, healthier, longer-lived, and more numerous
Our empire is vast and powerful, but we long for our ancient home, where our ancestors struggled, survived and built monuments for untold generations
We return
Earth is a desolate waste, mined by the ignorant, greedy, and thoughtless shitskins
Most of the population lives in shacks or straw huts, food is scarce, disease is rampant, violence everywhere
Only the Jews live fat and happy, leeching off the slave labor of others
The first of our ships land in Europa, our ancient homeland
The Jews quake in terror, having thought us extinct after all these centuries of exile
The shitskins, remembering how we brought them civilization and technology the first time, and then supported them through welfare and foreign aid beg us to return and help them
The banner is unfurled
A knight’s cross, with a swastika emblazoned on its center
The Jew hisses and recoils as if burned as it recognizes the two symbols most anathema to it
”DEUS VULT!”
The purge begins

~:~

Be shitskin
Live in hut made from sticks, mud, and dung
Have no concept of reading or writing
Make a living hauling scrap from the mined cities to be recycled
Cough and wish you weren't so diseased all the time
Glare in resentment at a fat Jew being carried on a litter by his slaves
Such is life
Suddenly, a giant, gleaming castle descends from the skies on a pillar of flame, roaring like thunder
A ramp opens and a man steps forth
He is tall, his skin pale as milk, hair like gold, and his eyes burning like sapphires in his chiseled face
He is the most beautiful being you have ever witnessed
The crowd that gathered in curiosity is now genuflecting before him in awe
The Jew is screaming obscenities and trying to waddle away
Despite your fear and amazement, you summon the courage to approach this glorious being
“Are you an angel?”
You quail in terror as he fixes you with his beautiful, unearthly gaze
“Yes, I am a messenger from above. And I bring to all the world a message from the stars.”
You could hear a pin drop in the silence as the masses hang on his very words, awaiting his message
“Today… is Judgement Day.”
Everyone looks around in confusion
Until he hoses the crowd down with a flamethrower and begins firing a fully-automatic grenade launcher
You writhe in agony and scream as you burn, oblivious to the other ships descending, firing lasers and bombs as they land
Asteroids annihilate entire cities, large ones are dropped in the ocean to create tsunamis that wipe entire coastlines clean of the shitskins living along them
Armies burst forth from the ships, sparing none, but purging all
Your entire ‘civilization’ is wiped away in weeks and every trace of it obliterated as the returning whites reclaim their ancestral homeworld and begin rebuilding the ruins of monuments and cities their ancestors built
And nothing of value was lost

~:~

You are Augustus Aurelius, corporal in the Ground Attack Force
Your breath echoes in your ears thanks to your fully enclosed helmet
Your squadmate, Heinrich, removed his helmet in an unsterilized area
Controlled breeding and genetic engineering have boosted your immune system, but you’ve been isolated from the diseases of Earth for centuries
Horrific plagues, worse than small pox or ebola, have been incubating amongst the wretched brown masses for centuries, with no whites to devise inoculations, vaccines, or cures
He got infected after removing his helmet in a native hut and sampling some food
Nothing serious, but he has the shits and can’t go in the field for another day or two and you have to make up for being a man short
You’re purging a village occupied by the mixed descendants of Bantu, Hindi, and Turkic peoples in what used to be northern France
They have some small arms, but they pose almost no threat to you as long as you’re in your armor
Their improvised explosives are slightly more dangerous
So was the rickety, hideously obsolete even by their standards tank that rolled out of a barn before you blew it up
Turns out they don’t have anything in the area that can withstand 45mm HEDP grenades filled with octonitrocubane explosive and firing at a rate of 200 rounds per minute
You’ve mostly been using the 13mm machine gun on your left arm and the underslung flamethrower attached to your grenade launcher, though
One blast of thickened triethylaluminum is more than sufficient to burn down their huts and everyone inside
You scan another ramshackle hut made of sheet metal and plywood with thermal and millimeter-wave radar, see nothing inside, and mark it as empty on your smart-linked HUD as you turn to check the next dwelling
Something bounces off your leg and you look down in surprise
It’s a little girl of indeterminate racial origin, roughly 5 years old
Her skin’s the color of fresh shit, but she’s still kind of adorable
She’s crying and, if your translator is accurate, begging ‘the monsters’ not to hurt her in a pidgin of the local dialect
You pause
You know the horrific crimes her people committed against yours, how they exiled you to the harsh environment of space, how they stole your ancestral lands, did their best to annihilate your history, your culture, and your race
But she’s not responsible for any of that; she’s just a little girl
Your weapon sags in your arms as the enormity of what you’re doing suddenly crashes down upon you like an asteroid
Holy vacuum, you’re massacring men, women, and children
Sergeant Himmler puts his hand on your shoulder and nods sympathetically, as if he can read your mind
Then he points at the little girl
“Nits make lice. Spare her and she’ll grow up to be just like the rest of them.”
After a long pause, you nod and he turns away to gun down a fleeing ground car
You face the little girl
The roar of your flamethrower washes out her tormented screams
You move on, stepping over her burning corpse
NITS MAKE LICE.

~:~

You’re Lieutenant Axelson of the Ground Attack Force
You’re facing heavy resistance in the region that your maps call Sweden, but the locals call some unpronounceable, unholy mish-mash of Arabic, Swahili, and Cantonese
Their infantry is no match for your 45mm grenade launcher, 13mm machine gun, or flamethrower, but they have armor support that can kill an armored trooper caught in the open and shrug off 45mm rounds like rainfall
Speaking of which, here comes a whole battalion of armor
“Overlord, this is Beowulf, request fire mission on enemy armor, 4 klicks from my position. Painting targets now.”
“Affirmative Beowulf, firing for effect. Keep your heads down, boys.”
Everyone in your platoon ducks as tungsten rods the size of crowbars drop from orbit, each one spearing a tank dead center and obliterating it
Two tanks survived the orbital bombardment: Sergeant Jaeger hefts a shoulder-mounted launcher and destroys both with a volley of light anti-tank missiles
Specialist O’Brian burns down a passing fighter jet with his pulse laser, which resembles an old bazooka from Pre-Exile Earth
Your platoon continues to advance, sweeping aside the remaining resistance
You secure the objective and purge surviving enemy soldiers who foolishly surrendered in a war of extermination
Your heart swells with pride and a single tear forms in your eye as the flag of your people is raised over your ancestral homeland
It’ll be years before the landscape is returned to its former beauty, even with your advanced technology, but you’ve made a good start by cleansing it of the filth that defiled it for centuries
“Move out, men! The 25th Drop Infantry needs reinforcements! Let’s go!”

~:~

You’re Hamibi
You speak a bastardized version of Zulu heavily influenced by Spanish and Esperanto, but you’re almost pure-blooded Hottentot
You’re absolutely terrified as the armor-clad monsters herd your people toward a large pre-fabricated dome they erected near your village
Any who resist are immediately shot or stabbed with razor-sharp Stellite bayonets
You decide to just go along with whatever they say
“Next!”
You get to the front of the line and there’s a man sitting at a table
He’s not wearing armor or a face concealing helmet: he’s in a white hazmat suit with a transparent bubble helmet
You've never seen a white man before
Sandy hair, blue eyes, a carefully trimmed mustache, and such pale skin! He almost doesn’t look human…
He grabs your arm and sticks something against it, sucking out blood and filling a small vial almost before the pain registers
A second device injects you with something as another man, clad in identical hazmat suit, takes your picture
“Genetic scan good, no diseases or serious parasites. Pass.”
You’re herded into another line, rubbing the sore spot on your arm, and ponder what’s happening
You don’t think they’re going to kill you or they’d have done it already
An armored man stomps up, hefting one of those enormous guns and his amplified voice booms out, “All of you have been chosen for your relative genetic purity and geographic location. As this is more or less your ancestral homeland, your people will be allowed to stay within a reservation to live as you once did. Inside the reservation you may follow your own laws and customs, such as they are. If you attempt to leave the reservation, you will be killed immediately. Each of you has been injected with a tracking device, so don’t even think of trying to escape.”
With that, you and the rest of the confused horde are ushered through a gate in an enormous, electrified fence humming with power
N’wan-click is foolish enough to try climbing the fence; an arc of electricity makes him explode into smoking bits of meat the instant he touches it.
One of the armored giants shakes his head, either in disgust or amusement; you can’t tell
The whole area is fenced off, but there’s plenty of food and water here, and they left you building materials and basic tools to work with
After a few days of sitting in the mud feeling sorry for yourself, you build a sad little hut
Is this where you’re going to live from now on?

~:~

You’re Colonel Raedec
This whole region has been pacified
The less-racially mixed civilians have been rounded up and transported to their ancestral homelands for processing; any who are free of disease will enter the reservations to live in the primitive manner of their ancestors
The rest have been exterminated. As part of the reclamation process, after the soil is cleansed of industrial and military contaminants, their remains are ground into the dirt to enrich it with nutrients
You can begin planting crops and reestablishing native plants in the region immediately
Fusion power lights up a whole city of pre-fabricated buildings, all occupied by soldiers, engineers, doctors, farmers, and archeologists
You hope to restore the remains of the ancient Reichstag and Brandenburg Gate in another few months
You’ll have to read up on the history of the region; you don’t have any ancestors who lived here Pre-Exile, so you didn’t bother researching it before you came
A Captain salutes you and reports that the last of the filth has been rounded up and banished to the reservations
All except the Jews
They’re the only race exempt from the mercy of exile on the reservations; their crimes against not only your race, but all of humanity are well known, and it was decided long ago not to risk their resurgence: every copy of their evil book, the Talmud, is being burned in situ
They’ve all been herded into a building during processing of prisoners
You could inform them of their fate, you could even tell them why you were doing it, go on a long, angry rant about how they’d spent the better part of three millennia as your people’s mortal enemies, but
honestly…
You don't give a shit
They’re not worth being angry about or even hating
They’re just a tapeworm, and you don’t bother getting angry at a tapeworm or hating it. You just get rid of it, because it’s harming you
The building is filled with nerve gas–colorless, odorless–and they all drop dead in seconds without even realizing what's happening
The gas is vented and armored soldiers go inside to begin clearing out the corpses
More fertilizer for the fields; at least they were good for something in the end, after all

~:~

You’re Ryan
You’re an asteroid miner
You could give a shit less about “Holy Terra”, the ancient homelands, or “every step you take is supported by a thousand ancestors”
But. that hardly matters to you; what's important is that the shitskins haven’t even touched the resources in the Solar System!
A moon covered in lakes of liquid hydrocarbons, helium-3 and other rare gases in the upper atmospheres of the gas giants, and more, all virgin and untouched by man
Right now you’re focused on the small asteroid your ship is processing
Let’s see… 100 million tons of silicon, 90 million tons of iron, 20 million tons of gold, 10 million tons of platinum, 4 million tons of tungsten, 1,000 tons of uranium, and other heavy metals like lead and thorium…
And since you own your own ship, with accompanying smelter, you’re earning a cool 20% profit
You snuggle your slim, beautiful wife to your side and watch the monitors as the asteroid gets processed
You don’t care for what’s happening on Earth. but that’s millions of miles away; you have your own little world right here, and there’s plenty of wealth and prosperity for you and yours
There’s a new colony already approaching 50% completion, all built from components transported to the Solar System with the invasion fleet and accompanying civilians
It can house a population of millions, and there are dozens of identical colonies being constructed all over the Solar System; the most crowded of them will only be a tenth full
Plenty of lebensraum for the Reclaimers and their offspring
Your wife tilts her head back to kiss you and you smile
You should invest in a lot inside the colony once it’s finished so you can get your wife pregnant and let the baby develop inside proper gravity
You’ll be getting in on the ground floor, so to speak, and wealthy enough to purchase a large plot, so your children and grandchildren can live in comfort all their lives
All the suffering and dying on nearby Earth is too distant to bother you more than intellectually
God’s in His Heaven, All’s Right With The World

~:~

You are Karl
You are a Sergeant in the 94th Shock Troopers “Vicarious Vikings”
You remember the stories passed from generation to generation, by both book, and tongue
Today you drop into the area your people once called home
A land known as Denmark, back before we were forced from the bosom of our fatherland
The stories your parents told you of the ancient homeworld of your people flash in your mind, five minutes from drop
Papa once said that long ago, the family could trace the bloodline back to the eras when our people sailed the seas and sought to find new land to call home and pillage
But that was a bygone age, torn apart by hordes of insect like barbarians who trampled your culture under their feet
Now you’re three minutes away from dropping into what could best be called “hell” at the present
You were briefed on it. You’re dropping in the area once know as “Copenhagen,” now inhabited by a race consisting of a mix of Arabs, Somalis, and Mongoloid Eurasian peoples
About one hour before your scheduled drop, command had the Dreadnought Charlemagne light up the once great island city with multiple orbital lance strikes
The land wasn’t fully glassed, as the city had great historical importance and some remaining historical sites
Regardless, the majority of the outskirts and super slums were reduced to a fine mess of blazing huts, charred flesh, and very angry survivors
One minute to drop
You brace yourself as you feel your pod preparing to launch at hypersonic speeds through the atmosphere
Suddenly you start plummeting at jaw dropping speeds, the only thing keeping you alive and in place is your suit and the advanced stabilization system on board the pod
After about thirty seconds your descent slows and you crash with a mighty metallic slam into what felt like the remains of a concrete structure, then dirt
Your heart is racing, your suit detaches from the stabilization system
Suddenly the pod door opens
You step out, clad in gray, white, and black armor while the dust clears
It’s at that moment you see Holy Terra with your own eyes for the first time, central Copenhagen
A burning ruin, currently being bombed out, burned, and raided
But with a sublime beauty and peace in knowing that you are finally at home
Suddenly the sense of peace wears off as you notice a savage running towards you holding a machete fashioned from what appears to be the remains of automobile scrap. You raise your flamethrower and open up a burst
The savage keels over and screams, burning in the meanwhile
The first step of many has been taken

~:~

You are Reichsadmiral Robert Althaus
You have been appointed Military Governor of the Sol System pending official administrative appointment
The Reclamation has ended, Terra has been cleansed
The racially and culturally pure among those who ruined our cradle in our absence have been repatriated to their ancient homelands
Our mortal enemies have been destroyed, and though they tried their hardest to destroy our peoples we honor them as our greatest adversaries in the Imperial Histories
First few weeks on the job
Receive reports of preliminary archaeological scans of known sites of importance to our ancestors
Reports state that approximately 60% of our inheritance is recoverable
Sign off on excavations in the area of 41.8902° N, 12.4923° E
Receive reports of most repatriated peoples acclimatizing to their reservations, though some are offering regional garrisons resistance
Sign order to negotiate for perhaps more reservation land with the more reasonable agitating peoples and to exterminate the rest
Receive Imperial delegation from the Core Worlds, provide a report on the continuing subjugation of the Sol System
In gratitude they dispatch 4 new brigades of constructions crews and a new shipyard for the much needed development of the Jovian Moons
Weeks pass of paperwork, military inspections, and official events for the new civilians
Get a call from the chief civil engineer responsible for the restoration of the European monuments, requests that I come down and see him
Go down for a visit, takes me to the area I ordered excavated a few weeks ago
Archaeologists and engineers all around me as the sight comes into view
Stunned, the air catches in my throat as a single tear falls from my eye
Before us rises out of the recently cleared earth one of the greatest monuments ever built. one that has a special place in our history tomes
For the first time in centuries the Colosseum of Rome breaths free from its buried prison

~:~

Military governor of the region formerly designated as Russia
Visiting ancient monuments and landmarks as historians and archeologists uncover them
The Amber Room was mostly intact, but used as a personal lavatory by “Pimp Jamal Aquarius III” in lieu of an actual toilet, since the muds here couldn’t figure out how to restore plumbing
Pimp Jamal was lowered feet first into molten copper an inch at a time last week for defiling white artifacts
A nearby cathedral was relatively intact, though the locals had been using it as a trash dump for decades
A series of bronze statues you’d hoped to recover were apparently cut into pieces and sold for scrap over a century ago
Demolitions teams are destroying the rickety housing and obscene filth that passes for public art
A local Jew sponsored sculptures, mostly phallic in nature
So you had him impaled through the anus, Vlad Dracula style, and put him out on display in front of your command center
Took the fat bastard three days to die
The rest of the Jews in the region you simply had crucified; you like irony
Now you’re inspecting the latest construction project
What had once been a city of crumbling ruins, packed to the gills with diseased subhumans who defecated in the streets and committed all manner of foul perversions, is now cleansed
The new buildings are all pre-fabs,true, but they’re neat, orderly, and clean
Where once dark masses had subsisted in piles of their own waste and refuse, now smiling white faces are at work reclaiming their homeland
Farmers, miners, construction workers, soil reclamation workers, engineers, and more are busily going to and fro, and white children are playing and laughing in the grassy parks school won’t begin for another week
You tug the leash on Sh'mal, your new pet
He’s another mongrel you found living in the remains of what turned out to be a Volkswagen Microbus; you had to look it up to know what it was and how ridiculously old it was
He begged you not to kill him or transport him to “the camps” (you assume he means the reservations)
You would have ignored him, but then he started dancing, juggling, singing, and performing acrobatics to please you
He amused you, so you kept him as a pet
After castrating him so there was no possibility of him polluting the white gene pool, of course; you can’t trust these niggers as far as you can throw them
He seems remarkably well adapted to his fate
“All right, let’s go see the progress on restoring the river dams next, and then I want a report on the fusion plant at-what is it, Kaliningrad?”

~:~

Fierce resistance in Brazil, which has somehow retained its original name
Orbital bombardment hasn’t rooted them out, and you don’t want to drop anything bigger because it would destroy valuable resources in the region
Nerve gas has lost its effectiveness since they seem to have acquired hazmat gear
Defoliant has wiped out their crops and much of the jungle concealing them, but continued use will permanently damage an already endangered ecosystem you wish to preserve
Triethylaluminum incendiary agent, along with more primitive napalm, have had similar results
And despite the advanced sensors on their powered armor and vehicles, your ground troops often have difficulty finding the guerrillas in this terrain
Time for something sneakier
A troop transport crashes in the jungle
The dead bodies aboard are soldiers who died of various causes during the cleansing of the region: surprisingly few were due to enemy action
The enemy guerrillas emerge from cover and swarm the transport, stripping it of anything that might be useful and returning to their main camp
It has been so long since there was a functional space program that none of them even consider the possibility of a GPS tracking device planted in every single piece of equipment they looted
Or anything else planted there, for that matter
Releasing nerve agent inside their base would be effective, but nowhere near as fun
You press a button that releases chlorine trifluoride from each of the pieces of equipment they looted
Their first clue that something is terribly wrong is everything they’d just brought inside the base bursting into flames and producing noxious smoke
They spray it with CO2 fire extinguishers; since the chemical is self-oxidizing, this does nothing
A smarter man rushes and dumps a bucket of sand on the flames
The sand ignites
The stone floor under the spreading pool of liquid dissolves like a sugar cube under a running faucet, then combusts
Another man throws a bucket of water onto the flames
The water reacts and instantly explodes in a flash of steam
Everyone without a hazmat suit is now coughing and choking
Those in hazmat suits are trying desperately to combat the fire
Everything is burning, dissolving, or exploding on contact
Their hazmat suits are beginning to dissolve in places, exposing them to the chemical
The reaction is producing hydrofluoric acid and hydrochloric acid, mostly as a vapor
They’re all coughing uncontrollably now, choking on their own blood
A man screams hideously as his bones dissolve, allowing his arms to flop around like limp tentacles, his skin is wearing away in patches, and his lungs fill with acid and blood
His companion has spontaneously ignited and is writhing on the floor screaming
Recon drones are firing smart missiles at fleeing guerrillas as they exit the base
You now know where it’s located and call in an orbital strike
The entire hidden fortress is reduced to a crater covered in a thin crust of glass
The glass ignites on contact with vapor left over from the chlorine trifluoride weapon
You’re laughing your ass off
The video from this is getting uploaded straight to the local system network
It goes viral from here to Jupiter
A screenshot of a melting Brazilian commando, frozen in mid-scream, is used as a reaction image on the network
You upload it as your Spacebook status
The Emperor “likes” it
This is literally the single greatest achievement of your life
This somehow makes you sad and happy at the same time

~:~

You march into the reservation, powered armor stomping craters into the soft earth
The muds all back away nervously as you pan your glare across them all
“Now what do you want?!”
“We… we have no houses or apartments. Where are we to live?”
“Are you stupid? We gave you free building material! There’s a pile of tools right there! You can harvest stone and timber aplenty! Build your own houses.”
 “We don’t know how. We’ve never built houses before.”
”Time to start learning. Next complaint?”
“We have no food.”
“We gave you food.”
“We ate it all.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“But we’re starving!”
“Still not my problem. What happened to the supplies? Didn’t you plant farms and gardens?”
Your query is met with silence
“Of course not. Why did I expect different? If you want to eat, you need to work. We’re not going to take care of you. We already showed you how to do it, so do it. If you choose to starve to death over working, that’s no skin off our bones. Next complaint.”
“We’re cold.”
“That’s because you didn’t build houses, you worthless fuckwit. Where are the blankets we gave you?”
“Mustafa took them all. He says we must pay him for their use.”
“Who is Mustafa?”
Everyone points to a gangly, half-naked fellow who is otherwise indistinguishable from the rest
Mustafa’s head explodes in a red mist as you put a 13mm round through it
“Problem solved, everybody has a blanket again. Stop stealing and stop hoarding, this is the third fucking time we’ve dealt with this shit this week. What else?”
“We’re bored.”
“Do I look like I give a fuck? Do you see a magical fuck fairy flying around passing out fucks for me to give? Who the fuck cares if you’re bored? Go build a fucking house! Plant some crops! Learn how to be something other than useless, you degenerate, subhuman trash! Shit!”
“But there’s no TV or-“
“NOBODY CARES!”
They all freeze as your amplified bellow echoes across the open field
Two of your troopers turn heavy, crew-served weapons toward the gathered darkies in anticipation
“We’re not your mommy and daddy! We’re not your babysitters! We’re not going to take care of you! We’re only keeping you alive long enough for you to figure out how to take care of yourselves! After that, you’re on your own. If you can’t figure out how to function without somebody doing all the work and thinking for you, then tough fucking shit. There’s the ground, feel free to lay down and DIE. We. Don’t. Care.”
With that you stomp off, pausing to glare at yet another shitskin just standing there feeling sorry for himself
“PICK UP A SHOVEL, MOTHERFUCKER!”
He hurriedly picks up a shovel, then stands there waiting for someone to tell him what to do
“DIG!”
He begins digging a hole, but he has no idea what he’s doing
Having never done manual labor in his life, he soon tires and collapses, a sobbing wreck
You throw your hands up in disgust and stomp back through the gate. leaving the reservation
You swear, burning them all in a mass grave would too good for these fucking idiots

~:~

You are a hunter-killer pilot assigned to the elite “Valkyries” unit of the Imperial Air-ground division
You are currently flying over the mountains in the area formerly known as “Alberta”
The “natives,” a crude mix of Chinese, Vietnamese, and Indian, both truly native and Asian now occupy the area
Despite the rather unfortunate genetic cauldron of the creatures living below, they are one of the more advanced areas of the planet
This is mainly due to the Chinese admixture of the area, but despite this they have not progressed far beyond what existed at the moment of the exodus
As you coast across the silver, white gilded peaks in formation, you see anti-aircraft fire igniting the sky with shocking flashes of orange to the East
The fire is coming from the supercity of Cahma-min, a filthy sprawl that stretches from what was formerly known as “Calgary,” to what was formerly known as “Lethbridge”
As you glance back to your front, you receive a holographic map on your helmet display from command that displays your new objective
After making a stop in the Angeles-Sanfran Megapolis to provide fire support to waterborne troops, this should be a piece of cake
The map says that that a mechanized unit is locked down by fire on the far Eastern outskirts of the supercity
You brush your red hair to the side to allow your half-open helmet to fully close for battlefield awareness
One by one, you and your fellow airmen bank hard to the right and take a low altitude bearing straight for the target area
You’re there in about ten minutes; the scene isn’t pretty
“Natives” have torn down some old concrete and steel structures down on top of a crab-walker, preventing the unit from moving forward without getting shredding retreating
Not a problem for you, though!
You open up a salvo of plasma and rocket fire on the ruined (and evacuated) walker, setting off the fuel cells within and obliterating it
But with that out of the way, you have lots of angry savages with anti-aircraft weaponry to deal with
Countermeasures shoot down or divert the majority of incoming projectiles, but the quantity of the attack is almost overwhelming
Then the fun ends and the work begins
In sync, you and the rest of the air unit open up on the militia and troops of the “native” hordes with your advanced on board targeting computer landing every shot with surgical accuracy on targets
Every exposed individual is hit in every area of their body that is within the spray of bullet fire
All and all you personally took down about 63 of them in that burst alone
With the ground unit clear from danger, you set off your hyperburners and set off at hypersonic speeds towards the vicinity of your next target
Just another days’ work

~:~

“To celebrate our glorious return to Holy Terra, we’ve prepared regional dishes based on your Pre-Exile ancestry.”
“Ooh, jaegerschnitzel! Wonderful! I mean, wunderbar! Heh.”
“What the hell is lutefiske?”
“Why does my salmon have berries on top of it?”
“What is this? I’ve got some sort of pan bread with fruit on it. Is this breakfast, or dessert? Where’s the entree?”
“I got lasagna. I'm not even Italian.”
“Hey, I’ll trade you my pizza for those beef ribs.”
“C’mon guys, we worked hard on this.”
“I think we’re just used to our cuisine from living in space for so long. We appreciate the effort though.”
“Okay, which one of you motherfuckers thought Chinese food was my ‘ancestral dish’? Real funny.”

~:~

You’re military governor of Africa
All is proceeding well in the 50 years since the Empire retook Holy Terra
Mining of resources like uranium and gold is going nicely
The colonies of South Africa and New Rhodesia are prospering
There are several reservations where various tribes of negro live
They’ve reverted to a primitive stone age society; they’ve adapted remarkably well, actually
Almost as if this is the level of development they were meant for
Unlike the reserves in South America and Asia, you’ve yet to have a single escape
Well, successful escape–some idiot fries himself on the fence on a regular basis, they’ve given up digging escape tunnels, and the time they figured out a crude catapult and lobbed three blacks over the fence was hilarious
The first one hit the fence and exploded and the other two were shot out of the air with 45mm grenades
Then a drone dropped a micro-missile on the catapult and put an end to that nonsense
They’ve mostly given up trying to escape now and spend all their time squatting naked in the dirt, taking turns raping each other and occasionally cannibalizing someone for no discernible reason
Every now and then, out of boredom, you’ll fly over one of the reserves and drop a Coke bottle into a village
As a fan of centuries-old Pre-Exile film, an entertainment media that is largely extinct today with virtual reality, you think this is hilarious
No one else gets the joke
Maybe one day you’ll drop an unopened Coke in there and watch them fight to the death for it

~:~

You’re Sol Invictus, major in the Ground Forces
Currently assigned to a region formerly known as Finland
You just finished nerve-gassing an entire village of Chinese who refused to be relocated to a reserve
“Sir, our scouts have located something to the north. You might want to look at this.”
You check your display, staring in mute surprise
Immediately get in your personal transport and fly several hundred kilometers to where the scouts are located
You see their transport parked on the snowy ground, several armored troopers standing around, and a caravan of wagons and people in brightly colored clothes
Red and blue are definitely popular colors here
There sure are an awful lot of caribou
You stride out of the transport and greet the people before you. still in shock
They're all white, many of them blonde with blue eyes
Their language has changed very little over the centuries, the translator is able to pick it up with 95% accuracy
They are one of a dozen tribes of Sami
They’ve survived all this time by remaining too far north for the mudskins to pursue, following a nomadic lifestyle
No resources for the muds to steal, avoiding all contact with the uncivilized masses to the south, so they were mostly ignored
Largely forgotten about and passed into legend; if they encountered a shitskin they typically killed him and buried him in the snow so he couldn’t report back that there were whites still living on Holy Terra
They’re amazed to see whites who aren’t fellow Sami, having not seen any in centuries
A celebration ensues
You share a mug of hot chocolate around a fire with their elders
Private Anders picks up one of their musical instruments and plays a few notes, quickly gaining confidence as he plays
It turns out he studied ancient folk songs as a hobby
The Sami recognize it and join in, raising their voices in good cheer, clapping and dancing
The lyrics are a little different, but oh well
Your troopers join in the celebration
After centuries of isolation and persecution, they’re finally free
As the party winds down, so too do your negotiations with the elders
They will continue to live as they have always lived, and in exchange you’ll leave them alone; no forced assimilation into the Empire
They’ll show up at outposts and cities to trade goods and supplies when and as they feel the need
You’re in wholehearted agreement; no need to force them to change their ancient ways of life
If they want to change, they can do so gradually. If not, that’s their decision to make
You send a report up the chain of command
You return to base tired, but happy
Until your aide-de-camp shows you the mountain of paperwork that piled up in your absence
Dammit

~:~

You’re a Lunar miner
Driving your Lunar crawler across the surface at a glacial 100 meters per minute as it processes the regolith
You require more minerals
H3 canister is nearly full, titanium ore bin is ready to go the smelter
You’re jamming out to some tunes on the Imperial Classical radio station
derkoniggratzermarsch.mp3
Suddenly, you’re distracted from your game of 3-D Tetris when an alert pings on your console
You’re approaching the edge of a restricted area; miners cannot pass the boundary by law
You haven’t been paying attention; you have no idea why this area is restricted
You grind the crawler to a halt and peer out the window to see what’s ahead
increase magnification
Oh...
The lower half of the Apollo 11 moon lander and a flag, bleached white in raw, unfiltered sunlight for centuries, are half a kilometer ahead of you
This is one of the holiest sites known to humanity
The original Moon Landing Site, unspoiled by shitskins this whole time
You slowly get out of your seat and salute the artifacts from mankind’s first step into the wider universe–the one that made it possible for your people to survive Post-Exile
After a moment of silence, you sit back down, program your crawler to bypass the restricted area around the landing site, and resume mining
You turn off your music, pull up the historical files, and watch archived footage from the original lunar landing
“That’s one small step for man… one giant leap for mankind.”

~:~

	You are Captain Hans Krieger, sitting comfortably in a drop pod careening towards the planet. You have been assigned to a very strange mission. Upon the fleet’s return to Holy Terra, among the top priorities was the immediate glassing of Israel, home to the oldest and most hated enemy of the white race. However, scans revealed several large subterranean bunkers filled to the brim with hordes of important white artifacts. As it turns out, after the exile it didn’t take the Jews long to figure out that they should follow suit and head to the stars. They’ve been hoarding these artifacts, trying to gain some insight into the fundamental nature of the white race, hoping that they could unlock the secrets behind our success.
	Obviously they haven’t made much progress. Technologically, they haven’t advanced much further than when we left; there are a few primitive space stations orbiting the planet, along with the remains of a failed Moon colony. You have been assigned to secure the contents of the largest of the bunkers and neutralize any threats within. Your pod begins to decelerate, and it’s not long before you reach the ground.
	Your pod is in the center of a large circle of land untouched by the glassing which has devastated everything as far as the eye can see. This circle marks the perimeter of the bunker’s underground boundaries, with the startling accuracy of ±0.1 meters, according to your scans. All the buildings still standing inside the circle look very inconspicuous. If your weren’t looking at the results of your scans, you would never have guessed what was right underneath you. The charred remains of what appear to be negroes litter the buildings around you. It appears that the Jews had taken to using them as guards, as the remains of primitive firearms are not too far from every body.
	You lead your men into the building concealing the entrance to the bunker, finding an already open hatch with a ladder leading down. Dead Jews are scattered all around this entrance, covered in radiation burns. The radiation levels outside are still lethal, but are no match for your armor. You and your men drop down the shaft into the bunker and are almost immediately met with a barrage of small arms fire. Unflinchingly, you all move forward, practically ignoring the bullet spray. In front of you are several terrified looking negroes holding ancient Kalashnikov rifles, unloading everything they have at you.
	You decide they aren’t worth the ammunition and signal to your men to extend bayonets. The negroes’ eyes grow wide with fear upon seeing the blades extend from your guns, shining a brilliant silver and made from alloys hundreds of years more technologically advanced than anything on Terra before your arrival. Your men nonchalantly eviscerate the still-firing negroes as they pass, cutting through them like warm butter. You proceed down a long corridor to find a large cube-shaped chamber. You are on the second floor; a railed walkway goes around the entire edge of the room with two staircases leading down on the left and the right. As you reach the railing, you look to the room below you, and a gasp escapes your mouth.
	What is below you is like looking at the sum total of white civilization from the past several thousand years. There are artifacts ranging from prehistoric Britain, to America just before the exile. You look around at this strange collage of everything that constitutes your people’s history. Your eyes dart between pieces from ancient Rome, the French revolution, 16th century Dutch, medieval Swiss, the Third Reich, 21st century American, the Italian renaissance, Victorian England, and everything in between. You are speechless, and tears escape your eyes, rolling down your cheeks as your men appear to be similarly affected by the grand sight before them. The words, “My God…” come from the sergeant to your right.
	After a moment you compose yourself and descend the stairs. Among the treasure trove, something in particular catches your eye–an almost perfectly persevered viking warship. You walk to it and place your hand upon it. You feel a sudden rush of powerful emotion and a deep connection to it. You don’t have long to stop and think about it, though. Scans indicate more hostiles approaching from a nearby corridor. You drop a portable energy shield generator and almost immediately every artifact in the room is wrapped securely in a almost imperceptible sheen. Mere seconds later a large group of negroes burst into the chamber howling like animals.
	The negroes begin spraying everywhere indiscriminately with their rifles. If it wasn’t for the shields, most of the artifacts would have been shredded in seconds. A great fiery anger wells up in your chest at their complete disregard for the safety of the treasures around you. With a mighty roar you charge at them, firing your 13mm machine gun with deadly precision. Heads pop, limbs are torn off, chests explode, and in under a minute you and your men have completely wiped out over 3 dozen subhumans. You and your men proceed down the corridor from which they came. Scans show that this corridor branches off into many smaller treasure rooms, mostly libraries. The exile had been a very sudden, quick, and violent affair, and while most literature had been preserved digitally almost no physical copies of books had been taken on the journey through space.
	You all split up, scans showing minimal resistance ahead. You proceed alone to one of the smaller libraries and reach a large steel door. Scans show two lifeforms inside the room. They think themselves safe behind their steel. They aren’t. With a mighty kick, you knock the door right off its hinges and burst into the room. Standing before your are two hideously ugly Jews, apparently man and wife. Upon seeing you, the male Jew draws a pistol, grabs the female, and puts it to her head. He is stammering frantically in Hebrew. You hesitate out of shock–not that he had a hostage, but at his utter stupidity. You couldn’t care less about the Jewess trembling and sobbing in his arms. If he wanted a real hostage, he would have to do nothing more than point his gun at one of the hundreds of shelved books all around the room.
	Upon seeing you hesitate, the Jew makes a grotesque grin from ear to ear. He quickly points the pistol at you and fires. The bullet ricochets off your chest and hits him right in the knee. He lets out a howl of pain and collapses to the ground holding his leg. You laugh hysterically at him as he balls up cursing loudly in Hebrew and sobbing. His wife looks around frantically for a moment and then makes a break for the door. She doesn't make it far. You punch her square in her huge kike nose, and because of the incredible strength afforded to you by your armor her head squashes like a rotten tomato.
	The husband doesn’t even seem to notice; he’s still clutching his knee and cursing as fast as words can come out of his mouth. He does notice, though, when you walk over to him. You tower above him, and he goes silent. There is a nameless fear in his eyes, a realization not only of his fate, but the fate of all of his people. You can see that he knows he has failed–they all have failed. Thousands of years of struggle between your races have finally led to this moment. You take off your helmet and pause for a moment, giving him a look of both pity and disgust. This turns into a wide grin of your own, as you start to lift your armored boot over his head. He starts to frantically shake his head and hands, begging for his life. Your grin turns into a look of pure hatred, and with a roar your foot smashes down into his skull. It crushes like a cockroach, and his body Jerks, then goes limp.
	You and your men secure the rest of the bunker. Afterward, a recovery team moves in to remove the artifacts back to the ship. After Terra is reclaimed, a large museum is erected in Paris to hold the treasures recovered from the bunker. It is named after your squad, who by now have all been decorated with many medals and have settled peacefully with their families in various places across the planet. You and your wife and children move to rural Idaho where you live peacefully and happily to the end of your days, watching your family and race prosper.