To Arms: The New Colonial War

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-To Arms Author
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These are the compiled files recovered from a mainframe located on an abandoned satellite station orbiting Jupiter in 2170. The common history of humanity following World War 3 was fabricated to establish the Assembly of Powers as the rightful heirs of the solar system we live in. Billions of people have been lied to in order to deflect blame from the establishment, twisted and distorted beyond any recognizable form. Any records found on Earth, Mars, Pluto, or any of their satellite colonies were destroyed in an attempt to cover up the truth. With this new information, we now know the truth.
The Oracle, 2190

The old order died in 1965. The United States crossed into North Vietnam and declared war on Chinese Communists supplying the Viet-Cong and NVA. The Soviet Union declared war and immediately sent troops into Vietnam. Eventually, peace talks fail, and the world succumbs to Mutually Assured Destruction of Earth. By 1970, Over 45% Of the Earth’s population falls victim to the 3rd World War. Once major metropolises reduced to rubble, cultures destroyed; The Middle East and Africa turned into a wasteland; the cradle of civilization turned into the first great skeleton of the world, by which the survivors would never return to inhabit again.
By 1980, Both sides faced famine and material shortages, leaving millions hungry, without power, without purpose. The Warsaw Pact and NATO, who had continued to fight small, vicious urban wars over the last vestiges of arable soil and clean water, put aside their differences and unite under the premise of rebuilding the world, starting with the construction of the Domes on Earth-- A pretext brought about by mysterious means, delivered by a survivor of the Middle East Apocalypse, a man by the name of Mostafa. His origins unclear, but his purpose noble, the world rallied behind him and began the long crawl into the next century, into prosperity.
The new Century brought hope to the minds of billions of people across the world, but it also bred chaos. In the shadow of an unchecked political vacuum in the Middle East, revolutions and wars were fought in the name of God, Country, and Oil. The stabilization wars began, pitting the world against the last few bastions of darkness in the world that refused to be purged by nuclear fire. By 2051, the world stabilized but longed for the now depleted resources needed to continue surviving, the first steps into the next great frontier, space, began. Questions of where to settle the new cradle of civilization arose, but in short order, mankind finally found their answer: Mars. Japan Aerospace Command, a Private company operating out of the rebuilt Dome of Tokyo successfully landed the first 400 colonists on the Planetoid Ceres. They laid the foundation for a new home- Neo Tokyo. Situated within the Asteroid field, their primary mission was to mine and collect resources for their poor, starving compatriots on Earth. It was a monumental success. Humanity no longer struggled to survive. Instead, they began to thrive, multiplying their numbers to pre-war levels, with the aid of Genetic splicing and cloning. By 2100, the governments of the Earth, to create a stronger bond between all peoples, Founded the Assembly of Powers.  They then created the Colonial Federal Forces as their paramilitary wing, not only to regulate laws upon the mining colonies, but to put down a new threat to their survival: Piracy, caused by the now dominant mining corporations who had disenfranchised the very colonists who had volunteered to risk life and limb for their fellow man. For twenty years, a bloody war raged within the darkness of the expanse. New weapons were made, New alliances formed. New political theories created. Pirate influence dwindled as many were arrested or killed in battle against Colonial Federal Forces.
After 20 years, the Pirate scourge was eradicated, but political minds were slowly turning the wheels of change. Mining corporations and Tech now held a majority of the wealth and soon they began grooming politicians to take control of the assembly's cabinet, in an attempt to maintain their supremacy above the laws once established to bring balance. As time drew on, in their quest for control, they soon bought out legislator after legislator, casting the cloak and dagger form of lobbying that had been in place for hundreds of years. Among the cabinet, Colonial politicians who grew distrustful of the government began to form a tentative alliance amongst themselves, providing both mutual financial and military protection using the Colonial Federal Force. The whispers of discontent echoed through the chambers of political gatherings, and soon enough, those Colonial Magistrates and premiers, along with their military commanders, established their own political party and unified as the United Colonial Federation, in response to being edged out of political discourse among the Nation-states of the Assembly and her holdings. Tensions between both governmental organizations become Strained, as the Assembly begin enforcing strict taxes upon the mining colonies and ore transportation in an effort to squeeze money out of the UCF's coffers, attempting to relegate the movement as impotent as possible. The UCF retaliated by enacting a trade embargo on all goods manufactured from Earth. The Assembly in turn expelled the UCF Politicians from the Assembly's cabinet, taking control of most, if not all Government Magistrates in the process.

By 2140, The UCF found itself having no choice but to declare itself a sovereign government and people. The Assembly considered this a diabolical act akin to treason and responded by sending fleet ships to UCF Space to monitor the asteroid fields and transport vessels entering and leaving the adjacent territories, raiding ships and taking control of their shipments- sometimes by force. For some years, things remained relatively calm as both governments attempted to create trade agreements to secure vital resources. The talks are put to a sudden halt, however, after a mining colony on Titan is destroyed by a large explosive device, killing tens of thousands of miners and civilians. Extremist groups of both factions begin pointing fingers as to whom is responsible, but the loudest voice is that of the UCF’s Political fringes, who begin to make bold claims that the Assembly, in an attempt to edge out their competitors and create a cause for war, blew up their own facility to do so.
A year later, The Great Schism begins: Spurned by patriotism, and a desire for independence, The UCF Changes its name to the Space Born Federation and begins a policy of purging those who do not claim loyalty to their new government. Millions of civilians, miners, and military personnel are killed in the first 12 hours of this war. The Assembly calls it a "Police Action" While the Colonials, in a tongue-in-cheek fashion, call it a "Colonial War".
The war itself began over a dispute over trade and resources. Insignificant transgressions soon took center stage, however, as the desire for the miners of the colonies to exercise agency over their own lives in the mines soon fed the fires of war. By 2150, the war was in full swing, and as the Assembly sent out expeditionary soldiers, Loyalist Federal troops began taking control of outlying colonies, ‘liberating’ them from the oppression of the Kratocratic regime of the Assembly.
But the war is not nearly as important as the soldier who would eventually be called ‘The Harbinger’.  For him, his story began years before the chaos, before the war. These are records of service, submitted by witnesses and various mediums of media to comprise a coherent story. There are gaps of time that cannot be resolved by these records, and as such, have been omitted.
These are the accounts of soldiers who had served alongside him.
	-The Oracle


 [Mars City, 2148]

The Martian surface was lush and green; terraforming had completed its job almost a quarter-century before. Sergeant-At-Arms Griffin Lancer, at the age of 25, wore the uniform belonging to the Colonial Federal Forces, the Assembly of Power’s colonial wing of governmental power. Their mission was to uphold the Stratocracy they had imposed on this region of the Asteroid Field Trading routes, with checkpoints on Phobos, Deimos, Ceres, as well as nearby Asteroids that were relatively stable of orbit.

The NCO stood at the front of his platoon, awaiting the pass in review the company commander would exercise every morning before breakfast. The men stood with their weapons at parade rest, the silence of the air around them marked only by the sounds of industry in the distance, followed by voices from the citizens and tourists that always stopped by to watch the spectacle. The soft clicking of cameras punctuating the silence like bee-stings. Griffin glanced to his left and noticed the band to his right, waiting for the commander to arrive, so that they could begin the tradition that had been held in this town square for the last twenty years.

Mars City. Just another nameless town to Griffin. He enlisted with the Assembly as soon as his balls had dropped and was capable of signing his own paperwork. He served gallantly on the Pluto Insurrection rooting out a pirate stronghold, being awarded a medal for his actions, as well as the subsequent promotion to Sergeant at Arms; 2nd in command of a platoon, short of the lieutenant. 8 years of service now would look good for the Officer’s Institution later on. Perhaps he could be Military Magistrate of a new colony when his career was nearing completion, he mused.

The band started up, starting with the bugle for Drill Call, followed by the commander finding his position at the center of the formation. He quickly stood at attention now and took a deep breath before issuing his command.

The commander himself was older. His time in the CFF was uneventful. Slightly Paunchy, bald, and bespectacled. Even with all these faults, he was still an intimidating man. The voice that boomed from his chest was not just loud; it was powerful. Each word of his voice was a crack of thunder, deep and rich in its southern cultivation.

“Regiment! Atten-tion!” The bodies of the soldiers now tensed up, the echo of heels clicking together as weapons from their extended position now brought to their sides. The commander then ordered his men to make a left face, now facing the growing group of tourists that had stopped to watch.

“Pass, In Review!” The commander ordered. The band then kicked in with a rendition of the 108th Saratov Regiment’s march. Each man took off with their left foot, and circled around the parade field, passing by the commander.
As they completed this mundane task, they then automatically halted, and turned to face their commander. The band finished their last notes, before the commander then issued one final order.

“Platoon leadership; meet in my office after formation. The rest of you are dismissed until 1600. Fall out!”

After a few moments of organizing his platoon’s daily tasks, Lancer quickly made his way to the Commander’s office. As he entered, he saw a group of officers and senior enlisted men gauging the Sergeant at Arms. He felt tense, until the commander turned and noticed Griffin had arrived. Late, but still on time. The commander then gripped a manila folder and passed it to the young Griffin.

“This is yours. Command saw fit to look through your file and advance your application into the Officer’s Institution…to the Special Forces department. Your transport leaves tomorrow morning. Get packed up and ready to leave ASAP.”

 	Griffin looked at the paper inside the envelope. Those were his signatures, and his aptitude scores. However, the coding changed from Officer’s Institute to Special Forces.

- “Sir, this doesn’t make sense. I wanted to go Officer’s Institution, not the Greater Assembly Special Task Squadron…. I don’t have the tactical aptitude for that position, Sir.”

There was a moment of hesitation by the Commander as he waved the rest of the leadership out of his office, leaving him and Griffin alone.

“Listen. If you’re complaining about this, I feel for you, son. I do. When I was your age, I wanted SF, but they gave me O.I. instead. Besides, have you seen the news? Martian trading colonies and their freighters held up at checkpoints because those Free Colonist weirdos keep planting bombs in shipments. It’s causing a lot of stress between the magistrates and the Assembly…”
The Commander looked down to his paperwork on his desk before he sighed and continued. He seemed vested in this topic, but at the same time, detached. His southern drawl was subdued, the moment of casual conversation ended, and the atmosphere remained somewhat lax as he continued his advice.

“I think if you went S.F., it’ll save you a lot of heartache…Besides, I know the commander there; She’ll keep you on the level…We’re not Assembly troops ourselves, Griffin. We’re just hired help. If something happens, we are obligated to help the people of the colonies first. Just because the Assembly can buy our politicians, doesn’t mean the militia and military wings are perfectly happy with licking their boots…”

- “I understand that sir, but- “

“But nothing, son. You are young, dumb, and full of cum; itching for a fight. Fact is, we haven’t had a real war to fight in over 50 years…’least not one that mattered…Military boys get complacent, and we gotta keep ‘em busy until their enlistments up. Moreover, Wet work is one way of keeping you boys from a discharge as a Section 7. Failure to Adapt. Failure to Thrive…”

- “Sir, if I may be so blunt…Who is my new commander?”

“Captain Donna Walton of the GASTS. Hard charging, hard fighting. She was my XO first before transferring. She’ll see that you’re squared away, Sergeant…Now is there anything else you need?” The Officer at his desk looked back down to his paperwork, adjusting the frames of his glasses as he focused on a section of the paper he was reading.

- “No Sir.”

“Then you’re free to go, Sergeant. Carry on.” With that, Griffin gave his commander a salute, before making an about-face and exiting the office. As he walked back to his barracks to pack his belongings, he could not help but feel a knot in his stomach. The immediate transfer bothered him. Oftentimes, soldiers could barely process out for leave in time for holiday, let alone a specialty school. It didn’t really add up, but he shook it off as another case of military expediency.

[Greater Assembly Special Task Squadron Training Facility, Phobos]
[2 weeks later]

The desolation of the Martian moon revealed itself to him in the cosmic aura of the sun at the center of the star system. The light cast upon the rocky surface created shadows that stretched for miles, veiled in a murky brown color as shadows crossed paths with his field of vision, before lighting back up as the shadows danced above the lip of the Stickney crater. Griffin could see them from the window of the barracks as he finished sweeping the floor to the bay. This was going to be the first real day of training the class of P-1018, and Griffin was nervous. The rest of the men and women asleep in their bunks created a bigger tension; as he was the only one awake to conduct barracks maintenance at 2 am. He was glad that he had completed his tasks a few hours before the morning call and had taken the time to gaze at the passing of the Martian surface above him. There would be another five orbit cycles before the rest of the group would have to wake up, and that meant he could get another three hours of rest. With bare feet, he rolled into his bottom bunk and quietly closed his eyes.

Morning came too soon. As soon as his eyes had closed, the bugle for first call blared through the P.A. system of the camp. All the recruits shot up out of their bunks like their first day of basic training, and immediately made their beds, conducted personal hygiene, and outfitted in their combat uniforms before the instructor walked in, baton at the ready.

Captain Walton threw the door open as she stepped inside, her small thin figure offset by the two large subordinate officers on either side of her. Those thin blue eyes and the dark skin that shone in the artificial light of the building only enhanced her intimidating stance as she stood at the whiteboard at the far end of the room.

“Fall in on me.” Her voice announced. Clear, devoid of any accent or impediment, or any feeling. The poolies did as instructed, and fell in, tight ranks and tight haircuts, awaiting instruction. Walton’s baton struck the board, creating a thin crack in its alabaster surface.

“Any of you fuck-sticks familiar with what we do here? Anyone here flunked out and came back?” She waited for a response. A few soldiers raised their hands, and a smile crept up on her face.

“Welcome back then. Proceed to the training area; your gear is right where you left it last in the armory…As for the rest of you. I am Captain Donna Walton. I am your primary GASTS instructor, and your only link to the outside world. For the next 6 months, you will unlearn all the bullshit you picked up in general population. You will re-learn the basics of soldiering, as well as how to do your jobs correctly, without getting you or your squaddies killed. I’m not going to play fuck-fuck games with Y’all. This is what real training is about. You follow orders, you do your job, and you take every opportunity to learn with an open mind and ask good questions, you will have a better chance of making it through to the end. This school has a 92 Percent Dropout rate, so I am going to tell you this ONE time…If you’re here because you want to be ‘hardcore’, stop wasting my fucking time, and get the hell out of my school. Go to scout school for that…If you’re here because it’ll look good on your O.I. paperwork, then I suggest you leave all the pomp and circumstance behind and go to the Quartermaster’s battalion just down the hall...If you’re here because you want to serve your colonies with honor and distinction, then you’re in the right place…”

The Captain then walked up to the formation of poolies, stopping next to Griffin on the edge of the formation. He could hear her lean in close and take a deep breath of air, before continuing onto the next rank.

“This is going to be the biggest challenge you will face as soldiers of the Assembly and Colonial Federal Force yet. You will be exposed to the elements, zero-G, hunger, dehydration, and sleep deprivation. We will teach you how to perform your mission in space, on land, in sea, and in places where other men and women would fear to tread. You will become precise tacticians, and everyone will know it.”

After a few moments, Captain Walton then placed the baton on the lanyard attached to her webbing.

“Let’s get cracking.”

Griffin found himself now running in formation from their position, through the door in single file, their pace steady and measured as they made their way at a brisk quick time to a large alcove, revealing a track and a clear glass ceiling above them, the stars of thousands of galaxies untouched by man’s greed, beckoned those who had the stones to look up, and be captivated by its magnificence. Even in artificial lighting, the stars burned brighter than any man-made light. The power of the cosmos radiated down through the dome, heating the track and the air around them.

Even standing on the track beckoned the pores to cry out in ambient suffering, making the skin of the soldiers slick and wet in a dire attempt to cool the bodies of those soldiers who had volunteered to suffer.

“Run! Run until you pass out,” Captain Walton ordered, standing beside the track, now pulling out a stopwatch, starting it while she glanced to it every few moments. Griffin found himself picking up his stride beside nameless other candidates. It was at this point, the young soldier delved into his mind as he tried to manage the physical exertion his body was pushing out in less-than-optimal conditions.

Each step carried with it the weight of dreams and hopes from each candidate; Heavy trots and sparse gasping could be heard around the young man. Griffin’s breathing was steady and carried a learned tempo, breathing in for three steps, exhaling for three. Each step was mentally measured, every breath timed with the steps in an aimless dance routine to continue exerting oneself across the same rubberized track. Each footfall stuck into the track, and as it was pulled away, a muted suction sound could be heard, pulling on the muscles of the soldiers as they pushed through the now seemingly sticky track.

Every lap that they completed was marked by a soldier in full medical gear spraying cold water across the finish line. But the brief respite was a veiled trap- Every cool water droplet would evaporate halfway through the next lap, sapping the strength of the runners as they drove on, their measured steps now a plodding trot, their breaths heavy and labored, attempting to find some sort of tempo in the chaos of it all.

A few hours had passed, and Griffin could feel the deep burning sensation of his muscles failing throughout his body. Every so often, he would see soldiers give up, pass out, or trip upon themselves in a desperate attempt to continue moving. Each one of them were met with a loud feminine scream from Captain Walton, who pointed and goaded with her baton, pointing out towards the exit. She hopped, spat, hissed, and cussed at every single one of the poolies, but nothing seemed more demoralizing, than hearing the barking of the Captain:

“Poolie has washed out from the course! Get off my training area!”

Every minute that passed through Griffin’s head, it was revealed another 3 dozen candidates or so would drop out. Out of the entire class that had assembled on the track, easily numbering in the hundreds. Griffin, as well as 30 others remained; ragged corpses shuffling along in a depraved dance for survival. Suddenly, Captain Walton walked to the start line of the track and crossed her arms, waiting for them.

“What are you waiting for?! Sprint this last lap!” She bellowed. Griffin took this as a challenge, and even though his body was spent, he lifted his legs to try and get some distance between his steps, looking like a large, shaved bird trying to step over an invisible boulder. Miraculously, it worked. He began to pull away from the pack, passing the large group in front of him. His breaths were audible and labored as he found himself behind a female, her bun tied tightly around her head as she too, began to sprint.  Griffin matched her pace, and the two had an impromptu showdown.

“Looks like we’re gonna be neck-n-neck, folks! First one to cross gets a thirty-minute break!”

Griffin felt his air supply running out as his breaths became shorter, but he matched pace with the shorter woman to his left. Soon, he found himself mere meters away, he could do this! With the last bit of his strength, he leaned forward, attempting to reach the line first, but suddenly felt hands on his back, forcing him down. His body too weak to fight back, relented, and he collapsed to the ground, his extended arm grazing past the finish mark, just after the female.

“Starfire! Finished in four hours, twelve minutes, fifteen seconds! Lancer! Four hours, twelve minutes, fifteen-point-three!” Walton commented aloud as the others crossed the line just moments afterward. Griffin slowly fought his way back up to his feet, as he saw Starfire standing just a few feet from him, her blue eyes piercing into his greens as he shakily attempted to stand.

“Get out of my way next time, Grunt,” She scoffed weakly as she limped past him, leaving Griffin to weakly make his way to the showers on his own power.

“Griffin…It’s Griffin.” His voice echoed within his head as he corrected her, his voice weak and hoarse from the voiceless shouting match he had with himself. Something felt off, his name continued to echo through not only the dome, but the confines of his existence as well…

A voice in the distance seemed to scream his name, its distressed report echoing through the darkest parts of Griffin’s mind, bouncing off hollow memories and nightmares. The room dimmed, leaving him to stare at his feet, and the track below.

Then the rain fell. Like stabbing ice-cold needles on his neck, pulling his attention away from the rubber track, as if a doorway opened, revealing a black murky substance in his path. Slowly, with weak legs, he eased into the expanse, and was sucked in. There, darkness resided, triumphed over all peripherals, except the name.

Griffin.

The name. It was his, wasn’t it? This was his name- The one soldiers familiar to him gave him this name, as it was the one he gave them. This was a lie.
- The Oracle



[2153]

“...Griffin...” A voice called out in the darkness. A hand reaching up to touch a canvas cover, pulling it open to reveal a bunk. The cold hand reaching towards a huddled figure on its cot, the voice calling out once again.

“...Griffin...”

The hand would touch his warm flesh and open his eyes to the dark shadow and the sweet voice of his imagination. He would sit up, moving his hand to where the cold fingers had rested upon, and the skin was cool to the touch, his eyes wide open in the darkness, his breaths heavy, the single bead of sweat slowly falling from his brow down to the cot, his body relaxing before laying back down on the canvas.
- “...Faye.” He would utter, silently, as his fist gripped the sheet as he finally relaxed and closed his eyes once again. The nightmare happened every night. The same dream. A large field covered in falling snow, the cold that could kill anything that stayed out too long, the chill of fear and death binding their souls together for one final conversation.
“They...said that heaven would be warm...and bright...” She said, solemnly, her breaths shallow and pained.  He responded somewhat apathetically, detached from the situation.
- “Yeah...I know...”
“...Blue sky, Griffin...Don't forget...Blue sky. We were going to see the thaw together...and...” Their codeword. Faye had never seen a real blue sky, like Earth’s. But she shared with him her most intimate details. What she wanted from her life, how she wanted him to be a part of it. Now those dreams were fading, bleeding out into the snow around them.
- “Faye. Please...Don't talk,” Griffin pleaded, wishing he could tell her to shut up, but he let her talk, her voice was too beautiful, her suffering too far gone to stifle.
“I can see the stars tonight. Like you promised...” A gasp and cough escaped her lips, as she choked on a mixture of phlegm and blood.

His hands gripped hers tightly, the bandage around her heart becoming soaked by the massive amounts of blood that were pouring out of her wound. There was no saving her, and yet, he clung to that last bit of hope that someone would help her. However, it was just them. Re-enforcements were 20 minutes away. She wouldn't make it.

- “The stars...,” Griffin looked up to the sky, seeing that the snowstorm was dying down, the stars from millions of distant galaxies glowed in the dark twilight.
“Yeah, I see them. See that blue star just past the Southern Cross? That's Earth...”
- “Earth...I've never been there. Tell me what it’s like...there,” She said softly, her strength waning as her vision began to dim.

Griffin's eyes were blurred from the tears and barely mustered up enough courage to continue speaking with her. The emotion finally hit him. He fought to keep his voice clear, so that she could hear him as she passed.
- “There's lots of fields...cities...mountains, lakes, rivers and forests...Where I lived, there was this beautiful rose garden that my caretaker tended to in the summertime...She said...that roses were like people; wanting affection but having no way to really be together...”
“A Rose...That would be nice, to smell one.” She said, smiling.
- “Nothing comes close to you, not even a rose.”
He looked into her eyes, and she slowly looked to his, her blue-gray eyes dulling into nothing, glazing over slowly. Her body was shutting down.
“Griffin...run,” She gasped softly as she glanced out to the tree line. In the distance, dim red beams of light began to dance across the barren trees and dead bodies of both friend and foe along the frozen forest floor.
- “I can’t.”
Slowly, he leaned to kiss her lips, her eyes closing as he did this. He felt her icy skin press against his warm, tear-stained face, and the moisture that resulted from it covered the upper lip of his mouth as he now broke the kiss to lean his head beside her lips, so that she could whisper to him.
“It stopped hurting.” She whispered into his ear, as her grip on his hand loosened.
As her last breath escaped her, he felt something inside of him die, and he couldn't bear to see her laying on the ground. Slowly, he picked up her body, as tree branches snapped off their limbs, cracking against smaller ones, falling down around Griffin and his now dead fiancée, his comrade. Amidst the sniper fire, he carried her to the road, laying her body on the ground on the opposite side of the incoming fire, into a ditch. He carefully removed his field coat and laid it on her body. He then reached for her dog tags, resting gingerly against her pale, dead skin. With numb fingers, and raw emotion, he got to the business of removing them and placing them in his pocket. He rested his head into her bloody bosom and gave a stifled sob into her chest as he held her lifeless body.
“God…Damn you,” He finally uttered, pulling his head away from her to stare into the night sky, as reinforcements finally arrived in the tree line behind him, opening fire into the enemy positions as he screamed in both pain and fear.

[2158]

At that moment, he would always wake up. Shaken, afraid. He would then reach for her dog tags clasped beside his on his neck, and he felt safe again. This was him at his most vulnerable state. Alone and hopeless. He wrote in his journal early that morning:


October 15, 2158:
I had the same dream again. Each time I have it, I feel so alone in this world. Suicide just seems like the proper way to numb all the suffering I've endured these ten long years. But something tells me that must go on, at least until the conclusion of this conflict. I swear I could hear her voice calling out to me tonight. I've never been one to share these thoughts with anyone, not even a doctor...I feel that no doctor could cure the empty feeling I have in my heart, so bitter and empty. A soldier looked into my eyes last night...and somehow, I think I changed him with my gaze. He just appeared so hollow and empty after I looked into his eyes. As if someone close to him died, like me. Maybe that’s why I'm just a burden on myself. Maybe it’s because I feel helpless to stem these feelings away and just do my job. I've been doing this for years, and every winter, it’s the same thing, over and over...Soon the war will end, I feel. If it’s over. I think I’ve had my fill of soldiering for two lifetimes…

I took another stimulant before bed. Doctor said that I needed to speed up the healing process in my shoulder blade if I want to stay on the lines. It’s not helping any time I get off to let my shoulder mend, I’m called up for another assignment.

I pray this war ends soon. I’m running out of reasons to stay alive.
-Major Griffin Alexander Lancer


[3 Weeks Later]
[Asteroid Group Hungarias]
[Main Colony Hub]
[2158]
Griffin’s eyes snapped open from his dream. He found himself where he was when he had drifted off. At the bottom of a waste-filled ditch, unrecognizable corpses floating in the water as he kneeled from his sitting position, his body now waist deep in the offal around him. His uniform stuck to his body as the fluid weighed down his trousers and soaked into his boots. The water was a murky black color, and upon closer inspection, one could see past their reflection to see bodies, much like the rest scattered across the grounds before him.

Griffin’s eyes glanced left to the NCO who was peering gingerly over the crest of the ditch, his eyes on something down the road. Slowly, he crawled back into the ditch on his belly, covering himself with the disgusting fluid as he now duck-walked over to his commander.

“Sir, we have a machine gun overlooking the perimeter ahead of us; they look like the only ones there...Up on the overpass on this Intersection.” The soldier’s voice was whisper-soft, as he glanced behind his commander to the body hunched over in the water, his hands clutching onto his stomach as he gasped violently, a mixture of pain and effort. Sobs littered his attempts to relax his breathing, his weak eyes staring wide into a comrade tending to his side as he spoke to him, his voice hushed and reassuring.

“It’s going to be okay. You’re going home…”

The soldier floating in the muck was a boy, his face pale and sallow as he started going into shock. His friend did his best to comfort him by stroking his forehead as his dying comrade’s eyes glanced up to the sky, his violent convulsions ceasing as his spirit left his body. The grey fatigues and battle armor he wore seemed too big to fit this young boy properly. Nevertheless, it did not matter now; he was dead, and now the squad could scavenge his kit for what they needed.

His friend quietly took his now departed comrade’s journal and letters from the front breast pocket, stained with blood and muck, and pocketed them into his own vest pocket, before removing the deceased’s bandolier and tossing it to the NCO, over Griffin’s head. He would take his dog tags before meeting up with his NCO and commander.

“…He’s gone, Sergeant…” The man’s voice said shakily. His cheeks were wet with tears and anguish as he bit his bottom lip. The ambience of war was amongst the rest of the men in the ditch. Some were dead. Others dying, struggling to hold offal-stained gauze to their wounds as the rain above offered no respite from the chaos around them. A dull chorus of moans and sobs concealed their true numbers- only a dozen or so remained from the ambush. The ones who emerged unscathed sat quietly, trying to figure out their next move. The Sergeant now looked to Major Lancer as he bit back fear, his voice betraying his emotions, its stoic baritone punctuated the brevity of the situation.

“What are your orders?”

Griffin sat quiet for a moment, his eyes dancing back and forth as he thought. He then waded through the water to the opposite side of the ditch, crawling up on his stomach to peer over the edge, before reaching down to his webbing to retrieve his binoculars. Peering into them, he noticed the enemy MG crew were waiting patiently; however, there was nobody around them. The road leading up to the overpass was littered with bombed out cars and long dead corpses in their unglamorous repose, blood-clotted stains running downhill to where the gutter was, where the light rain had flushed it into the ditch Griffin and his men were in now, covered in the stench and muck, and death. He then put the optics back and scooted back down, creating a gouge in the mud as he gave his order.

“We’re moving. That machine gun will rip us apart if we don’t…” He said quietly, his voice hushed and contemplative.

- “Going uphill, then?” The NCO asked with confidence, his eyes glancing to the position of the nest, making a nodding motion with his head. Griffin gave a silent nod, before reaching down and scooping his rifle from the slope, the buttstock resting in the diseased water. He pulled the bolt back to ensure he was loaded, then released it and pushed it forward, ensuring a good seal. The rain started to pick up now, as a distant mechanical whirring echoed above them, followed by the distant reports of combat. Each percussive strike of a rifle matched tenfold by the strike of a water droplet on the ground below as Griffin peered up to the weather control station. A long box-like structure, with a glass dome peering into space above.

“Colony’s set to Monsoon season. When this shit gets thick enough, we’ll move…” The NCO, who motioned for them to rally in front of him, then beckoned the rest of the squad. As they did so, The NCO rested his hand on one of his soldiers, a head wound obscured by the bandage and his helmet he wore, as Griffin made the plan known.

“We’re going up the gut. Fire and maneuver. Remember fire discipline. Top off your mags and get your optics sighted in. Move from car to car. When we get close, six of you advance up the overpass and eliminate the crew, we’ll provide covering fire. Stay low, move fast. Help your buddies. Got it?”

A murmur of acknowledgment grumbled through the squad. Good enough. Griffin turned and watched the rain, as the rest of the squad laid on their stomachs below the ridge of the ditch. A Firefight a few blocks down erupted, the report of the rifles echoing through the dome of the colony. The rain seemed to come down in sheets now, obscuring everything in a haze of water. Griffin turned back to his squad and gave the order.

- “Sir, what about the wounded,” A voice called from behind Lancer’s shoulder. “They need treatment, sir.”
 He glanced back to the injured, nursing wounds that would be diseased within the hour sitting in the muck. He pointed to the soldier who had tended to his now dead comrade.

“…Stay with these men, soldier. Your squad leader will come back this way to fetch you and the others.” The young soldier nodded and put the sling of his weapon onto his shoulder as he got to work tending to the wounded. Griffin gave a deep sigh. He wanted to help them, but the orders were clear- Regroup at Fort Dugout, the Federation’s underground outpost to the West of the Park.

“Move up!” He shouted, pumping his fist before standing up over the ditch, walking onto solid asphalt as he started to sprint, his boots slogging with each step as he threw himself against the frame of a burnt-out truck, his squad right behind him as they found cover. The machine gun opened up just as they reached their first line of cover. The first group of men then leaned out from their positions and began to return fire, careful not to expose themselves. This continued for a few seconds, before Griffin made the next order to advance. Now it was his turn to provide cover fire, as the machine gun’s trail of impact danced wildly across the road, as he then leaned out, a few rounds caught the edge of the frame.

Griffin slowly crouched behind the truck now, his rifle gripped tightly in his arms, as his back pressed against charred metal. The few inches of metal were all that separated him from the murderous rounds of the machine gun positioned down the long road, atop a small walk bridge that hovered above the street. Griffin's squad had ducked behind anything that obscured their position from the machine-gunners above.

The frame yielded to the punishing fire and Griffin was forced to lay prone against the burning rust of the truck. He uttered a curse and shifted his weight against a cooler spot near the headlights. He remained as low as possible, biting his bottom lip out of pure anxiety. A man would be butchered if he stepped into the sight of that machine gun, yet one unlucky soldier to his left met with this fate as he got up to maneuver his position to another piece of ground. The high-powered rounds tore through the young man's flesh as he cried out his last breath of life, his now seemingly lifeless cadaver collapsing to the ground like a piece of crumpled paper. The gunfire from the footbridge stopped for a moment to inspect its handiwork.

The soldier’s body lay limp for a moment, before a weak, pained groan escaped his lips, the groan quickly turning into a suppressed cry of pain, his eyes locking onto Major Lancer’s face. Lancer could do nothing- if he exposed himself, he too, would die.

“Help…Help me.” The wounded soldier’s voice strained quietly amongst the ambience of rain and gunfire in the distance. For a moment, the soldier reached out, before the machinegun at the overpass opened up again, peppering the ground around him before striking his body, a group of fire hitting their mark, the rounds tearing into his chest and throat. The pool of blood and viscera now visible from a good distance away; coating the fresh rainfall with a red ichor. It was at this point, the machinegun stopped firing.

Griffin turned his head to look at the young boy. His eyes met the lifeless ones no further than 10 yards away. He was dead, the wide and deep cavern in his chest cavity saw to it, yet his eyes retained that infinite youth that seems to be common with so many children. This only forced Griffin to give a soft quiver of fear, as well as forcing his stomach to turn sour somewhat. It was ironic to him. That same boy was talking to him the night prior to the operation about his home, his family, and his people back in Federation space. Now he would never see home again.

He had enough of watching the corpse slowly stiffen and looked towards the machine gun once again. By this time, the machine gun had overheated its barrel. It was smoking as the carbon on the top of the barrel hardened and flaked. The enemy machine gunners had abandoned the gun, and now were wielding their standard weapons, until the barrel cooled down to the point where they could use it again. Griffin noticed this, and quickly got up, taking aim with his assault rifle, and opening fire on the pair of soldiers positioned on the walk bridge.

“Suppressing fire!” He yelled as he set his rifle to full auto, a few others in his squad obeying the Major’s order by opening fire on the machine gun. This gave Griffin enough time to get to the body, procure the bloody dog tags and pocket them.

He began to sprint closer to the bridge, taking cover behind a concrete barrier, aiming his weapon to the machine gun position, opening fire once again, to allow his squad-mates to maneuver to better cover and outflank the isolated crew. His rifle’s action slid back and locked as the last round in his magazine cycled. He reloaded, swiping the empty magazine out of the feed and dropping it to the floor, before reaching into his pouch to recover a new mag, punched it into the feed, and slapped the action forward to recharge a new round into the chamber, the resounding mechanics marking a tempo only he kept in time with.

He leaned out from his cover to open fire when a whistle became audible. The cacophonous thudding of a sudden change of air pressure frightened the field officer, as the resulting explosion knocked Griffin down onto his back, as shards of flaming metal and concrete showered down to the road. As the plume of smoke and dust billowed into the grey sky above, he slowly stood up and looked at the damage, seeing the walk bridge crumbled at its midsection, the support strut cracked and split horizontally in half, killing the enemy machinegun crew.

Turning behind him, he noticed a man in his squad tossing down a spent rocket tube that had just been fired. He gave a deep exhale as he relaxed and stared to the sky as the rainstorm started to subside, the grey clouds were pushed away, allowing the artificial sun to come out from its housing, the mechanical whirring of machinery and gears larger than a city block echoed in the distance. The sound of combat increasing in volatility in the distance- both armies could now see each other. Griffin took in a deep breath of respect. The other half of the offensive had done their job; the climate control was in Federation hands. This gave him a sense of completion, before looking back to his front at this change in the weather, the wind picking up as the clouds floated away, the blue haze almost hiding the dome at its ceiling as the trees that lined the perimeter of the park ahead of him swayed with the cooling breeze.

Gunfire erupted in the distance as the artificial light fell upon the once dark, cold urban sprawl, as the moisture in the ground began to evaporate. The cloud cover began to disperse even further, revealing the blue sky that softly faded to the darkness of space as the atmosphere reached its apex in the dome.

“...Blue Sky...” He whispered, his grip loosening a bit on his rifle. He took a deep breath, and then looked down to the squad that was already moving to the next waypoint. Starting at a light jog, he quickly caught up with the men, reaching the war-torn park, strewn with craters, destroyed gun emplacements, abandoned and burnt-out vehicles, as well as sandbags scattered about the ground. Traversing this area was similar to navigating a trench system, a series of earthworks leading from one end to another. He and the squad trekked quietly through the maze of emplacements and trenches.

Griffin took the lull in combat to pay attention to the environment. Silence, aside from a few chirping birds in the distance. He inhaled deeply, trying to relax a bit. He grimaced with each step, as he noticed his boots were cutting into his ankle at this position. He gave another passing glance to his boots, and payed no mind to the pain as he continued with the squad. They had just passed a sandbag wall, when a man fell in front of him, blood spurting from his left shoulder blade followed by the snap of a loud gunshot. Everyone ducked further into the trench’s bosom as the Federation squad waited anxiously for the next shot.

“Sniper!” A squad mate at the end of the column shouted. Griffin knew that as long as he stayed low, he would be safe. He crawled up to the dead soldier, reached for the man’s jugular to check his pulse. Dead. He then brought his now bloodied hand to the chain around the man’s collarbone, and ripped his dog tags off. The sniper heard this and squeezed off another shot, this time hitting a patch of dirt just over Griffin’s head. Everyone held their breath as Griffin pocketed the tags, turning to face the men behind him, before back to the front, leaning out a bit to his left, the point man now in his view.

“Where’s our sniper?” Griffin shouted to the man in front. The soldier turned to face the field-grade officer and shook his head.

- “I don't know, sir!” The soldier replied, his left hand on top of his helmet, attempting to shove himself deeper into the recessed cavity of the helmet, hoping he’d disappear within the brain bucket. Griffin scowled as he quickly thought up a plan.

“Okay. Give me the body and I’ll prop him up.”
- “Sir?”
“Give me the dead man. Sniper can’t tell at this distance.”

The soldier started to pass the dead body up to him. Griffin took no pride in doing so, gripping the bloodied uniform of the man. As he passed him up, he caught a glimpse of the man’s face. Fear and pain, his expression forever frozen in a moment of complete horror, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape as his glazed expression cut into Lancer’s psyche- another face to be awoken by at night.

“I’m sorry…” He whispered to the corpse as he mentally steeled himself, deadening his senses to the action he was about to commit.

He then began to prop the soldier up, as if he was standing. As soon as he stood the body completely up against the wall of the trench, a bullet tore through the corpse’s head, the gunshot following soon after, the body now slumping to the ground as pink mist now fell atop of Major Lancer’s helmet like fresh snow as loose gore now came to rest on all the men’s uniforms. Griffin saw the flash of the muzzle from between the fingers of the cadaver; the dust kicked from the muzzle came from up in an apartment flat to the west, his right side. From that position, Griffin could see through the obscured room, the movements of what looked like an arm and hand working the bolt of a rifle. Then the glint of the scope.

“West!” The point man shouted as he pointed to his right. Griffin nodded, crouching up behind the sandbags.

“Covering fire!” He yelled as he sprinted a few feet towards the end of the dugout. Another gunshot and an impact of dirt beside him as his squad opened fire on the sniper's position. From there, He squatted down, and began to open fire at the sniper's nest. The men in the squad then began to peel to Griffin's position, taking care not to expose too much of their body. One by one, the men made it to the opposite end of the trench’s causeway, exiting the earthworks. As soon as the whole team regrouped and made their way across the street to an abandoned building obscuring the sniper’s line of sight, the men hunched and doubled over in exasperation, heavy breaths and the last moments of fear escaping their psyches, their composure rock solid after a few moments. The point man then looked to the street signs and seemed to relax a bit as he turned to face the rest of the squad, his left arm above his head in a beckoning motion.

“In here, guys,” A soldier said as he walked inside the door to an adjacent business and downstairs to the basement. Griffin followed close behind, the rest of the men following as well. The soldier beat on the door in a sequence, before a voice echoed from behind the door, followed by the clacking of a weapon’s action being cycled.

“Iron.” The voice challenged.

- “Forge” The point man countersigned. The viewport from the door slid closed, before the locks on the door tumbled, and the door opened, revealing more stairs going down, as well as a pair of heavily armored soldiers. The men made their way downstairs, before stopping at an elevator door. The point man, now identified as the squad leader, extended his hand to Griffin. The Major obliged the handshake and gave the NCO a smile.

“Excellent work men. I owe you a debt of gratitude in escorting my ass here…I have something you might want to present to your C.O.” Griffin mused as he finished shaking the squad lead’s hand, before reaching into his cargo pocket, retrieving a pair of dog tags.
“They were your men, and I’m sorry for your loss…”

- “You’re not at fault, Major Lancer. The mission had to be accomplished. That’s what Federation soldiers do…Hell, you’re SF. You know better than anyone else…” The Squad lead took the dog tags and pocketed them for later. He steeled his gaze, fighting back fatigue and tears as he turned to his men and nodded, before turning back to Griffin.
“This is as far as we go. We have to head back to Field command. You go on and contact Storm Commander Amos…I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell them about the ambush…It was my fault.” The NCO welled up with tears now, fighting back the convulsions of sorrow held within his chest, as Griffin rested his weathered hand on his shoulder, a watershed moment displayed amongst the dim ambience of war outside.

“It happened. That’s all you can tell them. You tell them the truth, and it’s up to them to accept that…It’s a shitty situation, and you can’t say anything that’ll make it better…So just tell them the truth. Every single one of those men were willing to follow you; that says something about your character.” Griffin said this softly as he gave the NCO’s shoulder a reassuring grip, before letting him go.
With that, the men ran back to the surface. Griffin walked down the hallway to the elevator, passing a few more sentries sitting at a table playing cards. One of them shot up and attempted to render a salute to the officer, before being reprimanded by his comrade.
“Don’t worry about that.”
- “But he’s an officer.”
“We’re in a forward area. No time for that. Now ante up, three smokes.”
Griffin pressed the button on the elevator and watched the walls around the elevator car begin to descend at what felt like a crawl; it would take a while. He slowly leaned his rifle against a wall, before reaching his hand into his jacket pocket, and fishing out a pack of cigarettes. He moved the pack to his lips, taking a cancer stick and replaced the pack of cigarettes with a lighter, and lit his cigarette, taking a short drag, and closing his eyes. It had been a long road for him. The war had been going on for 10 years, and it was taking its toll on him day by day.

He had lost the fear for bullets, and for falling artillery only meters away, things that a lesser man would soil themselves from. He had seen the cold stare of death, and the warm miracles of life, the struggles of war, and the loss of comrades, and lovers, as they too, died. Each winter brought forth another onslaught of blood, and each spring created worm food for the plants. No matter how long or how hard he tried to escape the feeling of dead inside of him, it was there, and it begged him to die. He longed for death as much as he craved a want to live, a want to escape the harsh realities of the pull of battle.

For a moment, out of many, he contemplated putting a bullet from his service pistol into his skull. He shook his head, realizing how messy it would be for the crew to clean up, a weak defense, but enough to stave off the darkness. He sighed and closed his eyes, taking another short drag of his cigarette, feeling the warm smoke seep into his lungs, exhaling the toxic smoke. He remembered his childhood and the orphanage he grew up in, and all the kids he knew, all victims or casualties. He remembered his ex-fiancé, and her warm, short, and fearful breaths flashed against his neck, and how her blood felt against his hand as he tried to stop her bleeding heart.
“...Faye.” A single syllable meant the world to him. The name left echoes though the empty elevator shaft as he finished his cigarette, dropping the butt to the floor. He then turned to the elevator. Just as the elevator descended from the basement, he remembered a few notes from a piano he played in his mind, the notes almost becoming reality as he closed his eyes and took another slow, thoughtful pull from the cigarette. From here, he began to introspect his life.
As the elevator made its way to the bottom level, he slowly looked at the service lights that flickered past him as he continued to move downward. He slowly looked up to the dead light in the elevator car itself humming as the car travelled down. He then reached a hand to touch it and felt its warmth. He gripped the webbing of his belt, feeling the ridges of the fabric against his fingertips. He felt the air becoming cooler as he descended deeper into the shaft.

He gave a soft shiver as he adapted to the change in temperature. He then looked to his uniform. Dirty, covered in blood and grit, sweat and tears, every element that was possible to trudge in, he did it. Five days of nonstop action did its toll on the uniform. Aside from that, he had a few wounds to be properly treated. He needed food, some sleep, and a new uniform.
As the elevator stopped on the bottom floor, the doors open to reveal a hive of activity. To his left, technicians working on computers and radar, to his right were medics busy shuffling about their patients, to his front as far as he could see into the large warehouse space of the bunker, he saw soldiers walking around about to go to the surface on their next mission. He picked up the weapon he had rested against the side of the elevator car and rested the rifle on his shoulder using the sling. As he stepped out, he thought he heard a familiar series of tones, forming a word, a cantabile tone becoming audible.
“Griffin.” A voice called to him. The major turned to face a young girl, with short, red hair, and carrying a pistol in its holster, cocked slightly at an angle. The webbing provided didn’t fit properly, and thus hung a little off the hip. Every piece of her equipment was a wee bit too big, but she wore it well, being only just under five-foot-seven to Griffin’s Six-two. Major Lancer gave a genuine smirk as he gave the fellow officer a casual salute to her.

- “Captain Rei Liberty Belle... Shouldn't you be taking off by now, anyway? You navy types are always in a rush to get into deep space and win that next big engagement…” He then dropped the salute and unzipped his combat vest, taking it off and holding it in his free hand as Rei looked to the clock above the elevator doors, the fading red LED lights on the panel keeping track of the local time as she attempted to avoid showing any emotion to Griffin’s wounds. Some were fresh, the front of the uniform stained by a few splotches of red. She gave an audible agreement, taking her attention away from his wounds before nodding and turning to her Army Counterpart. “We've got about 40 or so minutes. I'll make it, Major. I’m just waiting on a crewman to arrive from the replacement depot,” She said.
“Well, Captain, that’s your quandary to handle...I've got to get a debriefing and some sleep…I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you sooner. I'll see you around.” Rei smiled and nodded, walking past him towards the stairway just past the elevators, speaking to him as she crossed his path.
- “Yeah, I’ll bet. I gotta jet, my replacement is due any moment now at the tram. Some other time, yeah?”
Slowly, Griffin turned to watch her go down the stairs, disappearing from his view, recalling her story.
Rei’s father was a mining baron before the war, one of the few who supported the rights of miners in his facilities, Samuel Liberty Belle had groomed his daughter to take over the business when he died. Instead, Rei disobeyed her father’s wishes and joined the Federal Navy at the beginning of the war as a coxswain, a job she carried out dutifully until she made the rank of Captain; Joining the SCAR Course five years prior, she was rated to operate in an infantry capacity, should the need arise. Indeed, a number of both enlisted and officers in the Federation were SCARS qualified. Anywhere from engineers, infantry, medics, armor, naval personnel, even cooks could be mustered up to join if the opportunity arose.

Rei and Griffin met during a furlough, shortly after Faye was K.I.A. He had contemplated killing himself using his belt and was simply waiting on housekeeping to bring him his whiskey, when she knocked on the door, mistaking both the room as hers, as well as Lancer as a man she had met earlier, to whom she agreed to stay with for the evening. Their meeting, however fruitless it seemed, created a rapport between the two that flourished since then. Rei had, on multiple occasions, served within the same battle fleet, but they never got any closer than when they passed by each other. Each moment they delayed speaking to each other seemed like a conversation between old friends, oftentimes their correspondence continued through letters, or even the rare vid-disk.

Griffin could tell there was something she wanted to say, something she wanted to tell him, and he wished deep down she would never bring it up; his heart couldn’t take another loss of a loved one, no matter how hard it hurt him to never speak of his feelings for Rei. He cared for her like a valued pearl, but she was always out of reach from his protection. It gnawed at his patience, to know that every time they spoke to each other, might be their last.

Her position as a Captain of a line vessel, one of the fastest of its kind, and his position as a Special Forces Officer gave their relationship an air of exclusivity that didn’t permeate beyond each other’s deepest fears. That apprehension to say or do anything rash that may hurt the other, suppressed by the possibility of death.

He turned and continued to walk through the large room. As he walked, he got a good look and listen of what was going on. Soldiers conversing about home, the food, their uniforms, things they heard from the radio, anything they could to take their minds off the jobs they were performing. Griffin walked past a few more doors before stopping at a door marked “Control room”, before he walked in.

As Griffin entered the briefing room, he saw another familiar face, a mature man, graying hair, and a highly decorated uniform. Griffin slowly rested his rifle on the table where the man was overlooking a map with a slight scowl. Slowly, the man looked up to see the field officer, the expression unchanging as he inspected the officer. Griffin gave a snappy salute, before the old man returned the courtesy, and they both dropped their arms down. The greying General Amos adjusted his lapel, the gold epaulet tassels on his shoulders dancing a bit as he did so, before extending a white-gloved hand to Major Lancer.
“Griffin...How are you, Major...?” Griffin took the handshake and peered into his Commander’s eyes. Fatigue and frustration were evident in both men, the Storm-Commander simply wore it better.

“Pained, sir; another attempt from the Assembly to breakout from the north sector…This division we’re facing is tenacious, I’ll give them that... I'm just here to report that we knocked out the machine gun emplacements on the Western quadrant next to my area of responsibility. We've had reports of a sniper in the area, but that problem has already been taken care of. If he’s not dead, then he’s on the run and out of our hair for now. The Armored divisions are going to go through the area we cleared...right, Amos?”

The man shook his head and pointed to a half-dollar sized stone that was on the map. “See this stone...this represents the armored division. They ran into dragon’s teeth and tank pits a few miles from your sector. They decided to go around and flank the South side of the city. Unfortunately, they have been bogged down to a crawl, and are being harassed...”
He paused to pull out another stone, dyed red, and placing it in front of the other stone he had just placed.
“…By what looks like the main body of the Assembly’s 202nd Grenadier division, with what looks like 10th armored regiment in support. Your team is needed to break through the sector once more.”
Griffin interjected and cleared his throat.  “Sir, if you don't mind...I need to get a uniform change and some wounds treated...”

Amos nodded and pulled out a pipe. “I understand, son. Don't rush anything. Get patched up, cleaned up, get a hot meal, and reload. I want you out at 0200 Hours. Get me, Major? The armor is holding their position, and a sister unit is holding the line and awaiting orders.”

“I got you, Sir.” With that, they exchanged salutes, and Griffin went on his way to prep for his next mission.

Walking through the winding corridors and poorly lit intersections, He brushed past other soldiers through the narrow passages. Again, he made his way down another flight of stairs, where the claustrophobic hallways opened up into a more recognizable cantonment. Fort Dugout. He heard a few men call his name as he came down the stairs, as he glanced over, seeing a few soldiers he had met earlier in the campaign. He gave a friendly wave, but continued forward, through the atrium, and down another flight of stairs, into the barracks.
From here, he passed through a temporary aid station. At the entryway of the clinic, awash in the stench of dead blood, he stopped and glanced inside.

The soft moans of pained soldiers barely overpowered the quiet humming of the ventilation system. His eyes caught a glimpse of a myriad of injured men.
“Too much pain we’ve inflicted upon our species,” He thought quietly, watching a young man struggle to sit up in his bed, the blanket slowly trailing off the mattress to reveal stumps where legs had once been, the bandages stained with blood as sweat glistened his brow from exertion, tears welling in his eyes as he fought to shift to the gurney for a bath, his entire expression constricted to fear, horror, pain. His voice gave a dulled groan of hopeless effort, his knuckles white as he began to pull himself, his pale face blushing red as he continued to push himself.

“Yet still they fight…Instinct, or training…either will grant a man freedom in one way or another.”

The nurse next to the boy encouraged him softly, her soft voice and cool hands resting on his bare shoulders, her bosom pressed against his back as she held him close. Indeed, their relationship depended on each other at that moment, and the look in both sets of eyes showed the same courage and determination.

- “Good job,” she cooed, laying the patient on the gurney, wiping the effort off his forehead, before placing the blanket back atop of him.

A lump welled in his throat for a moment, before he took a soft exhale and walked away.

“…Too much meat to grind, now.” He said this aloud as he reached into his blouse for another cigarette, as he stopped just outside the bay doors leading to the barracks. Here, he stayed for a moment, his mind coming down from his combat high, his hands shaking as the cool air began to chill his skin, a shudder escaped the corner of his lips as he took a drag of his smoke. After a few more silent moments of deep contemplation, he flicked the butt into the ash bin, and walked inside, walking to his bunk.

Stopping at his empty locker, he undid his blouse and pulled it off, revealing a worn, sweaty, blood-stained grey T-shirt. He untucked the garment and after kicking off his dirty boots and worn socks, the stench from the muck seemed to blend in with the rest of the stink within the barracks. He put his used garments at the edge of the bed, his laundry sack resting atop of it, a symbol to the orderlies to request a fresh uniform. He finally laid down, pulled the wool blanket over his head, pressed his head against the cold pillow, and closed his eyes.

Sleep on its own in a crowded bay was hard enough. Griffin had to deal with the discomfort of the hurts on himself, rubbed raw from constantly moving and shifting. He found a good spot on his back and managed to keep his eyes closed for what seemed like only a moment.

The alarm on his wristwatch told him otherwise. He had slept a full four hours since they had started the invasion three days ago. He sighed and sat up slowly, adjusting the collar on his worn T-shirt before standing up to go clean up in the showers, a storage room with water pipes running through it, repurposed by adding spigots.

The shower itself wasn’t more than a large stream of hot water falling out of the spigot down to the floor, where a drain had been installed to circulate into the sewage system. It was crude, but effective. As he turned the shower on, he felt the sudden rush of pain followed by the slow throbs of relief and comfort, as steam gripped each corner of the room in its murky clutches. He extended his arms to press against the nearest wall and allowed the water to run down his flexed back.

Griffin stood amidst the hot water for a good 20 minutes, allowing his body to relax and soak in the clean water. He watched as all the grime, caked blood, and dirt as it washed away and poured into the drain. Watching the stains turn back to a sickly red ichor, his mind flashed back to what seemed like every moment relieved in fast forward. He glanced to his hands, and even though he stood under the shower spigot, he quietly remembered every drop of blood, every tattered uniform that came across those fingertips.
 He took the odorless soap and began to scrub vigorously over his body and hair. He would've personally preferred a scented soap, but concealment was of paramount importance, as snipers would be out to look for a man who had been freshly cleaned. It would reduce morale and hygiene of his allies, making them more susceptible to disease, should they be discouraged to keep clean for fear of attracting a sniper’s bullet.

As he finished up, he noticed the stubble on his face as he touched his cheeks. He sighed and walked over to a container of disposable razors, designed for communal areas like this, and retrieved a razor and proceeded to wet shave. As he finished up, he tossed the used blade into a large plastic bin labeled “Dirties”. Walking out of the shower in the nude, he walked over to a shelf just outside of the shower room stocked with towels and took one, covering his lower body as he walked back to his bunk to redress.

As he walked back to his bunk, he recalled the events in his mind that got him to this point. As a matter of fact, he hardly remembered why the Earth born, better known as “Assembly of Powers”, or ‘Assembly’, who were in command of the first 4 planets of the Solar System, started the war. They had Earth; they had the asteroid belt, the Moon, Venus, Mercury, all the hospitable planets, albeit most of them were comprised of domed cities. If anything, the Spacers, his people known as the “Space Born Federation” who controlled the rest of the planets and moons, many of them inhospitable and unforgiving, should have been the ones who provoked the war. However, the Earth’s aggression toward the asteroid belt and Martian trade federations started the war. That was 10 years prior.

He now realized that the war wasn’t about the trade system anymore; it was now about political dominance. The Assembly were Kratocratic and were only in power because they had allowed the mining corporations to weasel their influence into seats of power over time, and then in one fell swoop, established the new order on the home worlds. A stark contrast to the Federation, which was a coalition of governments and armies brought together by the aggression of the Earth born; even now, it was hard to tell what the Federation really was, other than highly trained militias and a corps of actual Federal troopers. Everyone else was avolunteer or conscripted, and that led to many desertions...

The timely struggle had taken its toll on the human population. Recruits were getting younger and younger. Eventually, both sides lowered their enlistment ages to 15, to bolster their forces. The population before the war was estimated at 950 Billion people. Now after 10 years, that number was closer to 200 Billion. There were colonies ravaged by the war with such ferocity, that they were soon abandoned, the citizens seeking greener pastures, and in turn, leaving their once safe homes of concrete and terraformed lands to be reclaimed by the void.

 However, any time the two sides would come together for a cease-fire or a peace agreement, there was no cohesion or compromise. The offers were generous on both sides, yet neither could agree. For every single year, the Federation opened a line of communication to the Assembly’s diplomatic embassy, asking for parlay or an agreeance to meet to discuss peace. Each time, The Assembly delayed until the last moment, when they would agree, and the two sides would finally meet.

The last meeting took over 5 months, and they still had not reached an agreement; The Federation rejected the Assembly’s offer of reuniting under their banner and returning to the old system: Political and Economic supervision, down to the last individual. Restriction of public opinion and private enterprise. No sane man would agree to such terms! To be free was the pinnacle of political and societal achievement. No individual had a right to restrict another from exercising his or her free will upon themselves: “The Pursuit of Happiness”, coined from a document of like-minded individuals who once fought for the same rights against an oppressive regime, hundreds of years ago.
Griffin thought about the document in question; remembering the text written upon it that still gave him goosebumps:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, which among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…”

Those words, “Unalienable Rights”, gave him those goosebumps. So much bloodshed to establish freedom then. Still gallons more to be spilt now.

At this point, he had reached the barracks amidst his train of thought. He turned to face his bunk, picking up his new uniform, left there by the orderly on duty, and put it on. He then laced up his boots, and dusted off his combat vest, putting it on as he dried his hair shortly after. From there, he went to the armory, traded in his old rifle for a new one, with a knapsack full of equipment and ammo. He took the time to load each magazine at the bench and organized his webbing for his magazines.
As he finished this, he then walked to an activity room repurposed into the cafeteria. Quietly, he took a metal tray and stood in line behind a few other soldiers waiting their turn to get a meal. As the line moved forward at a crawl, Major Lancer zoned out as he watched the brushed steel bounce the reflection of the light off into the room. A shout and cry of pain snapped him out of his stupor, noticing a pair of soldiers getting into a scuffle; one had tried to wedge his way into the line, cutting a few others. Griffin put the tray down and walked out from the line, separating the men. He then looked to the man who had instigated the fight, and gripped his collar tightly, wrapping each inch of fabric around his thumb and four fingers.
“You new here?” Griffin asked quietly, getting the soldier to focus his busted face at the officer.

- “Yes, sir! 40th auxiliary, company E, Sir.” The soldier responded, a lisp now forming from his busted lip as Griffin shoved the young soldier back.

“You’re not at the 40th. This is SCAR Regiment 6…and in sixth regiment, you follow rules. Get to the end of the line. Now!” He said this as he gave a direct point to the doorway. The soldier said nothing as he walked away, tail between his legs to the back of the line, before walking back to his spot in line and picking up his tray, resuming the line’s movement forward. Griffin continued through the line, and eventually stopped in front of the cook, he held his tray out, and received a compilation of rice and chicken, with what looked like gravy. Griffin gave a grunt of thanks as he walked to the table and sat down, picking up the fork on his tray and digging in. Each bite of food felt heavenly as its warmth pitched itself into his stomach. For a second, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the meal, before carrying on to cleaning his tray. Out of the corner of his eye, he overheard a few soldiers talking amongst themselves.

“We’re not losing the war, dude. Whoever put that thought in your crack-smoking mind needs to be taken out back and shot; we’re on the offensive, and we’re taking back the colonies taken from us before we attack Earth, dude. That’s the only way this will end...”

- “Yeah? Where’d you hear that…? From that propaganda the Federation prints?” The other voice became annoyed as they continued.

“It’s not propaganda if it’s true, man. You of all people should know that…Look where we are! Two years ago, we were cowering in a foxhole on Mars, now we’re at the tip of the spear! We’re gonna win this war and we’ll set things right…individual government for everyone, man.”

- “That’s what they said about Earth, when there were colonies there, Even after that, during the Cold War! They said we’d get freedom if we fought Communism; they turn around and put us in the vise. They said we had to go fight in the Middle East for 50 years…Should have nuked them the minute we got attacked, not 50 years later. We had to go to space to get resources because we fucked Earth to oblivion over resources; we mined where we wanted to mine and created communities underground in those abandoned mines. We colonized space to make the trade routes back to Earth; then this shit happens and now it’s the American Civil War on a galactic scale! ‘Cept this time, I don’t know what side I’m on, man.” The other soldier smiled and shook his head, as if this debate was not worth its time.

“We’re on the winning team, dude.”

- “Winners? What winners? Its war,” a third soldier chimed in, before fading back into the cacophony of soldiers.

They stopped talking after that exchange. Griffin gave a dismayed look at his half-eaten tray, and stood up from it, walking away. Even thinking about the war now made him sick. The fact that morale was still low, even after their victories in the past months had done nothing to change the tide of the war. It was stagnant. The colony they fought on, Hungarias, changed hands back and forth so many times, for so long, no civilians lived here anymore. It had become barren. Dogs roaming the streets had become feral, and the buildings in downtown were susceptible to collapsing. All the years of constant warfare over the changing lines of war had done its toll. The ground was pockmarked with craters the size of city blocks, cracks in the dome above them burst. It was safer to keep your pressurized suits on than risk the sudden collapse of the atmosphere when it happened. At least back then, when it first happened, both sides stopped fighting long enough to patch the hole in the dome or repair sections of it. It was better to work together in an attempt to gain control of the resources than it was to lose them to the darkness that lined the dome outside. There was humanity then. Now was different. The Federation had enough resources massed on the colony and around it to create a spearhead that was cutting through the Assembly forces like a knife. That momentum alone was changing the face of the war in favor of the Federation.

The long walk down the corridors was somewhere between busy and desolate as he trudged along. He still felt fatigued as he entered the Communications center, the buzz of announcements made on the intercom, as well as soldiers preparing their things in staging areas, and the underground tram just beneath them roared as it blasted by, the echo resonating off the walls closest to the stairway leading to the tunnel.

Griffin finally stood in the middle of the communications' center, raising his rifle to get the attention of a few men around him.

“Listen up! I'm going on a mission to relieve the armored divisions on the east side of the city. I need 3 men to come with me!”

For a moment, there was silence. Slowly, men started to walk up to the officer and raise their rifle with him, a sign of leadership and comradery among the men. Eventually, 3 men volunteered to assist the Major in completing the assignment given to them. Quickly, the men stocked up on supplies they needed, and confirmed on meeting near the elevator when they were ready.
Griffin wasn’t too sure about the volunteers. He knew they were well-qualified men, but they weren’t SCARs. One man moving on his own through an urban combat zone was a death wish, and the campaign was relying on men like him to take objectives and hold them. He then looked to the three men and sighed, resigning himself to accept that these men were good enough. He might even be proven wrong.
“Okay. I know I rounded you guys up pretty quick, but we need to get this job done, otherwise, the final push won't be worth a damn thing. Gimme a low-down, who does what...” With that said, the first man to Griffin's left made himself known by raising a hand slightly above his shoulder, before putting it back down. He was tall and lean, and spoke with a drawl, seeming a bit too relaxed for the mission.

“Corporal Howze, Demolitions.” Griffin Nodded to the man and Howze put his hand back down, allowing the next man, a stocky, muscular man to do the same. He was carrying a standard-issue sub-machine gun, and a bandoleer full of grenades.

“Corporal Templeton. Combat Engineer.” Templeton then took a step back to allow the third man, a soldier in a mask-like apparatus and a uniform that covered every inch of skin, holding a sniper rifle to squeeze into the group. His voice was muffled as he spoke. There was a trace of Bavarian in his Accent as he continued.

“Lieutenant Goering. 4th Scout Corps.” As the men introduced themselves to each other, Griffin walked to the elevator and opened the door, allowing his squad to enter. He followed in last, closed the door, and pressed the up button. As the elevator slowly climbed its way to the top, Griffin got the men's attention and began to brief them.

“Alright, then. You all know the mission. We gotta get to the east side of the city and relieve the Armor divisions pinned down at the pass. Reconnaissance reports that we have hell to get through before we link up with the 32nd. There's been whispers that there could also be an Assembly bunker and armor depot somewhere in the area. If we find it, orders are to disable and dismantle it. Info is on a need-to-know basis, so we can get updates at any time. As soon as we get to the top, we stick together. I want everyone to be on the lookout for ambush parties and dead friendlies. Get their tags; we’ll give them to the 32nd. Be on the lookout for snipers as well. Goering, if we encounter a sniper, I want you to immediately break away, set up your rifle, and eliminate the threat. Templeton, Howze and I will provide cover fire.” As soon as he finished his sentence, grunts of affirmation followed. There was a hallowed silence as they progressed up the shaft, until Templeton nudged Griffin with a question.

“Sorry to be a bit nosy, Sir, but I wanted to know exactly what division you're a part of...?” Griffin looked over to his Engineer.
“Its fine, Templeton. I'm actually special forces.”

“You mean you're a SCARs Trooper?”

“That’s exactly it.”
Most of the men knew what SCARs meant. Special Combat and Reconnaissance. They were the cream of the crop for infantry and Special Operations forces. Many of the men involved in this Special Forces unit were known for their deadly efficiency. Griffin was indeed a trained officer of the SCARs teams, which made him not only deadly, but a prized capture, as he as well as other officers of the same caliber had secrets of their military. Due to this, a large number of SCARS and Scout Corps elected to hide their identities. Some even went as far as to undergo cosmetic surgery to remove blemishes and make themselves inconspicuous. Griffin had decided against doing anything of the sort.

The Major stood “6'1”, with broad shoulders, a well-proportioned body, and jet-black hair slicked to the side, although there was always a tuft of hair that fell down to his forehead. From there, you could distinguish its true length, falling slightly past his eyebrow. Much too long for regulation, but he didn't want it any other way. Chiseled facial features and piercing green eyes gave the man a cold, yet purposeful meaning to his actions and words. He was not at all an intimidating man, but he was well respected, not only for his Special Forces status, but also for his leadership qualities, qualities that could only be gained from actual combat. Many officers stayed in the rear and directed operations from there. Griffin was the total opposite, choosing to lead his men into the thick of combat, rallying and supporting his men, much like a lieutenant would, but the thought that a major would do the same was ludicrous.

Templeton simply nodded. The 19-year-old tan-skinned boy only stood at “5'8”, and resembled the frail youth that volunteered to fight. Frail, but determined and strong. His sandy-blond hair and blue-gray eyes showed the story of a broken childhood, and his determination to leave the broken household and make something of his life. From high school, he joined the Trade Academy, in hopes of one day becoming a Transport officer. His priorities changed though, when the AOP dropped bombs on his home-colony of Isis 8, one of 10 colonies that resided on the recently Terra-formed Io. From there, Templeton decided to jump into combat arms, throwing his studies to the wind. Since that day, Templeton was hailed as a war-hero, although he never really believed he was nothing more than a soldier that did his job. He was awarded the Order of Europa, after his unit was involved in the recapturing of the capitol of Europa, his platoon being the first to enter the city gates and create an opening for the armored divisions to spearhead through the city's defenses.

Griffin gave an understanding nod. Templeton was the youngest, with Griffin being the oldest in the group at 36. Howze now had to get in the action and pull out a carton of cigarettes. Griffin and Templeton accepted, while Goering declined the offer. Howze was 29, the second oldest member of the squad. He had been in combat longer, and was a master of rigging explosives, triggers, and tripwires on anything. He was known for keeping an extremely cool head, and even colder hands when handling explosives during a firefight. He wasn't too shabby with a rifle either. If need be, Howze could hold his own against a platoon-sized group of AOP regulars.

He carried with him a rucksack filled with explosives and detonating equipment, along with the standard soldiers load out of ammo, food, first aid kits, and toxin prevention kits. Although he had traded his standard rifle for the tactical submachine gun. It had a limited range, but it was reliable enough to provide quality cover and suppressing fire. As the men began to get ready, Griffin could not help but notice Goering simply standing there as if he was unimpressed.

Goering, as far as Griffin had read into his file, was a child of the military, being bred specifically for his job. His lineage reflected the stereotypical soldier spirit; Dedicated, and willing to fight to the death. Traits that were reflected in many middle and eastern European countries. Goering was only 20, but his maturity out-weighed his age. As far as Griffin was concerned, this scout was worthy of being second in command, if only because of the nature of his profession. Goering wore a different uniform than the others; a skintight camouflaged suit and a face shield with a trio of specialized goggles. What really stood out was this man’s weapon. Goering's weapon was the K-24, a state-of-the-art sniper rifle that could calculate range and windage and automatically adjust for long distance shots. The weapon's round was a VTR, (Variable Tactical Round), with the capability to either expand or maintain its form, depending on the surface it touched. It came in a .338 Lapua hi-power round, which in turn, made the weapon heavy when it was fully loaded with its magazine of five rounds. Griffin could depend on Goering to provide tactical suppressing fire when the time called for it, as well as calling in for assistance from HQ.

Goering turned to look at Griffin, the blue lenses of his mask reflecting his face. He finally spoke once again.
“You staring for a reason?” The Scout asked, the lenses doing a good job of obscuring the eyes of Goering as he looked to this officer.
- “Yeah”, Griffin admitted, “You got a personality under that mask?” Goering was silent for a moment, looking to his rifle to check the retractable scope, before looking to the major.
“Not important. Mission is.” The response was flat and direct, almost offensive. Griffin knew better than to take offense to this man’s response. He had lived the military his whole life and was used to that style of speech.

With that, Griffin nodded. The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Griffin clenched his rifle in his left hand, taking a step out. “Alright. Remember your jobs, and we'll all be coming back. Move out.”

As Griffins new squad started to file out of the elevator, they fell back behind their squad leader. The Major then slowly looked out of the entryway that led to the street. There were no guards posted, and nobody out on the street. Griffin quickly called up Goering, who quickly turned on his goggles to heat-sensing, and quickly scanned the area. After a few moments, he stood up and nodded to Griffin.

“All clear, sir. If we head straight, we'll run into the armored division’s location within the hour.” Griffin nodded and took his weapon off safe.

“From now on, we're weapons free. Stick in a wedge formation, maintain radio contact at all times.” With that, the men formed the wedge, pacing themselves at a slow, but steady jog down the street towards their objective. About four or five blocks later, the jog slowed into a silent strafe. They just entered enemy territory. Their motion detectors that were located on their weapons were blinking at random intervals, revealing that there was either a bunker down underground, or a dirt-keeper, an underground version of an APC, milling about trying to find a good spot to deploy their troops on the ground. Griffin was praying that their immediate location was not the designated point of drop. Griffin raised his fist up, halting the group. He then pointed to Goering to listen in with his radio frequencies. He nodded and quickly turned on his radio. He padded through the frequencies with his transponder and pointed down.

“Supply depot, sir. Underground. The men are evacuating as we speak, falling back to the capitol.” Griffin nodded and looked to his squad. “Let’s take a vote. Do we skip this one or just raid it?” The men individually gave thumbs up, agreeing with taking the depot. Griffin smiled and nodded. “Alright. Let’s raid this depot. Take any spare weapons, maps, explosives and bandoleers you need.” He then pointed to a manhole a few feet away. Quickly, they encircled it, Templeton being the first one to uncover and climb down, their leader being last to enter and arrive at the bottom, a dried-up sewer. From the entrance, it led down a flight of stairs, beyond their sight. Griffin made the symbol for a diamond, and the men got in formation. Quietly, they began to move from the ladder, down the stairs into an atrium, which branched off into two separate hallways. As the leader, he made a quick decision and followed out on it. He ordered Templeton and Howze to pair up, while he and Goering paired up, and entered the left-most hallway, while the other two moved on into the other hallway.

“Sir, the signal is getting stronger. We're getting closer to the signal.” Goering said as the two of them quietly strafed to the door that laid beyond the hallway. Howze's radio buzzed in at that moment, and Griffin, along with Goering, tuned in.

“Major. We found an ammo stockpile, no guards around. We're going to go ahead and rig some charges onto the crates after we commandeer some weapons and equipment.”

“Copy that, Howze. We are right outside a hive of activity. Once you've rigged up your charges, follow our route and give us some backup.” Howze acknowledged and turned his radio off.

At that moment, the two of them reached the door. It was crafted from wood, and it looked weak. Goering quickly started to set up breach charges onto the door, as Griffin primed a grenade. It looked like a metal-plated tennis ball with spikes protruding out of it. He pulled the safety pin and held down the primer. At that moment, Goering had just connected the charges to his detonator. He then set the timer for 5 seconds, giving an all clear with a thumb up as he pressed the button. As the timer counted down, Griffin released the primer just as the charge hit 1 second. As the charge blasted away the door, sounds of commotion and surprise were heard as the major tossed in his grenade. Shouts of alarm were then heard, followed by the distinguishable sound of high-pressured gas escaping, the grenade firing off its flechettes before it detonated, sending shrapnel everywhere. Cries of pain were heard as Griffin charged in, his weapon ready. He ran into a disoriented shock trooper grabbing for his weapon and pounded three rounds into the man's neck and head, ending the man's life. The grenade had cleared out the room, and the subsequent explosion from Howze's charge signaled that half of their objective was completed.  Griffin and Goering spent the remaining time clearing the room and killing off any wounded that were feigning death.

“Heard the boom from the other wall, Major,” Howze said as he stepped over the khaki combat uniform of a dead AOP shock trooper and inspected the damages, “But god-damn, did I miss out on some action.”

“You didn't miss too much; Howze...The grenade I tossed in here seemed to get rid of these guys. Aside from the one, you just stepped over. He got lucky.”

“Yeah, but you only get lucky once” Templeton said as he tapped his foot against the corpse, making sure the man was dead. “We got you a present, sir.” Templeton then reached into Howze's sack to reveal a combat shotgun.
“It’s a Federation model,” Templeton remarked. “I have no clue how this Assembly division got their hands on this. Plenty of shells for it, though, so no worries.”
Templeton then tossed the shotgun to his C.O, along with the shells in a small backpack. Templeton then nodded to Howze, who pulled out a few sheets of paper from his vest pocket. “We got these,” Howze chimed in as he read off the paper. “It seems like their next plan of action was to wait for re-enforcements.”

“So, you're saying these guys were going to turn this place into something permanent?” Griffin asked as he reached a hand out to receive the documents.

“Affirmative, sir.” Howze then handed the documents to Griffin. The major then pocketed it and reloaded his rifle. He checked the body of the man he had just shot, finding a pack of untouched cigarettes. He removed one and lit it, taking a short drag as he once again examined his handiwork.

“Good work, everyone. Howze, rig up charges on the support beams and entrance. Detonate them after we leave.”

- “Yes, sir,” Howze replied, taking out a few bricks of high explosive.

As Griffin finished his cigarette back on the surface, he looked to Goering, who had taken off the gas mask so that he could take a drink of water and smoke a quick cigarette. Griffin observed the man, noticing he was bald, with dull brown eyes and a thick, furrowed brow. His nose was pointy, and his chin protruded as he clenched the cigarette between his lips. His head was bogged down with Nano-tech, wires, and organic circuit boards across the terrain of this man’s head. Goering turned to face the major and gave a bit of a smirk on his face as he stood up, his rifle slung around his shoulders, his mask in one hand, cigarette in the other. He then sat down next to Griffin, putting his half-smoked cigarette out.

“It’s amazing, isn't it? How the big people can lose control over their own little project. Asteroid colony designed to house the miners that worked just outside…turned into a page of history. Three days of hard fighting and we only have forty-five percent of the city captured.” Goering said as he looked up to the sky.

“I agree...Goering, what’s your first name, if you don't mind me prying.” Griffin asked as he too looked up to the sky.

“Harold-Montague Von Goering the 5th. Designated as Unit 275. My friends call me 'Ghost'.” Griffin chuckled at the joke, nodding a bit as he took a deep breath. Gunfire was heard a few blocks away and was starting to intensify in volume. There was a major battle about to happen. Templeton and Howze had just arrived and had sat down to take a short break before they detonated the manhole.

“Alright, Ghost...,” Griffin said silently as he licked his lips somewhat. “...Blue Sky.”

“Pardon? Blue Sky?” Goering asked as he put his mask back on.

“Blue sky...It’s something someone close to me once said. She said that as long as the sky is blue, it doesn't matter how many storm clouds get in the way, you would always see the good that lies in the bad. In other words, as long as the sky is blue, I'm having a good day, regardless of all this shit.”

“I see your logic in that, major,” Goering said as he stood up and unslung his rifle. “From what I know about you, Sir, you've lost a lot of close people these past few years. Am I right?”

Griffin closed his eyes and rested them as he took a moment to answer Ghost’s question. All the faces of his companions and his closest friends who had died during the stretch of war made his fist tighten slightly around the magazine well of his rifle.

“Yes. Although, I still have one companion with me.”

“Really, now? Who is it?”
- “She's a very close friend of mine. She's saved my neck on more than one occasion. A Captain Rei Belle, of the Junker-Class Browning. She left for combat a few hours ago...Makes me wonder what kind of shit she's going through at the moment...”

“Captain Belle, we’ve just exited orbit, executing arms check.” The Skipper announced to his captain.
“Go ahead, Skipper.” She nodded and looked back to her control panel. On the main screen, she could see a dozen or so green blips surrounded around a cross, where her position was. Near the top of the screen, she noticed two red dots that were pulsating.

“H.Q, this is Captain Belle. Making contact with hostile entities. Proceeding to engage.” She said as she turned on the klaxon alarm to alert her crew. She then turned on the universal radio to relay a message to her battle fleet. “Attention, Fleet X-ray, battle stations. I repeat battle stations.”


“So, major...,” Templeton, said as he sat next to Griffin, looking around to make sure that the sounds of battle weren't just across the street from them before he continued. “Tell us about yourself. We're going to be working together until we can relieve the armored divisions, right? Why not break bread and just relax for a moment?”

The explosion of a grenade gave a stark reminder of what was around the corner.

Griffin seemed to smile as he heard Templeton coax him into narrating himself. He nodded and agreed to do so. Howze popped out of the manhole to finally join them, sitting across from his major, his teammate beside him. Griffin took a second to fish in his pockets for a cigarette. Retrieving his pack to find it empty, he sighed and threw it away, before pausing, finding the right way to start.

“Well, I was born on Earth long before this shit ever happened. Relations with both sides were very strained, though. I never knew my parents, since my father died in the service, and my mother died in childbirth. I was a ward of the state from day one. Because of that, the government took me in and raised me to become a soldier, and they sent me off to military school. Got good grades, top of the class. I was going to go to Officer’s Institute, until l got bumped into S.F…before the schism; GASTS was no picnic, and I managed to graduate my first try…But then the schism happened…If you’re old enough to remember Division Day, then I don’t need to go into detail… Even though I was born on Earth, I served the people of the CFF, and I didn’t want to betray the only people I knew, so I defected; pissed off a lot of people in the process... I was on special orders for the Cabinet for a few years, until I got a call from General Amos.”
The staccato of a machine gun punctuated the break in Griffin’s speech as he opened his canteen and took a sip of water before he checked his watch and continued. The sound of the impending skirmish crawling ever closer.
“He noticed my military record and set me up for SCARs training immediately. Due to the lack of experts in the field, and the sudden influx of recruits, I was promoted to a Captain and trained a good number of men…That was fine for me, until they took Mars. I was stationed there when they invaded; and with nobody to lead the recruits there, I was put in charge, and given Major’s oak-leaves…So, nothing glamorous, I was in the right place at the right time…I’m more satisfied with the fact I didn’t lose anyone in the Martian invasion, but…good times end just as they get better, you know? They pulled me out of Mars, put some other yahoo in charge, put me on Meteor duty with Team 6; it was around that time I met my fiancé, Faye Tillman. She was an intelligence field officer in my unit…”

Griffin stopped for a moment as he thought about his next words. There was an infinite amount he could say about Faye; the way she smiled, to how she smelled and tasted. After another burst of machine gun fire, he looked back to Goering and shook his head.
“She knew the dangers of being attached to a forward company. When the Assembly invaded Hesse, we were caught without supplies or support. It was a long campaign, and we lost over half our combat strength...I lost her there. Since then, I’m just trying to make it to the end of this, but it seems like there is no end…”
Griffin stood up now, gripping his rifle tightly in his off-hand. A pang of anger escaped his expression, chills dancing down his back. It was not often he felt emotions this strong; not in a long time.
“We’ve been fighting this war for 10 years, and what have we got to show for it? The front line hasn’t changed much since the start of the war, boys. We’re just holding on to what we got, and if that turns out to be a positive momentum shift, then it’s by God’s will alone. I do not make promises, but I promise all of you now; I will not let you down as your commander. Nobody in this squad dies on my watch today. Even if I have to drag your soul from Charon’s boat myself, nobody dies without my fucking permission, got it?”

There seemed to be a moment of tension between him and his men. Goering watched his major quietly, shaking his head at the information given to him. Templeton nodded along with everything, while Howze seemed mystified by his commander. The gunfire was getting closer, and Griffin turned to see a squad of AoP shock troopers falling back behind a car. Immediately, he snapped the butt of his weapon against the pocket of his shoulder and opened fire, downing two of the men with his rifle. “I'll tell you all later, right now isn't the time! Howze! Blow that bunker!”

With that, the men ran from the manhole while Howze detonated the charges, the manhole collapsing into a crater behind them. Goering turned on his radio to listen into the battle's frequency. It was at that moment; the orchestra chaos had descended upon the entire city block. Friendly air support vehicles danced back and forth above the high-rise rooftops, engaging enemies above them as dogfights broke out above them. The enemy troops scattering through the streets before the squad seemed indisposed with falling back rather than fighting, some of them limping away from the battle, others removing any identification of their uniforms, deserting on the spot. Goering then got the attention of Griffin.

“Sir, our forces are routing an Assembly division on its way to their H.Q. They are currently falling back near the armored division's location. If we flank them here, we can finish the counter-assault and move on our way.” Griffin nodded and quickly rallied his men to charge the enemy position. The small group of AoP shock troopers were no match for the four men as they acted like a spear in the side of the enemy’s flank, systematically took out each pocket of resistance with sprays of suppressing fire. They didn’t need to close in; keeping their heads down for the incoming reinforcements would be enough. The Federation group that had given chase to the AoP division now mopped up the mess with horrific efficiency. As the last man was dispatched, the section leader for the Federation division looked at Griffin’s rank, then back to the man’s face. For a moment, both groups remained silent as they looked at each other. Griffin then spoke up.

“Who's in charge here?” He asked as he reloaded his weapon. The section leader stepped forward from the group, his face obscured by a balaclava. In his hands was a heavy machine gun, and his uniform looked torn up from combat.

“That'd be me, Sir. Corporal Arnold Bronson of the 53rd Federation SCARs Light Foot unit. That was the last of them. Thank you. And you are?” The corporal had half a dozen people, mostly regulars with combat armor on. Only Bronson seemed to be wearing the special issue SCARs uniform. Griffin took a moment to survey the area before he introduced himself.
“Major Griffin Lancer. Special Combat and Reconnaissance unit 6. This is my squad. We need some help. We've got orders to relieve an armored unit from an assault. They're about 5 minutes out. We are suspecting some heavy resistance. Perhaps you can help us out.” Bronson’s' eyes lighted up at the opportunity and nodded.

“Oorah, sir. More than happy to lend a hand.” With that, he rallied his men and pointed to Griffin. “You're in charge, sir. Lead the way.”

Griffin took a moment to light a fresh cigarette, before nodding. “Alright, then. Follow me!” He said as he made the hand motion to move forward. From there, the squad quickly made their way across a few empty streets, stopping at a corner. There was silence for what seemed like an eternity. A few men looked around, shifting their rifles to the other side, checking gear, among other things as Templeton's eyes drifted from rooftop to rooftop.

“...Sir...I don’t think I like being here. We should move...” He whispered to his squad leader. Lancer nodded as he looked to Bronson. He moved two fingers to his eyes, telling him to watch the roofs. Bronson nodded and pointed his weapon to the rooftops. Griffin quickly motioned his squad to move to a nearby alley. As they continued on, their suspicions came true as Assembly shooters would lean out over the roof’s ledges to take potshots on the two columns of soldiers advancing down the alleyway. Griffin and the rest of the section returned fire as they took contact, suppressing, or killing their targets. Slowly, the squad moved forward, with Ghost checking his GPS every few feet. Everyone could hear the distant sound of gunfire exchange as it increased in intensity and volume.

“Objective 600 Meters due South. We're almost there, Sir.” Ghost said as he looked up toward the rooftops, checking to see if they were falling into an ambush. The gunfire became intense and seemed to envelop the squad, as the men emerged from the alley to see four friendly armored personnel Carriers, along with three assault vehicles in a defensive position in front of a pair of large administration buildings.

The soldiers that were outside were bunkering down behind the vehicles and concrete planters in the plaza where their carriers were holding position, as the gunners on top of the Personnel carriers were pounding away at the building with light anti-armor rounds. Gunfire from the building seemed to stem from every window and crevice, and there wasn't an exact location as to where shots were being reported. Bullet holes in the vehicles and the pavement, along with the surrounding area showed the damage the ambush was doing to the convoy, along with the number of wounded from the division increasing steadily. Some of the walking wounded continued to fight, while those who were incapacitated were placed behind a retaining wall, the dead amongst them. Griffin took a second to look at Bronson and the rest of the men, before issuing his order.

“Help the medics with the wounded. I’ll see about our situation.” He announced as he walked amongst the incoming fire as his men tended to the wounded, quickly ducking out of the line of sight as they did so. Griffin made his way inside the lead APC, slapping the Chalk NCO on the shoulder.

“We heard you need some backup.” He said quickly, looking to the buildings as they pounded away at the convoy's position. The soldier seemed a bit shook up but nodded and gave the Major a handshake, before pointed to one of the large buildings.

“They've got snipers, machine gunners, rocket launchers; it’s like a fucking staging area for a counter-attack. They are all bunkered up on each level, and we can't seem to stop these guys from pounding our position! We can't go anywhere, the engine's shot up, and we are running low on ammo. We've been calling for backup, but all the divisions are busy doing their own mission. We've got some wounded that are being taken care of. I want to know if you can get your men into those buildings and clear them out. There is a connector bridge on the highest floor- “
A bullet landed smack dab into the window of the commander’s side of the vehicle. Caught by the ballistic glass, the APC commander then shook his head and continued.
“…We're thinking that’s how they're getting across and surprising us with their random areas of fire. We've got reports of sniper fire in the area too, so you should watch your back...It’s a damn shame we're in a dome, otherwise I would've called in an orbital strike.” The driver looked extremely stressed, and this bothered Griffin somewhat. He gave the NCO another reassuring pat on the shoulder as he pointed to the first building.

“Recompose yourself; you did a good job, Sergeant. For the time being, just stay put, I will get my men to take care of this. Storm Commander Amos is expecting a sit-rep from my team, Call HQ, tell them you linked up with Major Lancer’s team, he’s waiting to send reinforcements.” From there, he ran back outside, amidst the blind fire from both sides, he ducked behind the APC and tapped his head, looking back to the retaining wall where his men waited.

“Squad! On me!” Immediately after shouting this out, the rest of the men converged on his position. From here, he gave the situation.

“Alright, listen up! Those two buildings due south are filled with Assembly troopers, AT, MGs, and the lot. Unknown number of targets, so keep your eyes open! We got reports of sniper fire, so Ghost, I want you to stay here and get up on the rooftops to make an observation post. Templeton, you're his spotter. Everyone else, stick with me, keep your eyes open. You do your job, you make it out alive.” With that, he nodded, sending Ghost and Templeton off to their observation post, a blown-out apartment building with the walls still intact.
Griffin and the rest of the squad quickly made their way across the street, past a section of park, down another alley, and across another street. They quickly halted at a corner, as Griffin peeked around to spot a large piece of tank tread rolling slowly on the ground. His eyes widened from surprise, and he moved his head back to them.

“Shit. We got a tank...Who's the fastest here...” He asked. A hand that belonged to a young recruit came up. He was decked in full gear, helmet, visor, microphone, and all. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he spoke.

“I am, sir. I ran my 2 miles in 11 minutes.”
Griffin nodded and pulled the boy up to the front by his armor chest piece.
“You're going to be our distraction. I want you to get the attention of the tank, and let it follow you. We'll take care of the tank. Meet up with us a block away from the building.”

With that, the young man nodded and sprinted toward the middle of the street. He shouted, waved his arms, yelled curses, and finally, fired his weapon at the tank. The turret pivoted toward the young man, and he in turn sprinted off just in time as the tank fired its weapon at the ground, turning the spot where he once stood into a crater. The young man dashed off, blitzing around the corner as the tank slugged its way forward to circle back around towards the street ahead of it.

As it stopped to slowly turn, the squad climbed on top, with Howze pulling out a pair of grenades. Bronson shoved his machine gun barrel into the small slit where the driver's camera was, and opened fire, destroying all the equipment inside. The tank stopped immediately, the top hatch unlocking and opening quickly. Griffin aimed his barrel down inside the turret, squeezing off his entire magazine. Screams of pain were heard within the metal frame of the vehicle but that didn’t stop their attempt at neutralizing the threat. Howze then quickly pulled the pins, tossing the grenades into the tank, and closing the hatch. The resulting explosion forced open the hatch, and four men from the squad entered, pulling out the dead bodies, keeping their arms with them. A soldier shouted to Griffin as they started up the tank again, tossing out the view camera that was in the little slit, allowing the driver to see.

“We'll take this tank and have some fun, sir. We'll meet up with you lickety split!” The hatch then closed, and the tank started to crawl back to where it once was. Howze, Griffin, Bronson, and the last two soldiers got off the tank and made their way across the block; turning right down an empty street, save for a few demolished vehicles.

As they sprinted down the street, they saw a flight of stairs that led to the two buildings that housed the nest of Assembly troops. There they met up with the light foot soldier, and quickly made their way to the access stairwell. Griffin swapped his weapons for the shotgun that was slung on his back, and shot off the handle and locks, kicking in the door. Immediately after kicking in the door, Griffin met face to face with a pair of soldiers. He quickly aimed his shotgun at one man's face, pounding out a shell; the resulting slugs that emerged from the barrel only had to travel a distance of 6 feet before coming into contact with the first trooper, his face becoming disfigured from the blast. He went down quietly, while Bronson pounded rounds from his machine gun into the chest of the second soldier. He collapsed and heaved a few breaths before becoming silenced, a small pool of blood flowing from his wounds and onto the floor. From here, Griffin picked up one of the men's rifles, slinging it around his shoulder, as he moved up the first three flights of stairs to get to the first floor. Beyond the door, the sounds of machine gun fire could be heard, along with the shouts of an officer.

“Howze, grenade.” Howze nodded and handed Griffin another metal plated spherical grenade. The major then quickly pulled the pin and allowed his demolition man to shoot off the locks, before kicking off the door. This caused some commotion, as the officer heard the gunshots, but it was too late, as Lancer tossed the grenade into the room, watching the spikes fly out of the sphere before the grenade itself detonated. The machine gun was silenced, but the screams of the wounded cried through the building.

The major quickly entered, charging up to the wounded assembly officer, who had a spike impaled through his thigh and was cocking his pistol, and thrust the butt of the weapon into the man's jaw, before finishing him off with a slug into the face. The shock trooper that was crying his lungs out was just a kid. As much as Griffin wanted to end his life, he had compassion, and kicked the boy’s machine gun aside, before kneeling down to search through his kit. He then sighed, pulling out an emergency medical package, a large syringe with faint brown liquid in it, and injected it into the boy's back, the screams subsiding.

“Handcuff him and get him to a medic when we're done.” The major said as he checked around the room quickly. He found a radio and quickly tuned to Ghost's frequency.
“Ghost, this is Lancer. First floor is clear.” There was a moment of silence before Ghost responded.

“Copy that, Major. Floors 2 through 10 are clear. Wait.”  The transmission cut out, followed by the super-sonic reports of the Sniper rifle as it cracked through the building’s floors above Griffin’s position. A few more rounds echoed through the immediate area before the radio transmission continued.
“Heads up, you got some men coming your way from the top floor downward.” With that, the communication was silenced. Griffin rallied his men quickly. He then pointed toward Howze.
“Howze, take that machine gun with you.” The demo man nodded and quickly dangled his sub machine gun along his back, picking up the 15-pound weapon, along with its ammunition belt. He quickly trotted to the access door to follow his squad as they made their way up the stairs. Suddenly, shouts from above were heard, along with the sound of boots scraping concrete and equipment moving around were heard, as well as voices of men in strange accents. They spoke universal, but it was laden with strange pronunciations.

“What the feck just ‘appened? Lieutenant Barros ‘n his crew got weapons jam?”
“I don't think so, Sergeant! I heard ‘n explosion. It might be a Fed’ration raidin’ party.”
“What-ever the devil is, don't let them get to the top floor, or this mission is a bust! We can't let them get to the capitol!”

Howze quickly pushed his commander aside and mounted the gun on the stair rail. As the squad of Assembly troopers made their way down, Howze caught them off guard with a hail of bullets, killing most them, as a small number of them ran back upstairs to escape the ambush. Bronson and the two other soldiers brushed past Griffin and Howze as they made their way up the stairs, chasing the assembly soldiers back up.

“Wait!” Griffin shouted as they charged on. The major quickly slapped Howze's shoulder, telling him to follow. Howze abandoned the gun, and readied his submachine gun, while Lancer swapped his weapons to his standard issue rifle. They quickly gave chase, until they felt an explosion just a floor above them. Griffin took point and slowly crept up to the door, before walking into a mess of bodies. Three dead soldiers lay on the ground in a wedge formation; their uniform color was unmistakably gray. The rest of the men were khaki colored, but their bodies were too burnt to recognize.

“God damn it all!” Howze shouted as he checked Bronson's body, along with the other two soldiers. “...It was a suicide rig. As soon as they entered the door, the whole room went up in shrapnel. There was no way they were leaving alive.” Griffin walked up to the dead and charred Bronson, and rolled him over, pulling off his tags, then moved to the other two soldiers, removing their tags as well.

“...That makes 5.” Howze said silently as he checked for ammunition. Griffin bit his lip once again.

“5 too many,” Griffin said as he looked to Howze, then to the younger soldier, who was out in the stairway, smoking a cigarette quietly. He knew it must have been the boy's first mission. The look in his eyes were too frightened to be a seasoned veteran. Griffin then rested his hand on Howze's shoulder.

“Go check the next floor. We'll be with you in a few.” Howze nodded and ran up the stairs, leaving the boy and Griffin alone. Griffin sat down next to the young man and without missing a beat, picked over a dead Assembly soldier laying on the landing, finding a pack of cigarettes. He smiled, placing one of them in between his lips. He then checked his pockets for a lighter, cursing as he realized he had lost one of his good Zippos.

“...Shit...Hey...do you have a light...” He asked calmly. The young man nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out a zippo. His hand shook as he flipped the top and let the major light his cigarette. A plume of smoke escaped the major’s lips as he exhaled, pointing to the boy as he spoke.

“I know you're shaken up. He was your leader. We have a short time to live, and this war is only making it shorter…What’s your name?” Griffin asked finally. He did not bother to ask for names unless he knew the kid was an asset, or he knew he was going to make it through his mission. The major was going to make it a point to keep him alive. The young man took a short drag before looking to the major.

“It’s Jeffrey Deber, Sir...Corporal...” The boy shut up shortly after giving his name, returning the cigarette to his lips, taking another short drag. Griffin slowly nodded and took a long drag of his cigarette, looking upstairs.

“Well, I'm Griffin Lancer, Jeffrey. I'm a Major with the SCARs unit...I shouldn't be here. Just like you. You're maybe only 20 at the most, am I right?”

The boy nodded.

“Well...Look at it this way. You become a politician, and you never forget this moment. You remind your fellow men what you did here today. How many dead and dying bodies you've seen today. I've seen too many to remember when I shot my first man...But, I just live moment to moment. Just like you should. You do not forget what I'm telling you now, because one of these days, when this war is over, and the people go back to their daily lives, they will forget about what happened here. But we won't. I pray that we don't.” With that, he stood up and offered a hand to the boy.

“So, let’s get this done.” Jeffrey smiled and took his hand. He stood up and cocked his weapon.  There seemed like there was something that needed to be said, but no words were exchanged as they made their way up the floors to the top. It was oddly enough, empty. Griffin walked to a table in the middle of the room, showing battle plans. The cackle of a radio caught his attention.

“Commander Taylor, this is General Winston. We're receiving orders from President Yamato. They want us to fall back to the capitol at once. Commander! Do you copy? This is General Winston; I say again, pull out now! The Federation is over running our defensive posts! Meet back at the capitol ASAP!”

Griffin smirked somewhat, as he looked outside to see the armored divisions finally had all the help they needed. Entire companies of Federation soldiers were arriving; the reserve line had been called and were securing the area, with more heading towards the buildings.

“Okay! Let’s get across that walk bridge and make our way down.” Griffin then went to the access door to the bridge, and opened it, revealing a maze of crates. As soon as the door was opened, they were met with machine gun fire, followed by the shouts of an officer, directing fire, and telling the last of his men to bunker up. Griffin raised his weapon above a crate and began to blind fire the entire area.

“Squad! Move up! Let’s take out this position!” Griffin entered the crate maze first, running down the small wedges into a clearing where they met a group of men opening fire. Griffin swapped his rifle for the shotgun, raising the weapon around the crates, pounding out shells in the enemy's direction. He heard a grunt of pain, but the gunfire continued above their heads and toward the corner. Griffin flipped his shotgun on its back, pushing the slide down to open the feeding chamber. He reached into his bandoleer and fished out several shells, pumping them into the feeding tube. He then flipped the shotgun back onto its belly, shoving the slide forward, loading a fresh shell in. He then resumed to slam-fire at their position, until the gunfire at the corner ceased.

From there, they made their way to the corner, being met by another squad across the way. They were too close for weapons, so they began to engage in close quarters combat. Howze and Jeffery unsheathed their combat knives, while Griffin locked up with the Assembly shock trooper. The major shoved the barrel against the man's throat, forcing his squad back around another corner. He got a good look at the man's face. He looked to be about the same age, with piercing blue eyes and a five o'clock shadow. His teeth were yellow from consistent smoking, and his hair fell past his face. They struggled for a moment, before Griffin finally over-powered the man, slamming the weapon against the man’s throat even more, the sound of flesh tearing from within. The man choked, and quickly passed out from a crushed trachea. The next man in the assembly squad charged at Lancer with his knife, and was met with a rifle butt, being knocked down. Griffin stepped over the man while Howze finished the job, meeting up with the next man, thrusting the butt into his forehead, the man falling down lifelessly. As they rounded the next corner, they encountered a machine gun. Griffin pushed his squad back behind the corner as he kneeled down.

“Fuck...” He muttered as he slowly moved up around the corner. But before he could lean out to get a potshot, the walls around him seemed to crumble away, as the sunset peeked through the craters. There was a good view outside, and down below on the street, a friendly Armored Personnel Carrier was firing its rounds almost 80 feet upwards into the connecting bridge, spraying the entire area and leveling it down to the floor. Then, finally, silence sang its heavenly tune for a few moments, until the APC loudspeaker came on.

“Major Lancer. If you're okay, raise your hand outside of the wall.” Griffin got up and slowly extended his hand outside.
“Good. Sir, we’re on the way to the capitol. We need your help. As soon as you get back down here, we can continue our push.” With that, Griffin looked to Howze and Jeffrey.

“...When we're done here, I'll be recommending you boys for medals and promotions. You deserve it.”

The now large contingent of vehicles, armor and troops pushed their way through roadblocks toward the large marble building that lay before them. The Capitol of the Martian colony of New Paris, where the government had capitulated and surrendered themselves to the Assembly of Powers just 2 years ago, the Federation was now about to pry their grip on the planet away from them.

Griffin had left Howze, Ghost, Templeton, and Jeffrey, and was transferred back into a SCARs unit. He sat there in the bed of a moving truck, sitting amongst shady masks and even shadier personalities. His cigarette smoke flowed freely out the back as he stared toward the sky, seeing explosions from a distance. Rei was up there, fighting her war, doing her job like the one she was taught to do. He knew it never got any easier for a ship officer, especially the policy of going down with the ship, he never understood that...


“Direct hit, Captain! That’s another enemy cruiser down!” The skipper shouted through his telescope. The radar on her screen showed that their forces were over-whelming the enemy. From the looks of things, the enemy was turning tail, as she had guessed. However, as soon as they thought the worst was over, the enemy cruiser returned with the rest of its fleet, a larger armada than theirs could ever muster. Captain Belle bit her lip as she pointed to the Skipper.
“Flanking speed, flank left.” From there, she got on the radio and changed frequencies to her battle group commander.
“Lightning 2-Zero, this is Browning 8-Seven. We're going to flank around, we’d like some rallying assistance.”
“Browning 8-Seven, Lightning 2-Zero. Affirmative, performing rallying flank.”
Now all Rei had to do was wait and pray that their movement would confuse the enemy armada, and they could buy enough time to get the rest of the fleet on her tail to follow through on the attack.

As her ship rolled onto its left to turn into the enemy’s right flank, she could see a destroyer just above her, belonging to the enemy now lurching across her ship’s top as it fired a salvo of cannon fire. The sudden impact of the projectiles on her ship caused her vision to blur suddenly, as the concussive force knocked her and some of the rest of her bridge crew on their knees and backsides, fighting to get back up as various alarms and klaxons blared in her ears.

“Skipper, Damage assessment!” She bellowed as she pulled herself back up to her command chair. The skipper adjusted his glasses as he read the diagnostics on his screen, a look of panic crossing his face, before typing in a few commands.

- “Hull breach in section A-2, sealing it off now. Weapons systems at full capacity.” He said as he looked back to his captain. Seconds passed, before Captain Belle gave the order.

“Roll 120 degrees starboard and fire at that ship aloft!” she shouted as she then took ahold of her communications phone, relaying a message to her crew.

“All hands, prepare for flanking speed!” She shouted as she then looked back to her gunnery officer. “Get your men to fire on my command!”
- “Aye Ma’am!” The gunny bellowed as she then got on the horn herself.

“Fire on command! Fire on command!” The voice echoed through the metallic frame of the ship as the sensation of turning was felt. The frame of the ship creaked and moaned as it rolled to aim its guns at the Assembly destroyer what seemed like feet away. Rei kept her hand on the talk button to her speakerphone, waiting until the bridge was even with the opposite ship. As it passed the threshold, her eyes widened with fear and anger as she gave the command.

“FIRE!”


“Okay! SCARs; get the fuck out of the truck! We're dropping off here!” With that, the men got up and jumped out of the moving vehicle, running to the side of the road to meet up with who most men called the “Machine Man”.

Brigadier General Oliver was one of the meanest men that was comprised of the SCARs unit. One side of his head was replaced with metal, and the bolts were seen on the side of his head, the only side that didn't have hair on it. It shined in the light, and because of that, he had to wear a cap to cover his position. His left eye was missing and was replaced with a robotic one. He walked with a limp from an artillery explosion that occurred too close to him and blew off his leg. Half his face from the cheek down was revealed, his teeth left out in the open from a lucky shot by a sniper that tore open his cheek, and yet, after all of that, he was still fighting, standing up, ordering, and killing. Griffin kneeled beside his general, his weapon tucked gently in his arms.

“Alright, listen up shitheads! We are going on a little mission. Orders are to infiltrate the capitol from behind and render the defenses useless. We are going to pair up with some Federation Militia. You had better watch your back, and if you see anything out of the ordinary, it’s an ambush, remember? Okay, get the fuck up and kick rocks!” As Griffin got up to move out, the general gripped his uniform and pulled him back to where General Oliver was standing.

“Griffin. Helluva job in that suburb earlier today. I have to give it to you; you're one of the most motivated soldiers in the unit. If that armor division didn’t break through, we’d still be in the ‘burbs cleaning up our guts... I know you're tired kid.  You'll get your rest soon enough...Afterwards, I've got a job for you. See, I've been thinkin' of retiring from the SCARs unit...You can tell she's done her toll on me. What SCARs needs is a leader who is tough, decisive, and straight to the point. You're my man, Griffin. We need men like you putting plans on the map.” Lancer shook his head and sighed.

“We’ll see what happens, Sir. This campaign isn’t over yet.”

- “You just watch your ass for this skirmish. Don't want you dying on us, Major. C'mon, link up with the rest of the boys.” with that, Griffin took off behind his men, his general looking on in pride and assurance that the job would be done...

Griffin quickly filed up behind his squad as they stopped near a corner, just a block away from the rear entrance. From this distance, one could see the courtyard of the capitol building, surrounded by barbed wire, machine guns, anti-armor, pillboxes, and sniper posts on the rooftop. Griffin bit his lip somewhat, looking to the man next to him.

Colonel Stout was what one would call a “College soldier”. After graduating from college, he was picked up and given a colonel's ranks, whereas Griffin entered a military academy and had earned his ranks the hard way, while this guy had gotten his ranks from signing a piece of paper.

“Sir...I can get sniper fire to take out those posts on the rooftop, and then we can set up our machine guns just across the way...” Griffin whispered to the colonel. The man looked to him, his face white as a ghost, but his eyes showed that he was determined.

“Negative, major. I know what I'm doing. We'll get support units to draw the enemy's fire, then blow up a section of barbed wire...After that we-”
The colonel suddenly fell, blood dripping from the bridge of his nose; his eyes wide open with surprise, though no life was left. A second later, a gunshot was heard, and everyone hit the ground.

“Sniper! Everyone spread out!” A sergeant yelled as he pulled the collar of a private across the street behind a wall. All hell had broken loose, as the Assembly Snipers began to open fire on the mass of Federation troopers. Griffin hit the dirt right beside his dead colonel. He reached into his uniform blouse to retrieve a map and radio codes, pocketing them as he then took his dog tags.

Quickly, amidst the sniper fire, he reached into the knapsack of the officer’s kit, pulling out his bandolier. More than enough to take care of business. He waited for a moment to allow the snipers to fire, as there would be a delay between shots. As the snipers fired once again, Griffin stood up and sprinted toward the back of a general store out of sight of the snipers. He pressed his back against the corner, looking around. Immediately, he saw a small squad of demolition men and machine gunners huddling behind a dumpster just across the street. Griffin cupped his mouth with his hands and called them over. As they rushed across the street, an explosion rocked the immediate area, the crater emerging in the middle of the street.
“Shit...We gotta find a way to draw their fire.” One man said as he leaned out of the corner to give a few pot shots towards the sniper. The corner of the building burst into dust and cinder block, and the man fell back behind the corner, swearing up a storm. Griffin looked at the door and came up with a quick plan. He aimed his newly acquired carbine at the lock, shooting it off. Quickly, he entered, seeing that all the windows were boarded. He turned back to the men, pointing toward the street.

“Get suppressing fire on that courtyard. I don't want a damn soul moving around over there, got it?” He was met with affirmations, and he gave them the signal to move out. From here, he ran back to the boarded windows, prying one off as he watched his men begin to suppress the sniper posts and other defensive positions in the courtyard.

He slowly crouched, shouldered his rifle, his thumb switching the safety off. From here, the sights on his weapon locked in on a masked enemy sniper from the roof. Griffin took a deep breath and held it, as his finger squeezed the trigger, the round hitting its target as the soldier rolled over the edge of the rooftop, falling to his death. Lancer's eyes then scanned the rest of the courtyard as he adjusted his position, shifting to another window to resume firing.

He then moved his sights to zero in on a machine gunner that was returning fire to the squad he had ordered. He repeated the process of holding his breath before squeezing the trigger, the soldier's head exploding in a cloud of red as his body became lifeless, the power of the round pushing his cadaver off the mounted gun, as the spent round stove piped into the action. The major then pulled the bolt back and slapped the magazine releasing the bolt to allow the weapon to catch a new round, before taking aim at another target, downing one after another.

By this time, he noticed that his men were just across the street, setting demo charges to a section of wire. Griffin got up and ran back outside, sprinting across the street under small arms fire, ducking behind a small section of sandbags as he watched men set up the demolitions. Another sniper had taken position just southwest of their position, opening fire. His rounds tearing through the backs of the men trying to set up the charges. Griffin emerged from his position, taking aim on the sniper. He squeezed the trigger, the round exploding out of the barrel. However, the man didn't fall over. He had missed his shot. The sniper was now aware of his presence. Griffin had nowhere to fall back to that would allow him to get a better angle on him. So, Lancer did the sensible thing, and took aim once again, hoping his shot would hit the man before the sniper could get a shot off. As he aimed down the sight, he saw a flash of a muzzle, and he ducked down behind the sandbags just in time, as the round pierced through the low-power scope, shattering the glass. The rest of the SCAR unit were hiding down behind a wall, waiting for their commander to take out the sniper. Major Lancer made an audible growl as he pulled the ruined scope off the rail, flipping up the iron sights. Griffin took another moment to wait for the sniper to fire again, as it would take him a moment to re-orient himself after the powerful blast.

As soon as the sniper decided to pop off another round, he rose up from his cover, and pounded out three shots as fast as his finger could squeeze the trigger. Off in the distance, he could see the sniper fall backward onto the building's roof. At this moment, the gunfire had stopped, and the demolition team could move in and blow the section of wire. A soldier ran toward Griffin, a radio in his hand.

“Sir! It’s General Oliver! He wants to speak to you.” The soldier said. Lancer nodded and took the radio.
“This is Major Lancer, General.”
“What’s your status, Major?”

“SCAR Team Four has just breached the outer walls and are moving into the compound. We are going to breach the door in a few moments. Colonel Stout is KIA. I am in Command, over.”

“Alright, Major. The main force has just entered the front, and they're getting torn up from the pillboxes and barbed wire. We'll be joining you boys inside shortly. Be careful, major, the rest of the Assembly ground forces are inside that compound. All five floors and the cabinet. Orders are to eliminate all threats, capture and detain officers if possible.”

“Affirmative, Sir. I copy. Lancer out.” With that, Griffin handed the soldier the radio, and jogged up to the unit that was about ready to breach the door. He pulled out a grenade and readied it, holding down the safety lever.

“Keep your eyes open when you get inside. You boys do your jobs; you'll make it out alive!” From there, the point man readied his shotgun and shot at the lock, the door swinging open from the force. Griffin then tossed his grenade in, the explosion creating a plume of smoke that billowed out the back. He readied his weapon and smacked the shoulder of the first man.

“Okay! Go, Go, Go!”

The soldiers rushed in, firing rounds to clear out the hallway, and in almost no time flat, the back door and hallway were clear. Griffin pointed to a young lieutenant, a short, dark-skinned individual.

“Take half of the group and get up to the rooftops, disable the defenses up there. Afterwards, secure the perimeter.” The officer nodded, and pointed to the men he wanted, rushing up towards the top, opening fire on any stray Assembly soldiers that were bunkered down. Griffin took his men and moved downstairs, encountering a dead body. The men stopped and looked at it for a moment.

“He must've been a traitor...” One man said. Griffin turned to the man and nodded his head.

“You might be right. They're going to fight to the death...” With that, he continued moving downward, coming to a steel door. He looked to the demolition crew, as they rushed up to set explosives on the hinges and weak points. Griffin quickly ordered his men to take defensive positions facing towards the door, as the crew rigged the wires. As they moved behind the fire teams, they set off the explosives; the metal door falling forward, the resounding crash of steel upon concrete deafened the men's ears. As soon as the door fell, the Assembly soldiers who were defending the capitol with all they had opened fire on the Federation invaders, knowing they would not leave alive. As Griffin's fire team returned fire, the demolition team pulled out explosive charges that resembled sticks with a large bulge in the middle, with pins poking out of the top. They all quickly lit their explosives, and then quickly tossed them into the entryway, ensuring that the aggressors’ retaliation was met with extreme force.

The shock of the blast knocked the Federation SCARs Major, as well as the rest of the troopers onto their backs, as the dust began to flow freely from the opening. The gunfire ceased. This conjured up curiosity from Griffin and the men that were with him; He had to check his fellow men.

“Anyone hurt?” He asked aloud as he then turned to check his crew. Silence. A lucky break. He stood up and reloaded his weapon before taking a few steps forward toward the entryway.

As he placed one foot forward, a blinding flash of light caught him off guard, followed by sharp, intense pain and heat that resided in his chest, the pain worse than anything he had ever encountered in his entire career. He had been shot, a final effort by the defenders to fight to the death. Cries of his men began to echo slowly into his mind, his vision blurring into darkness. As he blacked out, he could see blood slowly pooling out of his chest, his heart now beating inside of his throat, his eyes trying to stay open as his body began to bleed out.

With vision returning, his body covered entirely in his blood, he saw a soldier kneel beside him, a dark blue cross on his forearm on a white background. A medic. His vision slowly dimmed once again, as he heard distant voices urging him to “Hold on”, and “Keep breathing,” A task that was easier said than done for Griffin. As he felt warm hands on his cold wet chest, he felt a piece of fabric applied to his body, followed by a few pieces of medical tape, as he saw the medic cut it from the roll it originated from. As the medic finished his work, Griffin's eyes could not stay open any longer, and they closed slowly, his body finally receiving what his mind was wishing for; A rest.


“Powell! Hurry up! Get this guy on the fucking transport!” A medical technician shouted from the doorway as Powell and another soldier carried a motionless body out into the warm artificial daylight. From outside, the flag of the Assembly was torn down, and replaced with the red, gray, and white wreath of the Federation. Cheers were heard as Powell finally got the man inside the holding chamber in the medical transport. He quickly pulled out a computer diagnostic palm pilot that had attached to it a small pad, where he quickly placed on the man's arm, as the electrical impulses read out the man's condition. The medic then removed the palm pilot, sending the information to the field hospital, before closing the door.

The inner chamber then suddenly dropped twenty degrees, an effort to preserve tissues and blood loss that the injured soldiers had sustained. After shutting and securing the door to the holding chambers, Powell quickly got in the co-pilot seat of the transport, closing the cockpit door, as the transport lifted, hovered, then quickly gained altitude from its idle position, before taking off toward the field hospital.
“God damn, man...This is the heaviest load we've had to take to the field hospital this week. Those Assembly soldiers just never quit...” Said Corporal Bates, Private Powell's partner, said as he puffed slowly on a cigarette, navigating through crumbled buildings and derelicts. The Private said nothing as he looked to his bloody hands. He was getting used to the smell of gunpowder and the dead. The transport carefully turned a corner, entering an empty train tunnel, where an ambient light showed the way to the medical facility. The transport quickly landed, opening the transport compartment, a team of medical officers and technicians taking soldiers out and quickly getting them to surgery. A nurse had a checklist of all the wounded as she counted them off.

“Albert, Azusa, Bixby, Browning, Carlson, Davidson, Dennison, Dickerson, Dustin, Dyson, Erich, Ericson, Falcone, Feuerman, Finley, Greyson, Jackson, Jones, Jinmen, Kilroy, Krubilovic, Lancer.” She sounded utterly hopeless as she checked the names off the list, watching each man pass her eyes, as they slowly teared up. She maintained her tone of voice, not once cracking as the medics quickly closed the compartment door and took off. The young nurse looked to the last man. Lancer. She checked the name again.

Name: Lancer, Griffin, A.
Age: 35.
Rank: Major, Combat officer.
Unit: SF-SCAR-325.
Diagnostic Results: Collapsing lung. Massive blood loss. Broken sternum. Organ damage.
Prognosis: Report to surgery immediately.
Survival Ratio: 12% Chance of survival.
Additional Notes From Diagnostic: Lost cause.
Family: None.
Next of kin: None.
Insurance beneficiary: Faye Tillmann.
Checking for status of beneficiary: *******
Awaiting access...
...
...
...
ACCESS CODE: *********3458
Beneficiary Status: Deceased.
Funds transferred to morticians and autopsy technicians.
----END TRANSMISSION----


“Major Lancer...” A voice called from beyond the recesses of his consciousness, from somewhere deeper, as if there was another force at work. Griffin saw nothing but darkness in front of him, but the voice sounded like it was right beside him, leading the way.
“You're lucky to be alive. Can you hear me?” The voice turned into a hand, resting on his shoulder. Slowly, his eyes opened to the bright light that hovered above his head, a feminine voice called out to him again.

“Major.”
As the officer's eyes opened finally, he realized he was not laying on his stretcher, but was laying on top of a white table, inside a white room, with what seemed like there was no entry nor exit. The lights seemed to come from an unseen source, but the voice seemed to resonate from behind his head. Slowly, he turned, his eyes resting upon a young female, no older than nineteen. Her face veiled by a mask that resembled a demon, yet her gray eyes seemed to be filled with endless age and knowledge, along with a piercing fear that Griffin experienced. His eyes met hers, and slowly, his lips separated to create words, yet the only thought that could be spoken was,

“...What is this?” His voice raspy from the apparent lack of speech. The young girl tilted her head as if she did not understand, yet responded to his question, her eyes staring straight though Lancer's.

“You are in your subconscious, in a state of a consistent dream world, conjured by the massive trauma your body has received. You are having a death experience. Literally, as we speak, your body is shutting down. If your body dies in this plane of existence, you will never wake up from this dream. If you die in the conscious world, you will not leave, and will be taken to the netherworld for judgment.”

Griffin instinctively attempted to reach for his cigarettes in his left jacket pocket, but he realized he was wearing a white jumpsuit with no pockets to be seen. His entire outfit, appearance, and build resembled to when he was in his prime, his early twenties.
“How do I wake up from this dream?” The girls head slowly tilted towards the other side, her light blond hair bobbing back and forth in its ponytail as she did this.

“In order to awake from this experience, you must first consult your inner child.”
“Which is...”
“Me. I am your inner child. Your inner child is the first object, person, or idea that represents significance. You met this little girl back on Mars. You were patrolling a market, when you ran into her. Her name was Jennifer Solus. She is significant in your life because she is the first casualty you encountered in war. If you do not remember, a stray explosive killed her. You picked up her lifeless body and carried her to the medical tent. You were too stricken with battle stress to comprehend that she had passed onto another realm. This is where you realized your fragile existence in this plane of reality. Yet you were determined to find out more about this young girl. You requested leave, and finally tracked down her parents...”

At this moment, she pulled out a small medallion, one that resembled the zodiac sign of Aquarius. Plated in gold, it reflected off all the light in the room, bouncing off the pupils of the child.

“When you handed them the medallion, what did they do, Griffin?” She asked softly as she held it in front of his face, the medallion's luminosity bouncing off all the light in the one-dimensioned room. Griffin's eyes lit up somewhat as he smiled.

“They embraced me.”
- “He's flat-lined!” Said a nurse, applying a bandage to the open wound in Griffin's chest.
“Son of a bitch! Get me the adrenaline! I'm not losing this officer!” Said the doctor as he cut off the destroyed tissue with the scalpel. A nurse quickly handed the doctor the large needle of adrenaline, and he promptly shoved the needle straight into his heart, injecting it. His heart began to pump once again, and the doctor was relieved.  “Okay. Get me the sponge. We're almost done here...”
Griffin fell forward, grasping his heart as he suddenly had a chronic cough. As it cleared up, he looked up to his inner child.

- “W-.... What happened....” He gasped, standing back up slowly. The girl gripped the medallion in her hand tighter as she bit her lip.

“They're trying to save you. I fear that I do not have much time left to explain your purpose in this life.” Griffin looked to her with slight astonishment. He remained silent as she continued.

“Yes. They embraced you for being the soldier that you are. But you remember the next day, don't you?”
- “Yes. I came to visit them, and-”
“Dead.” The child said with a slightly cheerful tone in her voice. At this point, her head righted itself, and she had sat down in an imaginary chair. “They died because you helped them. From that moment on, you closed yourself off to the world.”
-“...”
“Do not blame yourself. It is your purpose in life to contemplate your actions, then repent and rise through your misfortunes. You were born under the sign of the Romani. Forever wandering, questioning, and searching for something that pleases you. A horrible life to live. Nevertheless, the true talent of the Romani emerges in times of duress. Namely, conflict and war. They are the ones labeled 'War heroes', but it’s their birth sign, the coordinates of the sun and constellations and galaxies that determine the existence of an individual. For you, your case is very stunning...”

“What the fuck are you talking about...?” Griffin muttered as he became very cross with the girl. The inner child began to laugh as she pointed at him.

“You said a naughty word!” She said giggling for a moment before composing herself to continue. “What I am trying to explain is, your purpose in life is to change the world. People like you are rare, indeed. People like Adolf Hitler, or Vlad the Impaler are an example...I never said change was good.” She seemed to trail off at the end of the last sentence, seeming ashamed to say it. Griffin tilted his head, somewhat like the little girl, before he nodded slightly.

“So, then what do I do with my purpose? How do I bring change...?”

“At this moment, you are stuck between becoming a general, and working for the black operations division. Become a general. Lead your men into victory. But we shall see if you can survive this traumatic event you have just experienced...” At this moment, the little girl removed the mask that veiled her face, revealing the burnt face of the child he had tried to save so many years ago. “She would've been nineteen, Major. She wanted to be a librarian. Her favorite book was Paradise Lost.”

“Where do you get this information?” Griffin asked softly as he tried to hold back tears. He didn't look at the girl, he was too torn up inside to allow himself to view the body once again.

“That’s a silly question to ask, Griffin…I’m your inner child.”
--

- “He's stable, doctor.”
“Thank God. Get him to recovery. He's a lucky bastard.” The doctor removed his blood-soaked gloves, mask, and coat as he sat down on the chair in the corner of the room. He was on break for the moment. He was proud of his work. “The only seriously injured soldier to actually be saved and remain an efficient soldier. My training payed off here...”
Suddenly, the inner child gasped and fell to her knees, pain coming to her eyes. Griffin quickly rushed to her side, cradling the young girl in his arms.
“What’s wrong...?”

“My time to consult you is over. You have been saved. I hope that you have learned more about your purpose in this life. Remember, the stars determine your destiny. For you, hell is a continuous cycle that you live. Nevertheless, do not be discouraged, for success comes in little droplets of rain, and patches of blue sky. Faye was a wise woman...”

“...Answer me this, then.”

“What is your question...” the child spoke softly, blood coming out of her mouth as she continued to speak, her breathing becoming labored.

“...Will I see her again...?”

“Yes. In the afterlife...but for now, focus on your task at hand; others will fall in line behind you...”
Griffin nodded somewhat and smiled.

“Thank you.” From here, he slowly took his inner child's hand, and allowed her to die peacefully. Their eyes met and locked. They remained this way for what felt like an eternity.

Then, darkness.


[Six Hours Later]
[Assembly Strike Force “Gecko” Infiltrates Federation Hospital tasked with recovering essential sources of information.]
The silence of the hospital gave a hallowed feel to the subterranean facility as the Strike team descended from the vents, fast roping to the ground of the morgue level. They dressed in a subdued camouflage scheme, reds, greys, and browns adorning the uniform in various patterns as four commandos prepped their suppressors on the weapons they carried.
“We got 5 minutes before the Federation realizes what’s happening down here. We need to be gone before then.” A voice stated coolly through her breathing apparatus. “Sanchez, Kill the power.”
Another masked trooper quickly made his way to the power node in the room, before quickly readying his knife and chopping the main line to the box. This shorted the building, as the service lights came on after a short power up of a distant generator. They didn’t wait for this to kick in, however, and made their way quickly and quietly down the hallways, searching patient records before stopping at the recovery room, its beds filled with resting and healing soldiers. They were on the lookout for one individual. The team leader looked upon the series of beds and checked the clipboards. She shook her head as she scanned the names until she stopped at a bed with a new inpatient. She then checked the patient record.

“SCARs Major. This one.” The rest of her team unhooked the body from the machines and carried him to extraction. The team leader then lifted her hand in the air and gave a thumb down.
“Kill everyone. No survivors.” With that, she carried the body of the unconscious Griffin into the waiting VTOL craft, while the rest of the team proceeded to execute all the patients and staff, the hallways echoing with the reports of weapons fire and distant screams.
--

As Griffin's eyes slowly opened to see a window, he noticed that his body was in intense pain, but the reflex to scream was maintained, as the pain killers kicked in immediately after becoming self-aware. His eyes seemed to be blinded by the moderate light that was coming in, and he felt somewhat stiff from his ordeal. Suddenly, he looked back outside of the window, seeing the flag of the Assembly hoisted at a flagpole no further than 100 yards away from him. His gray uniform was laying on the chair across from his bed, however, and in this moment, he was utterly confused.

Until the door opened in front of him. A female nurse entered, dressed in the assembly's khaki uniform skirt and blouse, with a red cross on the sleeves, carrying a tray that held bandages, anti-biotic, a sponge and a small pitcher of water, along with a glass. She seemed extremely friendly, although the soldiers passing through the halls seemed entirely vicious and aggressive.

“It’s about time you got up, Major...” She said softly as she took the moist sponge from her tray, dabbing it gently across his forehead. Griffin was somewhat oblivious to the machines he was hooked up to, and the bandages that needed changing. “For a moment, the general was worried he would lose you. You're extremely valuable cargo...” She said as she finished dabbing the sponge on his head. She slowly pushed him back and he complied. If he was getting treatment, he was going to be submissive. It’s what was taught to him in the uniformed manual. He knew at this moment, he had been captured while he was incapacitated from surgery, and was whisked away to another medical facility, one that was sympathetic to the Assembly's causes. Regardless if the treatment was good, he had to escape when the opportunity presented itself.

“How long have I been out...?” Griffin asked finally, as the nurse replaced the bandages on his chest. Her hands were soft, cool, and silky as they gently padded and ran against his chest. The nurse had to be under her mid-twenties, as her eyes still reflected the well realized innocence and youth that was fading away with this war, as each member of the youth died for an elder, an elder who wanted nothing more from this war but greed and ego. The nurse smiled and looked the Major into the eyes. She seemed un-intimidated by the man, and she gave a friendly giggle.

“Well, considering it took us two days to set your room up like this, and now that you're on Mars instead of that filthy colony-”

“Mars?” Griffin shouted in disbelief as he jumped back against his bed. The EKG machine beeped wildly, reflecting his surprise.

“You've been out for three weeks. This planet will be invaded soon, and because of this, you're going to be tried as a prisoner of war...” She said, trailing off, as she slowly handed him the glass of water. Lancer didn't make a peep, only nodding before drinking his water quietly. He looked outside. Mars had been Terra-formed decades before the issue of the war was even conceived. The planet was like a second Earth, with oceans, cities, almost everything. Everything except grass. The Martian soil was inadequate to support certain types of plant life, and grass was one of them. Therefore, desert reigned on the planet, but it did not take away the miracle of life that was Mars. The wind blew, the sky was a pale teal color, and for a moment, Griffin had forgotten all about the war, about his predicament.

“You should get dressed, Sir...The General is expecting you.” The nurse then got up, took her tray, and began to leave, closing the door behind her. For a moment, Griffin was somewhat flustered. The nurse had forgotten to remove him from the machines he was hooked to. He took a moment to look at the equipment that had kept him alive, before removing the small receptors on his body, finally looking to the IV that was stuck in his arm. He bit his lip and slowly started to reach for it, until the door opened again, the nurse returning, with a look of shock on her face.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry...Oh my god....” She said softly as she slowly laid Griffin back and relaxed his arm, before removing the needle. There was no pain, but a generous amount of blood, but it was cleaned with a styptic pad placed upon the wound, the chemicals in the pad absorbing into the blood stream, creating a clot within moments. The nurse then smiled somewhat, as she looked into the major's eyes again.

“...You've got a great hand for this job...I suggest when my army comes, you become a refugee and nurse both sides back to health...” Griffin said softly, before standing up from the bed. As his feet took his weight, he toppled somewhat over from the lack of being able to stand, let alone walk, for the past three weeks, due to him being bedridden. He quickly regained his balance and walked to the chair that had a freshly cleaned, pressed, and creased combat uniform, along with an all-weather coat in the standard combat gray. He smiled and slowly reached for his pants, paying no attention to the nurse. She sat there, watching him, her eyes lighting up at the sight of his nearly nude body, save for his standard-issue boxer-briefs that held his form tightly. Even with the undergarments on, the nurse could almost see everything, which made her blush uncontrollably, and grip the hem of her skirt in restraint. She then bit her lip and smiled. At this moment, Griffin looked to her and chuckled.

“Sorry. I always wanted to woo a girl.” He said as he zipped the fly to his pants. The nurse could only nod, refraining from eye contact.

Captain Belle breathed a sigh of relief as she watched the red blips slowly disappear off her radar. She was lucky to have witnessed the fall of the enemy's control on this planet. Unfortunately, her ship had taken a dangerous hit on the belly of her battle, where the hydrogen fuel canisters resided. Slowly, she pointed her ship towards the direction of Star Fleet command, a small satellite base structure that had a docking bay for large cruisers like hers. As she slowly docked onto the bay, she quickly made her way to the commander's quarters, where her superior officer resided. She knocked on the door and awaited a response.

“Enter.” the voice from behind the door grumbled as the door opened.

Space Marshall Grater was old. At 58, he was one of the oldest Space Marshalls the Federation had. He did not bother to look up to recognize the redheaded firecracker as she saluted and gave a status report.

“Sir, the AOP fleets have fallen back. We have control of the airspace.”

“Excellent work, Captain...How is your ship?” The Commodore took a moment to pull out a small tin case that held cigars, as he promptly lit one in the presence of his subordinate.

“Not well, sir. My ship has taken damage to the belly, and the fuel canisters are compromised. I request a full repair, Sir.” The Commodore nodded slowly, before pulling out a manila folder, and tossing it upon the desk.

“As much as I wish I could, Captain Belle, the Storm Commander has other plans. Your presence is requested immediately at the Federation Headquarters on Titan. In addition, effective immediately, you are not the Captain of the Browning. Instead, you are now an officer for the Federation Regulars. Congratulations, Major Belle...”

- “What? Why?” Rei asked, confused, and angered by the sudden change of plans. “Sir, with all due respect, my crew need a capable captain, and I’m not about to let them go to some second-rate officer you’ve plucked out of Naval Academy- “

“Watch the tone, Major. You are walking a fine line between criticism and insubordination, and I will not have that kind of attitude in my fleet officers…Storm Commander Amos requested You personally. Your piloting skills before you became a fleet officer are the reason. Amos needs an Officer that knows how to fly. You are it…If you would be so kind as to gather your things, I believe we are done discussing this. You have your orders, major.”

Griffin walked down the dimly lit hallway, two AOP guards with their pistols to his back. He was stopped at an unmarked door and stood there quietly, as it opened, revealing an Assembly officer sitting quietly in his desk. At this moment, Lancer was pushed into the room, and the door then quickly closed and locked itself. Griffin turned to see this, then slowly turned back to the officer. He had five stars on his shoulder, along with a wreath surrounding them. He was the Supreme Commander of the Assembly's forces. Griffin showed proper respect to this title and stood in front of his desk.

“POW Lancer, as requested, General...” He said bitterly. The General slowly looked up to him, his buzzard nose, beady eyes, and tiny mustache lighting up at the sound of Lancer's voice. He did not say a word, as he offered the Major a seat in front of his desk. Griffin accepted and sat down in his uniform and trench coat.

“Greetings, Major Lancer. I am Arch-General Mostafa, of the Assembly of Powers. I know you have realized already, that you have been taken from your secure medical facility back on Titan, to my medical facility and Prisoner camp here on Mars. There is a reason for this, my good sir...” Griffin did not look him in the eye as he slowly stretched his neck.

“So. What’s the purpose of this arrangement?” Griffin asked as he looked out the General's window, seeing the Terra-formed sky and clouds drift along the atmosphere. The General chuckled slightly as he slowly leaned forward onto his desk.

“Well, we're having trouble trying to identify the leader of your government. We have been observing you, and we know your ties to the chain of command... At this moment, you do not have a choice. Give us a name and where they are, or you will undergo the most horrific torture allowed by moral standards. I believe you have seen the building next to this medical facility. That is the POW camp. It is not very kept, and really is an unforgiving place to be...So, what do you say? Tell me?” The General put on his best smile and attempted to coax the Major into telling him what he wanted.

Griffin knew, but damned if he said a word. He shook his head and gave an indifferent sigh.

“I'm sorry, general. I cannot provide those details.” Lancer said as he looked to the General. He saw the fake smile disappear into an angry glare.

“Fine. You wish not to tell me, enjoy your stay in my prison, Major Lancer.” With that, the General pressed a button, calling in the two guards. As they wrestled him up, Griffin grabbed a hold of one of the guard’s uniform sleeve, judo tossing him across the room, as the other one whipped out his baton, and struck Griffin in his vulnerable, wounded abdomen, knocking the wind out of Lancer as he fell to his knees, gripping his stomach. The guards picked him up and dragged his weakened body out of the facility, and into the prison.

“Ah, Major Belle, Welcome to the front line.” A Colonel said as they shook hands. She nodded somewhat as she looked to the men running around, packing their equipment into transports as they readied to take off to assault the next planet under enemy control. The Colonel continued.
“Sorry about the short notice, we've been getting a lot of flak from command about our officer roster, and since the Federation is cutting back funds to save for the effort, we needed a new Combat Pilot. Tell me; are you able to keep a cool head in battle, Major?” The colonel then began to stroll off towards a tent about thirty yards away.

“I’ve flown under fire and dropped troops off, yes.” Rei said as she quickly nodded and followed her Colonel. As she followed, she somehow found the urge to keep a straight face as she strolled past a group of attractive, muscular soldiers packing a transport full of equipment. The Colonel entered the tent, and she followed, standing at the front of his desk as he sat down, pulling out a box of cigars, along with her file.

“Cigar, Major? I don't know if you're a smoker...” He looked up to his new Executive Officer as she nodded and let a small smirk show.

“Yes, sir. I am a smoker.” She took the cigar and pulled out her matches as she lit the cigar, puffing quietly as the Colonel opened her file and sorted through the papers. He seemed very intrigued and happy to have her aboard.

“Mm... Well, I can say I am very impressed with your combat record. Because of this, you’re getting a field promotion. Congratulations, you’re a member of SCAR Team 6 now.” With that, he stood up and began to walk out. No salutes were exchanged as he walked out of the tent, leaving her with only a few spare words.

“Get a squad together. Meet me in the communications tent in one hour.”

Rei was dumb-founded. SCAR Team Six? Wasn’t that Griffin’s Unit?

As Griffin regained consciousness from the painful blow to his abdomen, he found himself strapped into a wet cloth bag, with straps restraining himself from side to side, so that he could not move. Attached to the bag was a wire, connected to a transformer. A light hum resonated from the transformer, showing that there was an electric current only inches from his face. He attempted to struggle but failed. A light in front of him revealed a screen, the same General from the hospital watching him.

“Welcome, Major Lancer. I see you are comfortable in my patented sleeping bag. Nice isn't it? That wire next to your face contains enough electricity to fry your brain. The wet cloth isn't going to make it hurt less, either. Since you refused to cooperate, you've left me no choice but to resort to rough negotiations.” Griffin looked to him, his eyes showing resolve and strength, even in this painful moment.
“Now...let’s try this again. Who is the leader of the Colonists? Who is the mastermind behind the Federation?”

A moment of silence, before the General moved his hand to a button. He then pressed it. Immediately, the electrical current expelled into the bag, and into Griffin. The pain was immense, as he began to scream from the unyielding pain. After 5 seconds, the shocking stopped.

“Answer me!” The General shouted to him. Still silence. Another painful shock. Griffin could feel the fillings in his teeth begin to heat up and melt in his mouth, and this only increased the level of pain he was receiving. He screamed louder, but never once surrendered his pride. Then the electrocution stopped once again, granting the Major a few moments to catch his breath, the pain overwhelming his senses during this torture. At the same time, soldiers that were standing to the side holding buckets full of water and began to dump the liquid all over the cloth bag, wetting it once again. The General took this time to light a cigarette as he looked to Griffin.

“You traitor. You filthy dog. Betraying your own kind to assist these fringe-world colonists. For what? You belong here with us, Lancer. You're far too strong to consort with those types. I'm giving you an ultimatum. Join the Assembly once again. You will be a General. I promise you.” The General then looked to Griffin, who could barely breathe at this moment from the intense pain. Slowly, he looked to the General and smirked.

“...Go...Fuck yourself, you son of a bitch.” Griffin said as a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, the fillings burning his tongue. The General seemed unimpressed with this display of resistance. He then snapped his fingers, the guards unstrapping him. Griffin was too weak to stand on his own as the guards dragged him out of the room.

“Too bad, major...” The General then turned off the viewing screen, turning his gaze to a masked officer.

“Your unit better be able to break this man. I do not care how long it takes. We will find out who their leader is.” The masked soldier than nodded, before speaking.

- “No worries, General. I will break him. Count on me.” With that, he saluted and made his way to the prison...

Griffin took a minute to open his eyes as his captors tied him upside down over a tank of water, his hands restrained by a set of cuffs that lay underwater. His head barely touched the surface, and he could see the moss growing on the sides of the tank that held the water. One guard tied a blindfold around his eyes, giving him a swift punch in the back of his head soon after performing this task. A grunt of pain escaped his lips, and still Griffin struggled to break free. Another guard pulled out his baton, and began to beat him, until he stopped resisting.

A tumbling of locks on the door announced the arrival of the masked officer as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He then stepped toward Griffin's front, giving a swift punch to his weak abdomen. Lancer coughed up blood but said nothing.

“You're the Major. Lancer, correct?” The officer asked as he looked at Griffin's restraints.

“Major Griffin Alexander Lancer, Serial number 2254-918-03.” Was his response. The officer then punched his abdomen again.

“You used to be a CFF NCO…So was I; we can talk like friends here. You give me what you know about the Federation, and I’ll stop the pain.” The interrogation officer sighed and waited for Griffin’s response.

“Major Griffin Alexander Lancer, Serial number 2254-918-03.”

“Do you want to die here?” The guard asked as he punched Griffin's abdomen again.

“Major Griffin Alexander Lancer, Serial number 225-”

Another punch into Griffin's abdomen, before giving the signal to a guard to lower Griffin's head into the water. The guard nodded and pulled a lever, dropping Griffin's head into the water. The sudden shock of the water caused Griffin to jolt somewhat, as he almost choked on the sudden intake of water. He held his breath for as long as he possibly could, before his body forced him to heave out his wasted air, in taking water into his lungs. He shifted around desperately, choking on water, and then was suddenly pulled up. He coughed up water, his throat clogged with phlegm and a mixture of blood and water. He took a deep gasp of air as the officer then punched Griffin in the abdomen again.

- “Who is your leader? Tell me, or I will dump you into the water again. I'll make it two minutes.” The Officer threatened. Griffin shook his head.

“Okay...I'll tell you.”

- “Who is it then?”

“Jack...” Griffin said, out of breath.

- “Jack what?” The officer threatened. Griffin took a deep breath before giving his answer.

“Jack Mehoff. Jack me off, you prick.”

- “Clever little shit...” The officer said as he gave the signal to dump Griffin's head below the water again. “We'll see if the funny man keeps cracking jokes after a few hours of this...”

Rei slowly stretched her arms above her head as she stood in the command tent with three other soldiers she had selected. Suddenly, a finger gently prodded her shoulder.

“Pardon me ma'am, but you wouldn't happen to know a Major Lancer...?” The voice asked. Her eyes lit up somewhat as she turned to the soldier.

- “, yes, I do, First sergeant...”

“Templeton, Major Belle...Me, along with Howze and Goering know him well. He was our squad leader back at the capital. I thought you were commanding a starship.” Rei smirked and slowly pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, tossing it to the garbage.

- “Yeah. I was.” She said Commander Amos walked in quickly. The tent of soldiers suddenly snapped to attention, gave a salute, before Amos returned it, and motioned for them to circle around the table in the center of the room.

“Okay. You've been selected here for one reason. I'm gonna cut the bullshit and just get to the point. We've got a valuable officer in enemy hands.” After he spoke, he handed pictures to Rei, Templeton, Howze, and Goering, the other men who Rei, like Griffin, had chosen. Amos paused for a moment before he continued.
“Soon after the capital was captured, a group of Assembly Shock Troopers geared down with advanced weaponry broke into the medical compound, and wiped out everyone, taking one wounded soldier, a Major Lancer, A SCARs combat officer.”

Rei slowly bit her lip as she viewed the pictures of the group of soldiers hauling away a stretcher with a bandaged patient. It was Griffin. She now had more resolve to save this man. He was her friend, her only compatriot whom she could rely on. She then looked to the other men. They too had the same look of determination and urgency. The Storm Commander continued as he unrolled the map that was under his arms, revealing a color picture of the enemy's compound.

“This is the Assembly's Medical Compound and POW Camp. It’s like a fortress. It used to be our special forces training center until the AoP invaded. Unfortunately, our armies are not attacking Mars just yet, so you will receive no combat support, other than an insertion and extraction. Your orders are as follows. Infiltrate the facility, find documentation of any medical experiments or trials, and then make your way to the POW Camp. Rescue the Major, and any other fellow Federation soldiers you come across. Insertion and Extraction will be via heavy transport gunship. Captain Goering, Lieutenant Howze, First Sergeant Templeton, Major Belle. I hope you four can get along well. Gear up and prepare for departure at 2300 hours. This operation is on a need-to-know basis, so don't make a solid plan. Dismissed.”

With that, the soldiers exchanged salutes, and were on their way.
The prison cell door opened as the Assembly guards threw the beaten-up body of Griffin inside, shutting the airtight door and electronically locking it as soon as it closed. Slowly, Griffin got to his feet, and looked around. There was nobody in the cell with him. He was alone finally. He slowly looked up, to see a single light illuminating the room, along with an air duct beside it. He thought of a plan but decided not to execute it yet. He had enough time to think about his options carefully, before he became tired and slowly found a warm corner to lay down in. As he closed his eyes, he knew he had beaten the first part of the game. He had survived and made it through the first day of interrogation.

Somehow, between the shock therapy, and the swimming lessons, he had thought about the purpose of having a POW camp next to a hospital. There was no Geneva Convention anymore; it had died with the coming of the new millennium. There was only one’s honor. If one captured the other, they were to behave civilized and refrain from torture as much as possible. Ideally, the buzzard-faced General got the message after the day's events. However, the medical facility seemed to have more purpose than a place to heal wounds. There must have been something they were hiding. There was an excess of guards patrolling the area. The POW camp itself also seemed extremely high-maintenance and extremely secure. Hopefully, he would find out when he escaped...
If he escaped...
Silently, Griffin tried to remember a phrase from Paradise Lost.

We are still here, perhaps God has something intended for us, or perhaps he is going to make us his slaves...

As the squad of four selected their weaponry, Templeton, Howze and Goering watched Major Belle as she selected her equipment. She then started packing her ammo and combat vest and attached her ammo belt. She then looked to the men staring at her. She shook her head before speaking up.

“What? Is it something I did?” She asked, the ammo belt still in her hands. Goering looked at the other two before he finally spoke up.

“Nothing. You just remind us of the Major, Major...” Captain Goering then turned away and walked out of the armory, his rifle in his hands. Templeton and Howze quickly followed suit, Rei following a few moments later. They quickly made their way to the transport ship that was waiting for them at a nearby landing pad. They quickly tossed in their equipment, and then entered themselves, sealing off the entryway and locking it. The transport slowly lifted off the ground, hovered for a few moments, and then quickly began to gain altitude, before jetting off towards orbit.

“Okay! Trip’s going to take at least Two hours, max. Make sure you’re ready when we hit the LZ!” Rei shouted as they closed the side doors to pressurize the cabin for space travel as the jets of the transport glowed white-hot in the atmosphere as it left the gravitational pull of the Moon of Titan. As the ship picked up speed, time itself seemed to stretch, as if the passengers and the fabric of time itself was made of a sticky dough; being pulled and pressed at the same time. Rei hoped they would make it before Griffin got seriously injured, or worse…

[4 Vesta, 2153]
[SCARS 6th Regiment reconnoiter last known enemy positions]
The snow fell peacefully as a group of soldiers in white arctic coats slowly trudged along down a pass, performing a patrol.

“I'm telling you, I fucking hate this weather, Captain,” said Lieutenant Barnes, as he shivered quietly as he puffed away on his cigar. “Fucking snow and cold, and motherfucking frostbite and all that shit. I just hate it.”

“Just keep your mouth shut and I won't have to shoot you myself, Lieutenant,” Griffin said as he playfully smacked Barnes in the back of his head. “Besides, we're only a few miles from camp. We're just making a patrol, and then you can go back to your fucking card game. Just shut up for a while, okay? You're driving me to the point of suicide with your bitching.”

“Let him have his fun, Captain, he knows when to shut up, right?” Said a feminine voice behind Griffin. As he turned, he smiled as he saw the blue-gray eyes of Faye look into his. On her back was the squad radio as she carried a submachine gun with her. Griffin nodded as he turned back toward the road, seeing that his visibility was growing dim.

“Okay, let’s stop here and give a status report. Faye.” Griffin ordered as he knelled down, looking through his sights to see if there were Assembly soldiers down the path, but the visibility was too poor to see anything but white.

“H.Q, this is Eagle, Wrapping up patrol, coming back to base.” Faye said as she then pulled out her thermal binoculars, looking down the path. Her straight face turned into a slight frown as she removed the binoculars from her eyes.

“Captain, I need a second opinion down the road,” She said as she tossed the thermals to Griffin, who then applied them to his eyes. He blinked a few times as he bit his lip. Down the path, lit up in heat signatures, were a pair of tanks and a platoon of Assembly soldiers moving down the same road they were on, toward their position.

“I see...Two Assembly heavy tanks, and what looks like Shock Troopers. They don't look like rookies, either. They're keeping a steady jog down this path...Shit...Alright, everyone to the side of the road now! Set up machine guns, call for backup!” Griffin then stood up and pulled Barnes off to the side of the road. Faye quickly rallied up the rest of the squad to the side of the road and turned on her radio.

“H.Q, Eagle. We got a problem. We have heavy armor and a platoon coming in our direction. Definitely Assembly, requesting Backup.” As soon as she finished her order, the loud boom from a tank cannon, followed by the deafening explosion of a shell onto the path. Snow and soil flew into the harsh cold wind as it settled onto the ground once again. Griffin uttered a curse as he shouted down the line for explosives. Two men came up, one armed with a rocket launcher, and knelled beside Captain Lancer.

“Displace and Set up a position across the road, pound the fuck out of these tanks! Go!” Griffin said. This was only the fourth time he had been in a skirmish without backup, and he was barely getting used to his power of command. He didn't enjoy shouting orders, but they had to be done. As the rocket team made their way across the road, another round from the enemy tank was heard, followed by the subsequent explosion right where the team had stood. They seemed to disappear in a plume of smoke and snow, their only trace being a shell crater and a faint spatter of pink mist.

Barnes then opened to shout something to his captain, but as he opened his mouth, a gunshot rang out, Barnes then falling over motionless beside his leader. Griffin looked down to Barnes and saw that he had been shot though his throat. He was still conscious and breathing, but he was choking on his own blood. He coughed continuously, trying to clear his airway, the blood from his mouth and his wound spattering all over the white snow. Griffin could do nothing to save his friend, as they locked eyes for a moment, before Barnes finally quieted down, his eyes closing as he drifted into death. Lancer's eyes teared up, and rage consumed him as he got to his feet, cocking his rifle. He began to grit his teeth from the adrenaline and anger that build up inside. A demon that had been kept deep inside his mind finally pushed through and broke to the surface.

“Get up! Move!” He growled at the top of his lungs, as he quickly bolted off towards the tanks. His legs pumped as hard as they possibly could, the cold air becoming easier to breathe as he continued to pump his legs against the frigid falling snow. His squad quickly followed, opening fire on the Assembly platoon as they charged. Griffin didn't fire his weapon, choosing only to charge in head first, climbing onto the nearest tank.

He quickly began to pull at the hatch, using all of his might to force it open. It would not budge. This infuriated Lancer, as he then moved his rifle down into the driver's view port and began to open fire mercilessly into the hull. The hatch then opened, and Griffin waited patiently. As the commander crawled out of the turret, Griffin noticed the man was wounded and had already started putting his hands in the air. The captain then aimed and emptied his entire magazine into the tank commander's body, all forty-five rounds. He then slung his rifle over his shoulder, removing the commander's revolver from the dead tank commander’s holster. He then cocked the hammer and began to fire at the platoon of Assembly shock troopers that were advancing on his position.

“You want some of this?” He shouted, firing round after round, until the pistol clicked empty. Griffin then ditched the pistol, switching back to his rifle to reload. As he climbed off the tank and took cover, the second tank then fired its shell directly at Lancer. It hit a good forty meters away from him, but the concussion knocked him onto his back, jolting his hand away from his magazine. The metal casing flew away from him into a snow bank. Griffin cursed and threw his weapon in frustration. He then unsheathed his bayonet, climbing back up to his feet. He peeked out from under the tank. He saw his squad was clearing out most of the shock troopers, as others began to fall back. The tank, however had switched to its fifty-caliber machine gun on the top. The enemy tank commander had to reveal himself in order to operate the gun, which pleased the captain. He quickly darted off toward the tank as the tank commander was occupied with the rest of his squad. Lancer climbed up the tank, and quickly got behind the tank commander, jabbing the blade into the soldier's throat, before cutting out away from his body. The resounding crack of cartilage and bone sealed the commander's fate, as his lifeless body slumped down into the turret.

A soldier then climbed up beside Griffin and readied a grenade. Just as the soldier had positioned his hand above the hatch, a gunshot from inside knocked the soldier down and off the tank. As the man fell lifeless to the ground beside his squad mates, the high explosive within the grenade detonated, sending shrapnel everywhere. Griffin took cover behind the turret as the grenade had detonated. He looked to the ground to see the damage. The soldier had rested around his squad, who were attempting to climb the tank was well. As the grenade detonated, it caught the others in the blast. Griffin's eyes locked onto the carnage on the ground, forgetting all about the tank. Time seemed to slow down around him, his breathing becoming slow and heavy.

As he turned his gaze back to the hatch, he saw a soldier from within the tank emerge, holding a shotgun that was pointed right at Lancer. He took what might have been his final breath before a gunshot was heard. The shotgun-wielding soldier slumped over, dead. As time seemed to return to normal, he turned his gaze to his fiancé. Her careful aim with her .45 pistol had saved his life.

“You should be glad I saw him climb out of the tank...” She said quietly. All was still and peaceful now, amidst the chaos. The two of them sat there on the tank, looking around at the damage. Griffin slowly opened his mouth, inhaling slowly as he closed his eyes.

“...What am I going to say to the Colonel...When he finds out that all his boys were killed under my command...?” Griffin bit his lip as he began to feel remorse for his actions. He had run in blindly, forgetting all about tactics and strategy. He had let his emotions dictate his course of action, which led to the deaths of eight of his men, including his best friend.

- “There was nothing you could do. We were out-numbered. You did all you could to accomplish your objectives...” Faye slowly rested her hand on his shoulder, turning down the road. She had opened her mouth to speak again when a bullet pierced just below her feet into the tank. She pulled Griffin down into the bloody snow, before rolling behind the snow bank.

“Sniper! Captain, we have to get out of here!” Another round hit the dirt beside Griffin as he got up, pulling Faye up with him.

“Come on! Sprint!” He shouted as they both took off back towards H.Q. The sniper turned out to be a trio, as they began to open fire on the pair of Federation soldiers. Rounds flew above their heads and struck the ground around them. A grunt of pain was heard as Faye fell face first into the ground. Griffin turned back, quickly running to her side. He rolled Faye over, seeing that the wound had entered her side, but emerged through her chest. She did not cry out in pain, instead quietly looking around, with a ghastly moan escaping her lips. Lancer quickly pulled her to the side of the road into the ditch next to a thicket, took out his medical pack and removed the gauze bandage and styptic. He quickly applied it to her wounds, but there seemed to be no end to the blood that continued to flow from her wounds.

“I'm going to die, Griffin...” She said softly.

- “No, you're not. Don’t' say that...” he said, trying to hold back his tears.

“Griffin...” She said softly as she flinched with each shot the snipers fired above their heads.

- “...Faye.” He would utter. He took her hand and looked into her eyes. He felt the cold that could kill anything that stayed out too long, the chill of fear and death binding their souls together for one final conversation.

“They...said that heaven would be warm...and bright...”

- “Yeah...I know...”

“...Blue Sky, Griffin...Don't forget...Blue sky. We were...going to see the thaw together...and...”

- “Shh...Don't talk, Faye. Please...Don't talk.”

“I can see the...stars tonight...Like...you promised...”
His hands gripped hers tightly, the bandage around her heart becoming soaked by the massive amounts of blood that were pouring out of her wound. There was no saving her, and yet, he clung to that last bit of hope that someone would help her. However, it was just them. Re-enforcements were 3 minutes away. She wouldn't make it.

- “The stars...,” Griffin looked up to the sky, seeing that the snowstorm was dying down and the stars visible now. “...Yeah...I see them...Look...There's Earth...” He said as he moved her hand west and up somewhat.

“Earth...I've never been there...Honey...tell me what it’s like up there.” She said as she fought to stay awake.
Griffin's eyes stung from the tears and barely mustered up enough courage to continue speaking with her.

- “There's...lots of fields. Cities...mountains, lakes, rivers.... forests...Where I lived.... There was this beautiful rose garden that my caretaker tended to in the summertime...She said...that roses were like a soul...and that when someone is born, a rose blooms larger...” He couldn't hold his tears back any more. He let them fall freely onto the ground as he slowly laid next to her. Her head slowly turned to face him.
“A Rose...That would be nice...to smell one. Earth...is beautiful from...here. Like...A big...marble...With oceans and skies that stretch...forever...” Her breathing became labored, as if there was no air to breathe. Her eyes blinked slowly, as she took everything in for the last time.

- “Yeah...blue skies...Beautiful blue skies...”
He looked into her eyes, and she slowly looked to his, her blue-gray eyes dulling into nothing, glazing over slowly. Her body was shutting down.

“...Don't forget, Griff. Blue Sky...Always...”

- “Blue sky, Faye...”
Slowly, he leaned to kiss her lips, her eyes closing in peace. She took in one final breath, smiling as she did this.

“I feel so warm and happy, Griff...It’s...like...a... Dream...”

A few days later, Griffin was in the medical tent. The doctors said that he was suffering from shell shock, but the emotional scars that were fresh in his heart were undeniable. He looked outside the tent opening, seeing that a familiar face approached him. Storm Commander Amos. Griffin had heard of the hero of the Pirate war in years past, but this was the first time he had seen him in person.

“Commander Amos...” He said. He sounded broken and defeated. The Commander slowly rested his hand on Griffin's shoulder as he took a seat beside him.

- “Captain Lancer...How are you today...”

“I feel great. I've only thought about suicide once today, Sir.” He said sarcastically.

- “Cut the shit, Lancer. I know you're hurting. We need you on the lines now more than ever. You did a good job back there on the pass, and I know you're-”

“Shut up. I got my squad killed. Every single one of them. It’s my fault, Sir. I could've stopped it. I could've-”

- “Listen to yourself, Griffin. You're talking about Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda. There wasn’t anything you could have done, you have to realize that. People die in war, Captain...”

“Shut up, Shut up, Shut up! Stop talking about how there was nothing I could do! I could've done something, God damn it. I fucked up, Sir...”

- “Listen to me, Lancer. Get out of this medical tent and go on leave. It'll do you good-”

“No.”

- “God damn it, Lancer, just follow my fucking orders and do it.”
There was a moment of silence as he looked to his cot.

“Fine...” He whispered as he closed his eyes. Commander Amos nodded as he gently squeezed Griffin's shoulder.

- “Good...I'll get the paperwork started...You'll be out of here in a few hours...” From there, the old man left the tent, leaving Griffin alone with his memories and thoughts.

A few hours later, Griffin was on leave, walking through the streets of an unnamed colony. Life was going on as usual, as if there was no conflict. People seemed happy and pleasant, as life went on. Griffin continued to walk as he reached a park. Children ran and played, laughing, and teasing as they went along.

Griffin stopped to see them play, as the sun slowly traversed across the colony ceiling from a distance. He remembered his childhood, the orphanage where he grew up, before Rose took him in.
He smiled somewhat as he remembered playing the same games the children were at this moment. How he longed to be a child again, away from the pain of war. He felt lifeless as he watched, a ghost observing the living world. Feeling as if he could go anywhere and just watch hopelessly as their lives were productive and pleasant as he was stuck in an infinite limbo, torn between the reality and the delusion of his loss. He watched them until their mothers called them in. All but one, who stayed outside, a young boy sitting on the park bench, watching the sunset. Slowly, Griffin came to the bench and sat beside the boy.

“Hello, mister,” The boy said as he looked to Griffin. He was still wearing his uniform as the boy slowly reached to touch the jacket. “Are you a Federation soldier like my daddy?” Griffin looked to the boy and nodded, feigning a smile amidst his sadness.

“Yes. Who is your daddy, boy?” He asked quietly as he reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve a piece of a chocolate ration. He handed it to the boy, who thanked him before answering his question.

“My daddy is a Lieu...Lieu...” He struggled as she tried to pronounce the rank.

“Lieutenant?” Griffin asked as he smiled again from the boy's difficulty.

“Yeah. My Daddy is a lieutenant. His name is Gerald Parks, like me! He's off fighting the war on Mars. He said he was coming home by Christmas, but Christmas is next week, isn't it...?” The boy finished the chocolate as he looked to Griffin. Lancer took a deep breath before continuing.

“Yes. It is next week...Don't worry, your daddy will be back before Christmas. Trust me. He sounds like a fine soldier...Where's your mother, Gerald?” Griffin asked as he looked to the boy. He had lied. The Assembly had overrun Mars just yesterday. There was no chance this boy's father could have made it out in time. Inside he felt more remorse as he watched the boy.

“My mommy died when I was born. Daddy said she's in heaven now, with all the angels.”

Griffin bit his lip. The haunting fact was that the boy's childhood was ending rapidly, and he would have to fend for himself on the streets. The boy reminded Griffin of himself, and it scared him to know that many children would grow up to end up never knowing their parents completely, never coming to realize how much their parents loved them and how much they cared for their well-being, but diplomacy got in the way and tore their families apart.

Children would go on never knowing their fathers or mothers, never realizing their self-worth in life. They would continue to spiral down into a maelstrom of aggression, adolescence, and confusion, as they grew older, the public not caring if these same children lived or died. They were refugees of a war they did not understand, nor could not comprehend.

From a glance, these children believed their mothers and fathers were going to work, when these same parents were going off to fight for their lives and fight for what they believed in. Some would come to realize the futility of war, while others would blindly sign up at the nearest recruiting station, hoping to assume their parents’ role, trying to be someone they were not.
“...Mister...I have to go to my caretaker now. It was nice talking to you...” With that, the boy ran off into the darkness, the sun setting beyond the Earth in the distance. The stars came out and lit up the colony's dark streets with natural light from light years away. Griffin looked up to the stars as he remembered what Faye said.

“It’s like a dream. Always remember, blue sky...”

Griffin slowly closed his eyes, hunched over, sobbed quietly for a few moments, before regaining his composure, and started to walk down the street towards a hotel. As he checked into his room a few minutes later, he saw that the ceiling had a single wooden beam. The thought came to him for only a moment. He could use his belt to hold his weight up. It would only take a moment.

“Do it. You're nothing without her...”

“Don't. She wants you to keep living. She's still watching you.”

“Go on, a little pain never hurt anyone, right? Why not cheat death again...Just pretend you're caught on the trapeze, and you can't get out, just like in those snowy fields...”

“Do it...”

“Do It...”

“DO IT...”

“No!” He shouted to himself, as he gripped his fist. With that, he then undid his belt and tossed it out the window. Slowly, he sat down on the bed. He looked to the phone on the nightstand, and slowly picked it up.

- “Room Service.” A voice said from the other line.

“Yes...I'd like a bottle of your strongest liquor.”

- “Right away, sir...”

As he started to undo the laces to his boots, a knock was heard on the door.

“...Who is it?” he asked just loud enough for the person on the other end to hear.

- “Open the door, Captain.” A female said. Slowly, Griffin opened the door to reveal a short woman, no taller than Five-foot-five, with red hair, pale skin, and curves. Her eyes looked up to his, and there was a moment of silence.

“You are...” Griffin asked quietly, knowing she was a Lieutenant. The woman seemed to stutter somewhat as she blinked a bit.

- “Erm...I'm Rei. Rei Belle. A Fleet Lieutenant, Sir...I noticed you were walking into this hotel...and, I just wanted to say hello...” She trailed off, embarrassed. In her head, she played out her thoughts to his reactions.

- “Why did I even bother...He doesn't look approachable anyway...Nice move, Rei.”  She looked down, kicking her feet gently at the carpet on the floor. Griffin then opened the door a bit wider.

“Come in.” He said with a hint of indifference. She nodded and entered silently, as he closed the door behind her. He walked back to his bed, finally kicking off his boots. He hissed somewhat at the pain, due to the extreme duration he had been wearing boots. Another knock on the door.

“Expecting someone?” Rei asked as she sat down in a chair right next to Griffin's bed. Griffin nodded and got up to answer the door. As he opened the door, a young woman in a maid uniform smiled at the tired soldier.

- “Room service, Mister Lancer...I have the drink you requested. Is there anything else you need?” The woman gave a cheerful giggle as she finished her sentence. Depressed or not, Griffin somewhat felt annoyed by the young woman's presence. He nodded and took his drink.

Griffin sat in the corner of his cell, quietly contemplating his time, and his past. He remembered his training, the introductory course into SCARs. They called it "The Barts", but it was officially known as "Basic Assault Recon Training School." It was a 40-week course consisting of Advanced Recruit Training, Assault Occupation Training, Advanced Assault Assessment, Rappel Masters Course, Basic Demolitions Course, Tactical First Aid, and finally, The School for Special Combat Assault Reconnaissance, or S-SCAR. Out of his class of 450, only 70 graduated from the course, and only seven earned their Exceptional Leader's Badge, Lancer Included. Even after all of that, he was forced to attend Combat Officer Survival Training, SERE, and Com-Psy training. It ended up that his entire training regimen equaled to about three years’ worth of training. Only a handful of Federation Troops could say they handled it without freaking out. Griffin was one of those men. He was proud of what he had accomplished and was more than proud to wear the Fist and Swords Badge, finally designating him a SCARS trooper. After he had graduated from his curriculum and training schools, and assigned to the SCARS Sixth regiment, had the galactic situation deteriorated to a stone’s throw from war.
A schism formed out of the political differences of the Colonists, whom Griffin identified with after so long, and the Earthborn, who were loyal to their Government and the prestigious military they had come to embrace like family. Conflict broke out between both sides and escalated into a skirmish that seemed to exact itself as an abridged version of the war taking place throughout the star system.

Its climax came when the skirmish evolved into a full-fledged battle. They were not fighting for control of the training base anymore. Now both sides of the conflict had arrived at that metaphorical hole in the fence, and slugged it out for months, until the Assembly drove back the Federation. Griffin survived narrowly and being one of the few Federal SCARS troopers left alive, issued a field promotion to a company-grade officer- Captain.

"Jesus Christ…Ten years…so fast," He said aloud, his voice resonating from the walls around him. He changed his mental focus to his childhood…

Griffin never knew his biological parents, but his caretaker, was everything any child wanted in a parent. She lived with her mother and uncle, whom he considered his father, just like how she was his mother. She had always encouraged him to be the man he had wanted to be, following his dreams. At a young age, he had a passion for math and literature. He would always return home with arithmetic and an edition of "War and Peace", or another like novel.

As he got older, his interests specified. He began to take further interest in literature, reading more and more, whenever he had a chance to from his schedule of military school. As he finally became of age, however, priorities had taken charge over his life. The Assembly at that time was looking for new Colonial conscripts; a chance to see the world, he thought. He remembered, at the age of 17, when he was about to leave. He was resistant, hesitant, and afraid. Before he was about to catch his first ride away from home, Rose had stepped into his room. From there, they had an exchange.

He could not remember what was spoken, but he knew the wisdom she would impart him with would last a lifetime.

"Keep your eyes looking up."


Griffin opened his eyes for a moment, seeing that the light fixture above him was high enough for him to reach with a rebound. He turned his head to the wall and then to his boots. He wondered if he could make the jump. Slowly, he stood to his feet and took a few placing steps backwards to give him room to sprint.

He had to try…

Griffin then quickly sprinted towards the wall, shuffled a few steps up, his momentum lifting him off the ground. He quickly turned and pressed the balls of his feet into the wall, propelling him forward. He then reached for the light fixture and grabbed it. It swung violently but maintained its integrity to the ceiling above. Griffin then pulled himself up and balanced his feet on the light. He then looked around for the next step. He saw an air vent no more than 4 feet from him on the wall adjacent to him. He started to swing the light towards the vent. With every inch, he came closer, and every time the light moved towards the vent, he'd give a kick to the vent. Slowly, the vent hatch began to give way, denting and caving in. He'd continue as the screws started to break and pop off their fixtures, the hatch swinging off of one hinge. He kicked off the last hinge, watching the hatch fall to the floor, before making one final swing to the vent.

With his feet, He anchored himself on the lip of the vent, while his hands held onto the light. He then squatted down, and with one hand, gripped the top part of the vent, then moving his other hand, releasing the light. He then moved his feet inside the vent, and slipped in.


Rei, Goering, Howze, and Templeton closed their eyes, as the Transport quickly carted them to their destination. Within a few hours, the ship had snuck in under the radar and landed behind a mountain range less than a mile from the compound. As the ramp on the back of the transport opened, the entire group disembarked and jumped from the craft 20 feet in the air. With bated breath and a blink of an eye, they landed hard on their backs and stomachs on the red sand of Mars. Goering quickly got up to his feet and scoped out the immediate area. Less than a mile to their west was the compound.

"I see it. There. The compound is guarded by a small detail by the looks of things. I can easily pick off the sentries in the tower before we make our move...Shall I, Ma’am?" Goering asked as he looked down the sights of his rifle. Rei rushed to Goering's side, pulling out a set of binoculars, and peering through them. After a moment, she nodded.

"Do it."

In that brief moment, three brief reports of a high-powered rifle were heard. Nothing else followed...

My knees got sore as I crawled further into the vent shaft. I could smell and taste the dust pouring through my nose and mouth as I continued to venture further. Every 20 meters or so, I would come across an opening. I would stop each time, scoping out the area, judging whether it would be a good idea to enter or not. Most of the time, I decided against going down, as my position that instant was superior to rotting in that cell.

Eventually, I came across a vent opening, its latch was missing, and thus I could get a great view of the floor below me. Slowly, I climbed down feet first, letting my legs dangle for a moment, before dropping all 10 feet down. As I landed, I took a quick scan of the area. No Assembly troops. Good sign. From there, I viewed the room I had entered. The place was filled with computer terminals and...

A large containment chamber in the middle of the room. There was something inside, but the thick green liquid that was inside hindered my vision. I slowly walked closer to the chamber, my hand resting on the glass. It was cold. However, the way the generator holding the chamber looked and felt gave the machine life. A heartbeat. The object inside the chamber began to move, as if it was in a resting state. I turned my back to the chamber to face one of the terminals. Quickly, I began punching in keys, attempting to relay a signal back to Amos. Hopefully they would come as quickly as they could for me...

Goering opened fire, Rei watched as each round hit its mark. All of them clean. She wasted no time in rallying up the other two men for the assault. Major Lancer was in there, and she was determined to get him out, no matter the cost. He was a vital asset not only to the war effort, but to her as well. He was too much of a good leader to leave him there. She could only hope he was still in once piece by the time we reached the compound.

As the SCARS neared the perimeter, they hugged along the wall to conceal our progress. Goering took point, as he carried the breaching charges. They stopped at a sewer drainage pit less than 200 meters from the main entrance. The scout trooper scanned the area quickly, before unpacking the det charges from his satchel, placing four of them in a square around the pipe protruding from the concrete wall. Howze moved forward and planted the cords in each charge, which came from a small spool of electrical wire he had kept on his pack. He laid it back behind a red sand dune and clipped the ends with his combat knife.

He then packed the spool into his ruck, before pulling out a small detonator. He consolidated the wires into negative and positive, before mounting them on the assigned input/output lugs. From there, he pulled the hammer of the plunger up out of the box. He stopped when the plunger refused to ascend any higher. He took a deep breath before looking to us all.

"Fire in the hole."

I turned back to the chamber. My mind drifted to plans as to free this specimen from its stasis. Weaponless, I could not break it by any ballistic means. Physically, I did not believe I was strong enough to break it, boot or otherwise. I would have to search for some way to unlock the stasis via the console.

I looked back to the console, typing through the database. It had been a long while since I had to hack a mainframe. My skills were extremely rusty. Slowly, I managed to find the TCP/IPP relay within the system, and began to pry my way into FIREWALLS, security codes, and trackers. In the middle of my mind-numbing work, I felt a thick pressure on my chest as the walls shook. It sounded like an explosion; this far deep into Assembly space, it was hardly probab-

ATTENTION. COMSEC LEVEL ENGAGED. LEVEL TWO CONFIRMED. DEFENSIVE POSITIONS.

I smiled somewhat as the alarm echoed through the facility, but quickly turned back to my work. At this rate, I only had scant seconds before the guards would realize I had escaped from my cell. A few more keystrokes and the console chimed with the request I had desired. The chamber behind me began to drain the thick green fluid from the tank, the being inside becoming easier to recognize.

It was a young girl, no older than seventeen, nude. She was thin, frail, and her hair was far too long to put up in a bun or any kind of hairstyle without some loose ends being seen. She laid there on the metal floor, motionless, her expression relaxed by some sort of sedatives the machine had been pumping into her. Suddenly, the glass casing rose up, granting me access to the child.

I squatted down beside her, resting my hand on her cheek. She responded with a soft coo. Oorah! Perhaps she could be full of important data we could harvest from her! Good job, Major!

I continued to pat myself on the back, before I heard the sound of a door opening behind me, followed by the chambering of a 7.72 mm Hi-Power Assembly battle rifle.

"Step away from the stasis chamber. Now." The voice commanded. I did as I was told, standing up and away from the girl, towards the voice. I could have stopped after 12 paces, but I wanted to find out how well trained this soldier was. He didn't tell me to stop until my back touched the barrel of his rifle.

"Turn around, slowly." He ordered.

He made a bad move.

I turned around slowly, as he ordered, until he could see my face. From there, my right hand flew up and gripped the barrel, pushing it down to the ground. My left hand threw a chop into his throat, and reared back for a punch into his nose, before gripping his firing hand, and twisting the index finger lodged in the trigger guard clockwise and up until I heard a satisfying snap of bone. He responded with a set of healthy lungs, before I pulled the weapon away, and unloaded two into his face. He stopped screaming. Stopped moving. Dead.

I removed the magazine to check how much ammo I had left and sighed when I realized it was full. I searched his body for his bandoleer and combat vest, and to my satisfaction, found them, and put them on.  I turned back to the girl. She had woken up, and saw me standing there, with a dead body behind me. Her eyes looked to the dead Assembly soldier, then to me, as I was reloading my new weapon. She gasped softly. Slowly, I approached her, and she scooted away from me, her hand up in fear.

"D... D-Don’t...." She pleaded, as if I was going to shoot. My hand reached out for her, and she looked at it as if I was crazy.

"My name is Major Griffin Lancer. Federation SCARs Unit 6. I'm busting out of this prison, and I'm taking you with me. Please come with me."

She took a moment to stand up, not knowing that she was still nude. She nodded and took my hand. All I could see were her eyes. They were a sharp red. No human has those kinds of eyes. She wasn't human, then.

Cyborg?

"Yes. I will follow." She responded. She sounded human enough.

Time was of the essence, the base was already on high alert, and my presence didn't make things any easier for our escape. As I took the young girls hand and made my way west, not sure where I was going. But west seemed like the appropriate direction.


The resulting explosion seemed to trigger a hive of activity. Cries of shock were heard, and orders were shouted back and forth, as Goering continued to open fire with his rifle. Howze, Templeton and Rei added to the firepower respectively, as they fired volley after volley of suppressing fire. Rei peeled left behind a ditch and called her squad to her position. After a quick reload, she quickly pointed towards the medical center in the compound.

"Objective Alpha! Go!" She shouted as she rose from her cover to spray the assembly security forces with suppressing fire. Templeton rose and did the same after his superior, then Howze, then Goering. They continued to press further in, until they reached the perimeter of the medical center.

"Goering, vents, head to the mainframe and download as much information as you can. We'll head to the prison and get Lancer!" She shouted as she moved her squad towards the prison, dodging rifle fire and sparse mortars.

"You got it." He said coolly as he scaled the wall to a ledge overlooking the perimeter. He then jumped over the edge onto a set of service stairs. He then began the long trek up 20 flights of stairs to the top. As he made it to the top, he kicked out the vent screen and climbed in quickly, orienting himself downward into the mainframe room, about 20 feet from the entrance. As he entered, he quickly made his way to a server, and jacked himself into the system.

Meanwhile, Rei, Howze and Templeton had fought 200 yards towards the entrance of the prison complex. They had breached the main gate and were in the main lobby. The inside was deathly quiet, compared to the shouts and alarms going off outside. Rei quickly told the squad to disperse, as the faint sound of security troopers came charging around the corner towards them. They were clad in layers of ceramic plate and Kevlar, the first rank holding a see-through piece of Plexiglas.

"They've got riot shields! Aim low!" She shouted through her radio. Templeton pulled out a spherical grenade, primed it and rolled it along the floor, bouncing off the riot shields, before coming to a stop in front of them. Spines shot out and pierced the shields, before the grenade itself detonated, causing the entire room to shake. Cries of pain were heard as the damage was done. A number of security forces were on the floor, bleeding out. The second rank of less protected troopers fell back, opening fire as they did. Rei's squad returned fire, before Rei cued in on the radio.

"Goering, what’s the situation? Anything good?" She asked.

-"Plenty good, ma’am. Files are 45% complete and counting. Time is, 6 minutes." He said softly as he checked his surroundings. He then checked his wrist computer to double check the time remaining.

"Understood, hold your position." She then motioned her squad forward down the hallway towards the security office. The remnants of the security forces had taken positions behind steel doors and corners, taking pot shots as much as they could, trying not to risk exposing their bodies. Someone was heard amidst the chaos screaming for support. The hostiles around the corner pinned down Rei’s team, as they started firing back in response to the security forces.

"Howze, try and find a way to flank them! We have to break through this blockade!" Howze nodded and reloaded his sub-machine gun before backtracking towards the lobby.

Griffin stopped for a moment to listen to his surroundings. Gunshots were heard in the distance toward his direction, which meant that he was going the right way. He looked to the girl that had been following him since he busted her out of her stasis.

"Where are we going, sir?" She asked softly, her eyes taking in everything around her. Griffin managed to turn back and give a half-hearted smile. "We're getting out of here, and we’re both going to find out what’s in that head of yours, but first we'll have to fight our way out."

"Fight, sir?" She asked quietly as they continued onward. The reports of gunfire intensified, and Griffin let go of the girl's hand to bring his commandeered weapon up in the defensive. As he rounded the corner, he saw the assembly security forces opening fire on his saviors. Griffin turned to the girl and brought himself down to eye level.

"Stay here. I'll be back." From here, he took cover behind the corner, and leaned out to open fire on the rearmost rank. Cries of alarm and pain were heard as the volume of fire became too much for the security force, and the rank collapsed, the ones lucky enough to survive began to crawl away helpless. Griffin turned back and took the young girl's hand. "Come on..." He said as he walked back around the corner, his rifle in the air. "Hold your fire!"

Rei signaled to cease-fire and stood up. "Lancer! You look good, Major," She said with a smile on her face. Griffin only nodded and handed the girl to Rei. "She was in a stasis cell. Vital information inside. Android CPU, she was running the entire facility through her mind. Where's Ghost...?"

"He's in the medical center, gathering data. Why?" She asked him. Lancer took Templeton's rifle and swapped it with the assembly rifle he stole.

"Because...There's someone I still have to meet in there. You guys signal for pickup, I'll get Ghost and take care of my business." He said gruffly as he pushed past the squad. Rei didn't argue with him and started to switch on her comms.

"Goering, its Rei. Lancer is heading toward your position. He says he has unfinished business there. Make sure he doesn't get killed going in there." Goering smiled through his mask and chuckled.

-"Understood, Ma’am. I will take care of him. By the way, does he have comms open?"

"Negative, Lieutenant, he just hurried off towards the medical center. Just keep an eye on him. Belle out."

Lancer walked into the medical center, his weapon at the ready. The entire place evacuated, at least on this floor. As he entered the security station, however, there was a metal detector placed in his way. He quietly walked through it, and the alarm sounded off. Silence still.
Lancer then checked the magazine in his rifle before he took off down the hall towards the access stairs.

As he climbed up, there was a commotion on the fourth floor. He quickly headed towards the
Access door, and opened, seeing the nurse that had helped him earlier dragged by the hair by an Assembly guard. He followed them, making sure to keep an eye on the nurse.

"Please, don't!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, gripping the man's hand with all her might, hoping he would release his grasp on her. He ignored her pleas and attempts to break free as he pulled her into an office, pulling her up and then starting to undress her, ripping off the top of her uniform, revealing the lace bra underneath. The man's mouth salivated at the thought of having this woman at his whim.

Griffin turned down the hallway and entered the office, the Assembly guard's back to him as he continued to undress the woman. Griffin quickly reared the butt of his weapon, and gave a solid stroke against the guard's temple, blood erupting from the strike mark. He grunted as he hit the ground, allowing Lancer to finish him off with repeated strikes from the butt of his weapon. The guard finally stopped moving, before Lancer turned to the nurse, who was cowering in the corner, trying to make herself as small as a mouse. Lancer removed his jacket and handed it to the woman, who instantly recognized him. Her eyes softened a bit to him, and she gave a grateful nod.

"Th-Thank you...," She said softly, her lips trying to form the words. Griffin only nodded and straightened out his fatigue top.

-"Get out of here while you still can." He said as he headed back towards the stairs.

Goering had just finished downloading all the files he needed, and slipped down the vent shaft, when his radio crackled to life.

"Ghost, its Belle, Lancer's in the medical building, link up with him, we're tracking him on the 6th floor now." Goering unholstered his pistol after slinging his rifle onto his back and took off the safety.

-"Roger, I'll be there in 5 mikes. Out."


Rei, Howze and Templeton had established a perimeter just outside the compound, waiting to signal for extraction when Lancer and Goering left the compound. During this time, they were on the lookout for Assembly re-enforcements that would attempt to take them by surprise. So far, so good, they deduced. Rei then changed frequencies and hit the talk button on her microphone.

"Lancer, Its Belle."

-"On the 8th floor now. One floor left. Where's Ghost? It’s really quiet here," He said with a raspy voice. Rei checked her radio before responding.

"He should be linking up with you in 30 seconds. After that, take care of your business and get your butt out of there, Sir. We're waiting on you guys, out." She then broke frequency and resumed her scouting patrol.

Lancer released the button on his microphone, and looked around, when he heard shuffling in the shadows far down the hallway. Griffin got lower, and made his way silently towards the noise, stopping only to notice a man in a grey suit, his breathing labored.

"Ghost." Lancer said sternly. Goering slowed down his breathing and checked his sector before holstering his pistol and pulling his rifle out from behind his back.

-"Sir." He replied.

"We're moving one more floor up. I have to find someone."

-"Mostafa, Sir?" Goering asked. Lancer only nodded. Goering pulled up something on his data pad and shook his head. "Bastard fled. He is probably halfway to Earth by now. Head of the Fifth Assembly Guards. His men have fled this sector. Only threat now are the other forces stationed here. Mostafa would have sent a distress signal when the prison was defeated, In which case, they are on their way now. We don't have much time, Sir."

Griffin scowled somewhat. "How do you know this? Data hacking, I assume?" Goering could only smile and nod, though Lancer would only see the nod. Ghost was proud of his hacking abilities. Griffin turned back towards the hall and readied his weapon. "Then let’s go."

Rei and the others waited patiently for Lancer and Goering to return. They did not have to wait long, and as soon as they were spotted, the signal was sent, with a troop ship arriving only an hour later.
As they all mounted up and took off, Griffin could only look at Rei and the young girl he found in the prison.

"What should we call you?" He asked her. She shrugged and scratched her head, unsure of how to respond to the question. Nobody else threw in suggestions. Griffin waited a bit longer before picking the question back up.

"I'll call you Link. I have a hunch you are needed for something special.

[Unknown Entry]
[2158]

Crazy three days it’s been. Got captured by an enemy strike force, imprisoned on Mars, only to be busted out by my teammates. Along the way, ran into a Cyborg hooked into the Assembly data-net and busted her out as well. I'm still recovering from my wounds, but I have a feeling I'll be mobile again. Amos is telling me through commlink that I should get as much rest as possible. I plan to, for the most part. Right now, I feel like I should collect my thoughts and reflect on what will happen...


As Griffin closed his journal, he looked to his watch. It was a quarter past midnight, and across from his bed was Rei, who was fast asleep on the couch in his quarters. The room was silent, aside from the faint ticking of his watch in the ambience. Through the window in his room, he could see the faint ambient moonlight from the artificial environment. Slowly, he sat up and continued to watch Rei as she slept.  She moaned slightly in her sleep, and then shifted, crumpling into a small ball. Griffin could not help but smile for her. She had been through so much, been promoted, led a strike team to rescue him, and yet she still slept like a child. He quietly got up and walked to the couch, lifted her head, and cradled it in his legs, stroking her forehead.

"Thanks, Rei." He whispered.

The next morning, Griffin got up to shower and change into a fresh uniform. Rei was outside, smoking a cigarette, which gave the major plenty of time to freshen up.

Griffin stepped into the bathroom, and stripped off his clothing, stepping into the shower, and turning on the hot water. Steamed droplets of liquid poured from the showerhead onto his body, the warm sensation relaxing sore, achy muscles and waking up a fatigued mind. As Griffin showered, the sound of a door opening caught his attention. He wiped the water from his eyes and looked around the stall door of the shower to see Rei there, looking into his eyes as she started to undo her uniform.

"...Joining me, I assume...?" He said softly. She nodded and gave a sheepish smile, as she was then nude, and stepped inside. Their bodies touched each other, as they looked into their eyes.

"I wanted to let you know something, Griffin. These past few years I've known you, I've gotten closer to you than I ever though I would..." Rei said softly into his ear. Griffin could only give a soft smile and hold her close.

"I appreciate that statement...You've been there for me when I needed you. You've been a great friend...maybe even more." He said this just as soft into her ears, and she held him closer.

It felt good knowing she was going to stick by his side like this. Even if they would not last as a couple, the knowledge of having someone willing to die for you in that capacity gave him strength when nothing else would.

[November 10th, 2158]
[Sector A21Kilo, Mars]

Major Lancer shifted a bit in his seat as he looked at his watch. It had been 3 weeks since his capture and rescue. During that time, Amos had been planning a major offensive, consisting of three of the five corps of the Federation's power. An armada of warships had been cruising over Martian orbit, creating a staging area, with massive battlecruisers guarding the perimeter, destroyers being the main body of the force. Troopships attached to the hull of the destroyers housed Federation shock troops ready for the drop of a lifetime. Thousands upon thousands of troopships lined up in orbit. Radio chatter was sparse, and few words were spoken.

"Ten Minutes. Get ready to rock n' roll," The pilot said over the radio. Griffin looked to the men in his troopship. Most of them were young boys, just hitting enlistment age. The only other one in the transport who was close to his age was Goering, who was busy adjusting the sights on his weapon.

"Goering." Griffin said. The masked sniper looked up to him and nodded. "Yes, Sir?" He said, the microphone on his mask picking up his respiration before and after speaking.

"Look at these kids..." He said as he pointed to one individual with sergeant stripes on his arm. The man was shaking, praying quietly to himself. "None of them are going to make it out if we don't try to help them."

Goering nodded and rotated his neck, popping cartilage in the process. "Correct. However, there is not much we can do. We have our orders, sir. We get on site, drop with the engineers, and destroy the fort's walls to allow the armored cavalry through. Once that’s complete, we link up with the rest of our team, and go inside, down to the lower levels into the mainframe and get access codes to their vital information."

Griffin nodded, "I concur, but we can still try and help them out...They're just boys, Goering. They've only had four months of training. Nothing compared to what we've gone through. I'll lead the men on the ground, but I'll need your covering fire once we hit our drop point."

-"30 seconds. Good luck everyone." The pilot said.

"Goering, if the worst comes, it was good knowing you." Griffin said. Goering nodded, before he took a deep breath, a slight hint of nerves on his voice.
- “Sir.”

From space, the sight of over 20,000 dropships releasing from their destroyers into orbit was an amazing sight, as they followed each other into the unknown void of combat. As they broke into the atmosphere, they came under heavy opposition gunfire, as dropships started to fall from the sky, streaking to the ground at terminal velocity. As they descended, the radio cracked to life once again.

"Engineers, hit the ground and wait for the SCARs teams to escort you up! Everyone else, hit the wall as hard as you can, keep the fire off our valuable personnel, and give 'em hell! Prepare to drop!"

Griffin put his helmet on, sliding the visor down over his eyes. Instantly the visor flickered to life with vitals, roster names and objectives, along with a GPS map in the lower corner. He then picked up his rifle and took the safety off. The metal plate beneath his legs opened up to reveal the surface of the planet. There were men already on the ground, giving covering fire for the others as they dropped.

A nylon rope then lowered from the top of the troopship down past Lancer's legs and down to the ground. He took hold of the rope, and wrapped his legs around it, slinging his weapon in the process. Suddenly, the seat holding Griffin up released, allowing him to drop and slide down the rope. As he slid the 100 feet down, he saw dropships crashing into the ground, and other troopers hitting the ground, providing covering fire. Bullets and shrapnel flew in complete disorder, contributing to a number of near misses. Griffin hit the ground, detached from the rope, and took cover behind a fold of ground. At that same moment, an enemy propelled rocket impacted into the dropship he had just left, destroying the ship, and flinging anyone who was dropping hard into the ground. Griffin's eyes widened, and he turned on his comms.

"Goering! Can you hear me? Respond!" There was no response amidst the gunfire and explosions. He attempted again. "Goering, its Lancer. Respond, dammit!" Rei's voice chimed in on the comm channel.

"What’s going on, Major?" she asked, slightly worried.

-"Goering, I think he bought it." He said quickly. "I think he's dead, Rei."

"Goddammit...Lancer, Proceed as instructed, we'll link up inside. Belle out." Griffin bit his lip and muttered a curse as he looked to his right, seeing a few engineers waiting beside him.

"Sir, we were instructed to follow you!" One said as he fired a few potshots towards the Assembly's line of defense. Griffin nodded and got up to his knees. He was about to give an order, when a round struck his chest plate, knocking him to the ground. He gasped and got back up, issuing his orders. "Follow me and keep moving forward!" He then fought up to his feet, and charged ahead, darting between other troopers firing at the wall, and troopers bleeding out on the red dirt.

Griffin went prone behind another fold of ground, far enough down that the expert shooters in the wall's pillboxes could not hit him. Griffin then got on his radio once again, this time hailing the battlecruisers in orbit.

"Eagle eye, this is Scar one actual, Requesting fire support, over." He waited for a response.

-"Scar one; this is Eagle eye, negative on that request, too many friendlies to follow out that order, Break: Recommend you disable the AA to your front to facilitate friendly support, over."

"Understood, Scar one out." Griffin sighed and leaned out from cover to fire a few rounds at a sharpshooter. His rounds hit their mark, and he watched as an Assembly sniper fell to his death.

The engineers he was escorting finally caught up to him and looked around for their comrades. Identified by the two-gear insignia fashioned on their chests, as well as the distinct color of their uniforms, a subdued blue compared to the grey most federation soldiers wore. Four more saw the group huddling behind cover, and they joined them. Fire around them got more intense, as explosions and rifle fire became more accurate; the sharpshooters on the wall ahead of them were actually hitting the engineers with lethal accuracy. The Engineer CO was overwhelmed with the volume of fire going on around him as he pushed himself close to Griffin’s leg, his eyes stained with fresh tears from fear.

"We're going to get killed here if we don't do anything, Sir! We need to move!" Griffin nodded and fired a few more rounds, before jumping on the local comms net and ordering his men to provide covering fire for the Engineers.

"Go, go, go! Get to the wall!" The men did what they were told, and amidst the chaos and carnage, Griffin and a few other troops who tagged along finally made it to the wall. Amidst closer inspection, the wall was made of steel plate and concrete, and was completely smooth, towering over 80 feet in height.
Griffin looked a bit dismayed at the height of the wall, before looking back to the lead engineer.

“How you gonna take this thing down?” He asked, reports of rifle fire taking up the silence as he awaited the answer.

- “Simple solution! Rappel about 30 feet up and det the bottom, whole thing should come crashing down!” The engineer shouted as he rifled through his pack, before producing the rappelling gear.

The engineers readied their gear and aimed upward towards the top of the wall. As they fired their tubes, a long hook emerged attached to a rope, planting itself into the sheets of metal and concrete. The engineers checked their ropes and began to climb upwards, picking out a spot of the wall to attach demolition charges. Amidst their efforts, the Assembly began firing rockets down towards the ground, in an effort to stop them. Some engineers managed to plant their charges and rappel down, taking cover once again. Others were not so lucky; either hit by rockets or accurately placed fire, fell to the ground in a hail of bullets, or disappeared into a red mist.

One of the engineers managed to make it all the way down, and report to Griffin.

"We're all set, sir! Charges will go off in 30 seconds!"

- “Okay! Back up 200 feet, everyone! Fire in the hole!” Griffin shouted as he fell back behind the wreckage of a downed troopship and took cover behind a fold of ground. A few moments later, the bottom quarter of the wall seemed to crack, before buckling under the weight of itself, falling in on its center, catching friend and foe alike in an avalanche of debris.

“Holy Shit!” One man shouted over the net.

- “Yeah! Fuck you!” Another joyously cried as the lead engineer made their success known on the global net.

“Detonation confirmed, Break! BDA: Successful, Over.”

As the dust settled, hundreds of Federation troops rushed into the compound, and began lighting up every Assembly soldier they saw. Amidst the chaos, Major Lancer entered the compound and used the dust of crumbling mortar and the sound of exchanging fire to make his way into the center of the fort.

Suddenly, the sky seemed to open up and tiny meteor-like entities slammed into the ground a mile away from the Assembly compound. The vehicles that had entered the atmosphere towered over 20 feet and looked similar to a large potato with large, tree trunk legs. The armored suits had arrived. Manned by a crew of five, these Valkyries were terrifying to behold, as they arose out of the smoky ground like War of The Worlds, before two ports on either side of the machine opened up, revealing large wing-like structures, housing weapons systems.

-"This is Cav 2-1. En route to assist you guys, over." An Armored suit pilot said through comms. The armored power units came to life and began to move toward the wall, opening fire through missiles and chain gunfire, striking the opposite wall from far away, providing covering fire and creating chaos as they continued their bombardment, causing the other end to fall in on itself as well.

Griffin fought his way west into the compound to the bunker entrance. He opened the door and entered into the heart of the facility.

As he headed down the stairs, he encountered a few guards, and eliminated them with tactical speed and aggression, a few other men behind him proceeding to secure the dead bodies as he then made his way to the bunker’s server room.

The room was empty, save for the servers themselves, humming away. Griffin reached into his utility pouch, and produced a small usb stick, inserting it into the memory banks.

“Alright Rei, I’m starting the download, signal our exfil…” He said over the radio as he waited for the data to download. Suddenly, the display on the monitor on the server flashed a proximity alert as the USB’s virus uploaded and began to hack into the systems.

A few moments later, a small light on the data stick began to glow an ominous green, then after a few moments, yellow, then red, signaling that the stick had maxed out its storage capacity. Griffin then quickly retrieved the stick and headed back up to the surface.

As he reached the access door, the courtyard had erupted in chaos, turning into a stalemate as soldiers took cover behind any cover they could find, including the dead bodies of their fallen comrades. Assembly reinforcements had arrived while he was busy and were giving the Federation difficulties in securing the fort now. Griffin looked around for Major Belle and the rest of his team. He then turned on his comms to get in contact with her.

"Belle, its Lancer, where the hell are you guys?" He said as he took cover behind the metal door, as stray rounds punched against the steel plate of its frame.

-"Lancer, We're just outside the compound, hurry up and link up with us! We just got report that the Assembly just fired a-"

The line suddenly went dead, and the whole world seemed to brighten as the sky suddenly turned white for what seemed like years. Suddenly, the ground began to quake, red dust suddenly kicked up as if a strong gust had picked up, as in the distance, the distinct shape of a mushroom cloud rose above the horizon. Alarms sounded in Lancer's helmet, taking in readings of radiation and shrapnel damage. The words then popped onto his visor in a foreboding red text:

"NUCLEAR DETONATION DETECTED

INJECTING IODINE SUPPLEMENT"

Suddenly, there was a searing pain in Lancer's throat, as two small syringes full of iodine injected directly into his lymph nodes. He fell to the ground, gasping for air as the iodine did its work, preventing his body from absorbing any excess radiation as the light that came from the bomb started to fade. Slowly, he got up, as the shockwave passed. He found his hands pressing against the ground, pushing himself up as his hearing felt fouled from the sudden rush of adrenaline he was feeling. His eyes came upon scattered bodies of both Assembly and Federation, as those who were still alive had scattered. The visor in his helmet then began to re-establish communications. Griffin turned on his radio and gasped into the receiver.

"Major Belle, Its Major Lancer! Respond!"

Silence. Griffin tried once again, finally catching his breath.

"Rei, its Griffin, Talk to me...." His heart almost dropped but he caught himself when he heard a cough on the other line. The voice on the other end was weak.

"Major...Get over here," She said softly. Griffin stepped off from the Fort’s center, and tripped across a few bodies, before he sprinted back towards the wall opening. He tripped once again over an Assembly trooper who was only coming to and finding his footing and fell flat on his face. The enemy soldier slowly rolled over form his supine position, pistol in hand, and began to fire wildly at the Major, missing horribly. Griffin composed himself and lifted his rifle to his side, fired two rounds into the man's chest, putting him down for good, before getting back on his feet and reaching the wall breach, seeing Templeton flagging the Major over, as they huddled behind the same crashed troopship he had hid behind moments before.

He jumped over a burning wing, landing in the pockmark of the ship’s impact where Rei was laying as Howze administered First Aid as best as he could, given her injury.

"What’s her status?” He asked, removing his helmet to get a better look at the situation. Howze was busy applying first aid to her abdomen, where a piece of steel hand torn through her, almost ripping out her insides. The blood poured from her without end, it seemed. She coughed again, gripping Howze's uniform to look up towards Lancer.

-"Y-You got the data...Correct?" She strained to say as Howze continued to stop the bleeding. Eventually, it did stop, and Howze was able to apply painkillers, along with bandages, with Templeton's help.

"She's pretty banged up, Sir...We called for Evac a few minutes ago, but I don't know if she'll make it that long."

-"We're not going to last here, we need to keep moving downwind, before we catch the fallout..." Lancer said as he checked his watch. The other two men nodded, and picked up Rei, Lancer included. They then carried her behind a large rock, which provided cover from wind. A few minutes later, a medical troopship arrived, picking up the SCARs team, along with stragglers who managed to survive the blast and fallout.

As the troopship took off, Lancer received a message on his comms channel.

"Lancer, its Amos. How is your team?" Lancer sighed before responding.

-"Goering is dead. Belle is critical. Howze and Templeton are ok. I'm fine as well. We need to talk later."

"Already had that in mind, Major. Come see me once you've gotten decontaminated…Those bastards have just contaminated our home world…I aim to exact revenge."

At that moment, amidst the growing fleet of troopships arriving to pick up the stragglers of the assault, Griffin felt sick and livid.

Lancer stepped into Amos' office, where the Storm Commander was waiting for him, extending a hand. Griffin took the hand, pulled Amos in close, and landed a fist directly to his face, knocking the old man onto his back. He looked to Lancer with bewilderment, but then sat up. "I understand you're upset, major..."

-"Upset doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling right now, Amos. You put my team out there, knowing what was going to happen, and you weren't going to notify us. You were just going to let us fry in a nuclear holocaust. Is that what a leader is supposed to do?"

"Calm yourself, Major, I didn't know the Assembly had access to nuclear weapons." Amos rubbed his chin, where the first hand landed, as he walked to the bar in his office, pouring himself a glass of wine.

-"You didn't know? How didn't you know, sir? I lost a man trying to get this data for you. I might lose another tonight because of botched Intel! “Griffin then tossed the data stick on Amos' desk. Here is your fucking data, Amos. The next time you call on my team to do something, you had better make damn sure what you are putting us into out there. I'm not risking my life or the lives of my men anymore."

"Listen. We can end this war. But I need your full cooperation..." Amos said softly, taking a sip of his drink, before looking up to the Major from the glass.

Griffin stood there, waiting for an explanation.

“…When this war started, a lot of guys like me were torn between joining your cause or staying loyal to the Assembly. Do not make me regret the decision I made, Commander. I want to be behind you, but you have to stop sending us to our deaths without proper Intel, or even a reason why we’re doing what we’re doing…It’s bad for morale, Sir.”

Amos gave a nod of his head, acknowledging Griffin’s problem, before the Major continued.

“Sir, I’m at my wits’ end. This war needs to end, soon…so the sooner you tell me what your plan is, the sooner we can act on it…”


[March 13, 2159]
[Undisclosed Location, Lunar Orbit]

Griffin slowly opened his eyes and looked at the console screen. What remained of his SCARs team had been preparing for four months for this day. They drifted somewhere between the Moon and the void of space. Templeton and Howze, along with Link had been blindsided by Rei's injuries after the nuclear warhead had detonated on mars. She had suffered a broken back, paralyzing her from the waist down. Amos had decided to put her in an intelligence role, since she was still a vital asset to the team Intel wise. Goering's death had been sudden, but the impact was still felt among the rest of Griffin's team. Griffin looked slowly to his cargo pocket in his trousers, and with his hand, opened it, revealing the contents. A small notebook slowly drifted out, gently dancing in zero-g.

"This book. What’s it for, Griffin?" Link asked as she looked to Howze and Templeton. She seemed puzzled as to why the men were wearing pressurized suits, as she was still in her grey fatigues.

"This is my journal. I keep my thoughts on paper, maybe one day I'll be able to print it and save some lives."

-"How would you be saving lives?" She inquired.

"If people read it, they might change their minds about starting a war with another people.

Link nodded, as she understood his intentions. Griffin looked to his subordinates, who were busy loading their weapons.

"Do you all remember the plan?"

"Yes, sir," Howze added, focusing his attention on his commander. "We land on Luna, make our way into the mining facility, and from there, breach the military post. We then destroy as many supplies as possible, before detonating our package."

Griffin nodded in affirmation. "Exactly. Now remember, we are on the dark side of the moon. The temperature is going to drop below negative four-hundred, so we only have four minutes before the life support on our suits give out from the frost. As soon as we get into the mining facility, we can depress our suit's air, and recharge its batteries. I highly suggest taking the suit off to avoid breaks if we get into combat. Make sure you've got your tactical vests strapped on tight, and your helmets are relaying the proper information...Anyone got anything else..."

Templeton raised his hand. "Sir...If you didn't mind...could we pray?"

"Prayer would be good...I haven't done it in a long time...does it matter who we pray to...?" Howze said.

"We can always pray to Morrigan," Templeton Suggested.

-"Morrigan?" Link asked. "Who is that? Another woman?"

"Morrigan is the Goddess of war in our military culture." Griffin said as he closed his eyes.

The three of them bowed their heads and clasped their hands together.

"Oh, Goddess, protector of the just,

Defend us as we partake in the most dangerous time of our lives.

Give us courage when all others are in fear,

Give us strength when we are fatigued from combat,

Give us hope when there is chaos.

Give us peace when there is death.

In the name of the Creator, the Goddess of Life, We pray to you."

The words echoed softly into the recesses of Griffin's mind as they finished the prayer. He then cleared his throat and looked to his watch.

"Lock 'N Load. Its time."

The men nodded and loaded their weapons, before putting their space-walking suits on. The suits hissed with air pressure, as their visors lighted up, showing vitals. Griffin nodded slowly as he opened the door to their drift ship, a five-foot hunk of metal with its only purpose to be shot out of a cannon into a general direction, carrying one to three soldiers inside. In this instance, there were four.

As they slowly floated out of the ship, the moon stared them in the face, larger than life itself, it seemed. The dark side began to crawl across the moonscape, slowly enveloping it in darkness. Slowly, the Federation SCARs team floated to the surface, landing on the grey moon dusted vacuum. Griffin made a few hand signals, and they began to trek across the dust to a vent shaft that stuck out of the surface like a boil. Griffin motioned to Howze to begin breaching the vent. Howze then produced an ionic blade, a small metal handle with a sharp tip that produced positively charged ionic heat and began to carve into the vent. As the metal plate of the vent separated from the rest of the main body, it floated upwards into the void. The Four of them then headed into the vent, floating for what seemed like forever.

The air pressure monitors on their suits blinked red, then yellow, then green, as the further they went, the more oxygen there was in the vent. As soon as they got to a vent relay point, it dropped down into an elevator shaft. They decided to take off their suits here. As they donned their weapons, they attached a piece of equipment to the bolt assembly and to the muzzle. Oxygen capacitors built to keep a soldier in zero-g from being tossed off into the void after firing a weapon. It also doubled as a silencer in the thin air.  Link looked inquisitively to the three men and scratched her head.

"Do I get a weapon?" she asked. Griffin shrugged and undid his pistol belt and holster. He then adjusted it for Link and buckled it around her waist. He then unholstered the pistol and placed it in her hands.

-"This is a .45 Caliber Colt 1911A1. Do you know how to use one of these...?" Link simply smiled and nodded.

"Amos taught me while I was in his service."

The men then stuffed the suits into their packs, and continued down the elevator shaft, floating slowly downwards, until they reached the elevator itself. Griffin opened the access panel on the top and floated downwards. The other three followed as they continued. As they pried open the doors, they came upon the mining facility, where the Assembly had been harvesting iron from the core to produce weapons and ammunition for their army.

Most of the facility was automated, and there were no sentries posted here. They quietly floated onwards through the facility, dodging large mechanical arms and mining machines. As they floated past the entrance, they came upon a tram system. They followed the track as the tunnel they were in became darker as the light faded and the darkness creeped through. Suddenly, poorly powered halogen lamps flickered on and weakly lit the tunnel, allowing one to see no further than 4 feet in front of them. Their combat helmets were equipped with thermal radar, so the light did not prove to be too much of a problem.

The air began to get colder as they went deeper into the tunnel, to the point where they were shivering as they continued. The tunnel then took a dive downwards, even further into the heart of the moon. The light began to get brighter as they continued, until the tunnel was then fully illuminated. No man had said a word at this point, and the silence was welcomed with Lancer, as stealth was a necessity. One false move and the entire lunar security detail would be on them faster than they could manage to find a hiding spot.

In the distance, a guard stood posted by a doorway, which revealed a pair of elevators.  Griffin motioned to Howze to take point and eliminate the guard. Howze did so with finesse, floating forward past his commander, and taking careful aim at the man's head. He squeezed off one round, the report of the rifle was almost inaudible, but the result was seen on the wall behind the man, as his head collapsed and crushed on impact with the bullet, as his body floated away, droplets of blood followed suit, floating upwards and every other way possible.

The silence was broken when Lancer gave a series of orders.

"Howze, when you get to the reactor, plant the package. Templeton, make sure you have his back. Link and I will upload the virus. We'll make sure to create a distraction and start taking care of the supply depots." Howze then tossed a satchel filled with explosive charges and a detonator.

"Then you're going to need these, Sir. One charge per Cache should do the trick, but feel free to plant as many as you want, we've got plenty to go around," Howze reported with cheer in his voice.

"Good," Griffin said as he held the satchel in his free hand. "We'll rendezvous at the hangar in 45 minutes."

[Three Months Prior]

"Griffin..." A soft voice beckoned Lancer. Rei rested motionless in the hospital bed, her blue-grey eyes slowly focusing on the Major.

"I'm here, Rei. What can I do for you?" Griffin asked softly, his hands now touching her soft skin. She gasped at their warmth and then cooed gently, giving a fatigued smile shortly after.

"What did the doctor say?" She asked this with a sense of fear, her bottom lip trembling somewhat as Griffin began to give her the news.

"Well...the doctors say that It’s a miracle that you're alive, first off...Um...The piece of shrapnel that you got hit by severed your spinal column between the shoulder blades and damaged some nerves...You're um.... -"

-"Paralyzed...Right?" She said before he could finish. Griffin blinked for a moment then nodded.

"Yes...How did you find that out?" He asked softly, looking to her. She smirked somewhat and closed her eyes as she continued.

"I realized I couldn't move my legs...When I tried to get up to go pee this morning...Am I getting discharged...because I want to stay in... At least until this war is over..." She sounded worried as she continued, to which Griffin reassured her.

"Don't worry...I'm sure Amos will do something for you...Don't give up hope, okay Rei?" Rei could only nod and smile.

-"Okay. I trust you...I love you, Griffin."

Those words seemed to haunt him. He smiled softly and nodded.

"I love you too, Rei..."

A few hours later, Griffin returned to Amos' office, in full Dress Grey uniform, awards and decorations littering the front of the dress coat. He stood in front of his desk, presented himself, and offered a salute.

"Sir, Major Griffin Aleksander Lancer reporting as ordered!" He said. Amos nodded and smiled.

"Sit, Major." He commanded. Lancer did as ordered, sitting in the chair in front of Amos' desk.

"Sir, Request permission to relax." He asked. Amos nodded and tilted his head towards him.

"Proceed. Relax, smoke, do what you need. This is important times, you know." Griffin nodded and pulled out a cigarette case, producing a cigarette and lighting it in between his lips.

"So... what’s the word, sir?" Lancer asked in between puffs. Amos raised his finger in an understanding gesture and pulled out a manila folder. He then opened it, revealing reconnaissance photos.

"Luna. The Assembly has a mine here, gathering iron and other metals from the center of the moon. We're going to send you, Lieutenants Templeton, and Howze to Luna to sabotage their operations. Fleet will be right behind your assault to infiltrate the mine and the adjacent military outpost there. Your instructions are simple. Destroy any supply caches you find in that outpost and upload this virus to the mainframe. Doing this will allow us to invade Earth undetected."

-"A virus, sir? Is this Link's Creation?" Lancer asked. Amos nodded and smiled.

"Why yes. Link has been so kind as to produce this virus to implant into the Assembly's mainframe. She's starting to grasp basic human principles. Right now, she's hardwired into our database bolstering up our firewalls. Fancy how technology nowadays is so important to the success of a military operation, don't you think, Major?"

Griffin could only nod. "I agree, sir..." Amos then snapped his fingers as the door behind Lancer opened, revealing Link in Federation grey fatigues, combat boots and all. She waved to the Major and walked up to him, giving him a hug.

"I'm supposed to be coming with you on this mission," She said as she smiled to him, her glassy pupils looking into Griffin's soul.

"She's your most important asset, Major. She is not expendable until she has uploaded the virus to the Assembly's mainframe." Amos then sighed and nodded, agreeing to Griffin's expression.

-"You have something on your mind, Griffin?" He asked inquisitively. Griffin could only nod and clear his throat as he continued.

"Yes sir. It seems that since Mars, you have been hell-bent on winning this war. You've risked well-trained soldiers and gotten most of them killed. Are the Colony governments pressuring you, Sir? If so, May I suggest sending an ambassador to quell their resentment against our plans?" He then stopped himself. Amos shook his head.

-"It’s not that at all, Major. It is actually a matter of numbers. We are losing by manpower. Our overall strength has dropped by 15 percent. If we keep up this war of attrition, we might as well just surrender all the territory we have gained. This war started over mine trading routes. Then, as the war continued, it turned into a matter of Spacers and Earthborn. If we allow the Assembly to remain in power, it’ll be a major blow to our war effort. Goddess help us if we cannot stop this bloodshed..." He stopped speaking for a moment, his body shaking with passion, to take a deep breath, and lean back into his chair. "That’s why I aim to end this war as soon as possible. Not just for the Federation's sake, but for humanity's as well. If we do not stop this war, Mankind will cease to exist! You've already seen what both sides can do to each other...Let’s prevent it from getting any worse...."

There was silence as Amos rocked back into his chair.

"I hear you were part of the Forlorn Hope on Neo-Tokyo in Ganymede...What happened when you were stuck on the colony?"

Griffin took a moment to recollect his thoughts on what had happened on Ganymede. He took a deep breath and sighed.

"We were tasked with dropping from the Stratosphere; it was the only way to minimize casualties…Operation Freya. Sixth regiment and Third regiment both elected to jump first- and we took the brunt of the casualties in the first three hours. A lot of us got scattered from our parent units and we formed a mish-mash outfit; kept our mission simple. Sabotage. Months of this went on until the fleet finally managed to drop marines and establish a headquarters. About 10,000 men, myself included, dropped into Neo-Tokyo. By the time we took that moon, only 2,000 men were left standing...”

"Then you're the right man for this job. In exactly 3 months from now, you will be on a drift ship with a one-way ticket to Luna. Your extraction is by any means necessary. I'll fill you in on the details as you get closer to your deadline...Until then, stay sharp, Lancer."

A blink; a gasp of air, and the memory was gone.

Griffin and Link had taken a moment to procure any extra weapons and ammunition they might need. Link picked up an Assembly SMG from the dead guard Howze had picked off. She then picked up his bandoleer and put it on her webbing.

Howze and Templeton had already taken one of the elevators down towards the generator room, while Griffin and Link took the second elevator up towards the mainframe that connected the Powers' armed forces to the battle net.

Slowly the elevator shifted upwards, as the light in the elevator flickered on and off from the poorly supplied energy. The elevator crawled to a stop, its heavy metal doors pulling apart to reveal a sterile, white room, with Massive towers fifteen feet high. Link pulled out a small cord from her pocket, attached one end to a socket behind her left ear, and allowed it to dangle as she switched the selector switch from safe to auto. Griffin scanned the room, strafing from one end to the other, making sure they were alone.

After he made his rounds, he found the mainframe. It was a tower just like the others but was lined with a polished Tungsten frame. Link carefully walked around the mainframe, and stopped at a small usb port that fit the connection to her brain. She plugged in, and instantly, her body went stiff, and her pupils dancing back and forth as she processed data. She looked to Griffin, her eyes blank as she stared into Lancers' eyes, her voice monotonous and robotic in nature.

"User Alert! Data base connection in progress, firewalls breached. Hostiles engaging in five minutes. Virus will be uploaded in ten minutes. Upon completion, immediately disconnect. Shutting down surveillance protocols...complete. Data harvesting in progress..."

Her voice continued to go through millions of commands at the speed of light, it seems. Suddenly, the elevator door opened behind Lancer, revealing a squad of Assembly Security guards. Griffin scoffed, as they were obviously under-armed and were not prepared for heavy combat. He took the safety off his weapon and squeezed off a long burst from the hip. The silent twang of the suppressor caught the guards in a moment of surprise, and in no time flat, four of them lay dying in a pool of their own blood. The other two that were left had finally unholstered their pistols and began to open fire. Griffin quickly rolled left behind a server to avoid being hit, while he strafed around the side of the server. He leaned out of the corner to squeeze off another burst of gunfire, the rounds hitting center mass in the guards' chest. He groaned in pain and fell backwards onto the sterile floor. The last man leaned out of his cover and squeezed off his entire pistols' magazine. In his fury, he continued to squeeze the empty weapon trigger. Griffin shot the man in the thigh, giving him time to bleed out in agony.

As he returned to Link, she continued to list off commands. Suddenly, she stopped.

Suddenly, a cheerful voice began to sing throughout the empty server room.

"Virus has been uploaded! Mission complete, Griffin!" Lancer then removed the usb drive from the server, snapping Link back into reality. She removed the cord from behind her ear and pocketed it.

"Good work, Link...." Griffin said, walking to the elevator, the young teenage cyborg in tow.

Howze and Templeton had reached the core, and were busy rigging explosives to the reactor. Templeton looked to his watch, before patting Howze on the shoulder.

"We've got 30 minutes. After we set these charges, let’s see if we can beat Major Lancer to the hangar."

Howze chuckled as he primed the detonation cord to a remote receiver. "Doubt it. He's efficient...I'm just glad to be working with him again. I'm getting used to the new butter bar on my collar anyway..."

Templeton nodded and scanned the area for any uninvited guests. He cleared his throat as he checked his watch again.

"So... what are you going to do when it’s over, Howze?"

-"Me? I don't know. I'll probably stay in. Who knows, they might need a demolitions expert for the next war. What about you, T?"

"I think I'm going to head home and party for a while. I'm almost through this war; I deserve some R&R."

The two men chuckled to themselves as they finished their work. Howze then set the timer to his charges as a failsafe.

"If anything happens, keep ahold of the detonator. This thing is vital to our mission."

The two lieutenants ran back to the elevator and pressed the up button. The heavy metal doors closed the core now silent once again.

---------------------------------------------------

Griffin and Link had left the elevator and made their way to a corridor leading to the hangar. The room was dim as they quietly made their way down the hall. Link stopped at an unmarked door and opened it, Griffin right behind her providing cover with his rifle. As they stepped inside the room, the ambient sound of neon lights hummed in their ears as they stepped into a blue light. The entire room was filled with huge stasis tanks with what looked to be embryos. Griffin's eyes were in awe of this amazing sight.

"Link...Analyze what room this is...." He said softly as he walked up to a control console.

-"This is a test lab. These large blue tanks are housing lifeforms. They're connected to a computer program that’s emitting combat training among other things...I don't know if they're human or not, my scanners don't know what to make of these readings..."

Griffin's mouth stood agape as he gripped his rifle tighter.

"They're clones...We have to destroy these things. If we don't we'll have an even bigger problem on our hands."

-"Howze and Templeton are planting charges at the core. Won't that explosion destroy these clones as well?"

"We have to make sure...." He then opened his rucksack and pulled out the satchel charges. He then placed the charges to ensure maximum damage. He looked to his android compatriot and sighed.

"Link. I have a question. Were you human at one point...?"

-"Yes. I was a young woman when I was harvested. I retain memories of my previous life, as my brain is also my CPU. Every aspect of my body has been hardwired with my biological self. I am in a sense, a perfect android. I can procreate and participate in intercourse just as a normal person can. The only difference is certain aspects of myself have been modified to increase productivity. For example, I only need to sleep 3 hours a day, I eat once per week, I rarely fatigue, and my physical abilities are increased threefold. They even added implants to my eyes, allowing me to see farther and notice minute details."

"...Why did you mention the part about procreation?"

-"I figured you'd want to know..." Griffin chuckled and opened the door to the hallway. As he stepped out, he took a moment to think about what could be in store for him in the future, as the war ended.

The squad of four had linked back up in the Hangars' storage floor, a dark landing bay filled with artillery shells and various loads of ammunition that were being used by the Assembly. Howze handed Lancer the detonator and checked his watch.

"We're pretty good. 30 minutes flat. Now all we have to do is find a way back to the fleet. I recommend we take one of their drop ships on the floor above us..."

Griffin nodded and looked to Link.

"Exactly how long do we have before the forces here are alerted to our presence...?" Link shrugged and looked to her watch as well.

"When I was downloading Assembly combat exercises from the mainframe, I looked at their security response team. It takes them five minutes to locate and respond to a confirmed threat, fifteen for an unconfirmed." Griffin shook his head and looked to his watch.

"That means they know we're here. They will be expecting us upstairs...Everyone, check weapons and ammo. We're going to have a firefight on our hands in the next few moments."

Howze checked his watch and sighed half-heartedly.

"We've got 28 minutes to find some suitable transportation and get the hell out of here, Sir. I recommend we split up again and draw their fire from two different directions. We then peel off to our extraction vehicle. We can radio for pick-up by our fleet."

Griffin nodded in approval. "I like that idea. Everyone realizes the risk they're taking to perform this maneuver?"

Everyone nodded. Lancer then sighed and cocked his weapon. "Then let’s do this. Howze, you're with me. Templeton, stick with Link and protect her at all costs. You'll be the first to reach the exfiltration point. Go, go, go!" With that, the squad split up once again.

Griffin ran down the corridor opposite of Templeton and Link, and made his way up the access ladder to the next floor. As they had expected, a security team was sitting in ambush positions, with four squads on either side of the hangar perimeter, and two squads on the catwalk above the hangar. Griffin tapped Howze on the shoulder, pointing them out to him.

"Look, there...They’re waiting for us. Looks like they have four...make that six squads present, armed with standard issue weapons and security armor...Thin Kevlar won’t stop rifle fire...  Go for disabling shots, and make them count. I do not want a hair on Link touched. Got it?"

Howze simply nodded, changing his safety selector to semi. "Let’s do it, Sir."

With that, Lancer sprinted through the door, and took a dive behind some crates, dodging enemy fire as he collected himself to get into a firing position. As he took aim and started squeezing off rounds, he looked to the opposite side of where he had entered, seeing Templeton and Link crouched behind another large crate. Griffin switched his selector to full auto and sprayed the entire hangar down with his magazine. As the bolt on his weapon locked backward, time seemed to slow down, Griffins' breathing calm and cool as he dropped his empty magazine, reached into his bandoleer with his left hand, and produced a fresh magazine. He then instinctively moved the magazine to the magazine well on the stock of the rifle, securing it to the locking mechanism. He then released the bolt from its locked position with the press of his right ring finger, loading a fresh round in. As he looked to Howze, he gave a slight nod, giving permission to proceed to head to his position. Griffin's focus and concentration was a sight unseen by either Howze or Templeton, as they watched him reload his weapon in what seemed like fractions of a second. Howze made a dive to Lancer and rolled behind the same crate.

"Howze, I need you to give them some ordinance, on my mark!" Griffin ordered. Howze nodded and swapped his weapons for a pistol, similar to that of a flare gun. He then loaded a 40mm Grenade with a neon green tip and locked the barrel. He then looked to the Major, signaling that he was ready to fire. Griffin leaned out from behind his cover to spot a target for his Lieutenant.

"Catwalk, dead center. Don't miss!" Griffin then leaned out again to spray the hangar once again. At that same moment, Howze leaned out of his cover, took aim with the handheld grenade launcher, and fired. The primer ignited the charge, sending the grenade flying towards the catwalk. The resulting explosion rocked the entire hangar with concussion. The gunfire seemed to stop for only an instant, but it was more than enough time to allow the four of them to displace and move closer to their goal: An Assembly Troopship prepping for takeoff.

The four of them took cover behind a concrete barrier and reloaded their weapons. Templeton moved from his position and made a dash for the ship, spraying his rifle at the recovering security detail. Cries of agony and pain echoed through the acoustics of the hangar. Link followed close behind, doing her best to keep the pressure on the Assembly forces.

Griffin checked the time left on his watch, before leaning out of his cover, and opening fire. The remnants of the hostile security detail had fallen back behind another concrete barrier and were returning volleys of intense gunfire. Griffin turned to Howze to call out another position when he fell backward from an impact. The look of shock grew on Lieutenant Howze’s' face as his Major had fallen, but the man was not dead. Griffin sat up amidst the percussion of conflict, and checked his chest, removing a flattened slug from his combat vest. He then picked up his rifle and looked to Howze once again.

"Grenade, 30 meters, concrete barrier; Do it!" Howze did as he was ordered, his free hand reaching into his ammo belt to retrieve another grenade. He recharged his barrel, and then opened fire, the resulting explosion turning the concrete barrier to dust, and leaving a dozen men wounded or dead. Howze and Griffin made their way to the troopship, getting into the cargo hold. Templeton and Link made their way to the pilot and co-pilot positions, preparing the ship to take off. Griffin reloaded once again and sprayed the hangar one more time, before he turned to Templeton.

"Close the back door!"

The metal door to the troop ship rose up, as bullets pinged against the hull of the chassis. Finally, the door had closed, and the ship made its way out of the hangar. Templeton was busy on the radio hailing a friendly battlecruiser while Link piloted the ship. Griffin sighed and checked his watch.

"...With 10 minutes to spare...I call that a helluva sabotage mission, don't you Howze?"

There was no response.

"Howze...?" Griffin turned to see his Lieutenant sitting on the floor, his hands covering a wound just below his heart, where his vest had ruptured from an excess of impacts on one spot. He gasped and grimaced as the blood flowed freely from the wound.

"Guess my luck ran out, Sir..." He muttered as he coughed. Blood ran out from his bottom lip as his breathing became labored. Griffin kneeled down to his squad mate and opened his first-aid pouch, pulling out a few vials of morphine, injecting them into his thigh. He then took out a styptic patch, and placed it on the wound, removing his hands in the process.

-"Nonsense, Howze. You're going to be alright...That morphine is going to kick in any minute now, and a corpsman is going to take care of you, alright?" Howze looked down to glance at his watch, the minute hand almost touching the twelve.

"Thirty seconds, Sir..." Howze said. Griffin nodded.

"Do you want more morphine...?" Howze weakly grunted as he took a deep, pained breath. Griffin took out another morphine vial and injected it.

"Just wait, okay? Help is on the way..." Howze did not respond, as his eyes drifted off, his lips moving slightly.

“...God...damn it...I can't...I...”

Griffin watched quietly as his comrade slumped over to one side, his eyes still half open, his mouth slightly agape from the pain. Lancer took a deep breath and sat Howze up, placing his limp hands on his rifle, closing his eyes and mouth. He took a bit of the blood from Howze’s' wound and placed on his head:

KIA 0 HR.

With that, he got up and moved into the cockpit where Templeton was relaying a message to a friendly carrier.

"...Yes sir, He's right here...," Templeton handed the microphone to Major Lancer.

"Sir, its Amos...Is Howze okay...?" Griffin looked to Templeton, and shook his head silently. Templeton's eyes sank somewhat as he sighed softly. Griffin took the radio and started to relay his message.

"Sir, this is Lancer."

-"What’s the status of your mission?"

"Complete, bomb is detonating in 8 seconds..."

There was a moment of silence, while the lunar command post and mining facility were cooked from the inside out. Amos responded with a cheerful laugh, and then continued.

"Major, you four have done amazing work. However, this war isn't through yet...When you finally dock; see me in the command room. Oh, and commend Howze on his exceptional demolition skills....'

"Howze is dead, Amos."

There was another break in transmission.

"I see...," Amos responded softly. "He was a good soldier...I expect a full report from you in seven hours. Get cleaned up. Out."

Griffin rested the microphone on the dashboard of the cockpit, slamming his fist against the hull, repeatedly. "Fuckin'...” He took a deep breath and softly sighed, a single tear running down his cheek. No words were exchanged from there on out. A silence fell as Griffin turned to the dead body of one his finest soldiers.

There was a small military funeral a few days after the mission. The casket containing Howze was shot out into space. Lancer would go on to say that:

"Lieutenant Arnold Howze was one of the finest soldiers to ever befall the Federation. His cool head and perseverance to get the mission completed had no equal...It is with extreme sadness that I describe his best traits as a soldier when he is no longer with us..."

For the next few days after the funeral, Griffin locked himself in his quarters, either asleep or drunk with grief. As he sat quietly at his desk chair, looking off into space and beyond, he could only remember the numerous faces that died alongside his innocence...



Weeks Later, Lancer was at Storm Commander Amos' desk, receiving another briefing.

"Major, we’re about to begin our invasion on Earth. The last remnants of the Assembly have gathered there to stage a final defense. Our ships are encompassing the entire globe, marking out strategic drop zones for our men. The combined might of the Federation has finally arrived; But with that, comes new responsibility. Major Lancer, as of this moment, you have been promoted to Colonel, Commander of your own Division of SCARs Troopers. Templeton will be your second in Command, as Link will be your Color Sergeant...Your division will be dropped in Antarctica, with the responsibility of eliminating the enemy presence in this area. Once that is complete, you will then move north and assist other divisions in capturing the Americas. This last campaign is going to be our biggest endeavor yet...and I know you are still pained with the loss of so many friends...but the war is nearly over, Lancer. One final push and we will have liberated the system from the grip of tyranny..."

Griffin said nothing as he checked his watch. He gave a prompt salute and walked out, new rank on his collar. The silver eagle and wreath glistened in the artificial light as he looked to his new division, standing at attention, awaiting their commander's orders. Templeton stood in front of the division, now a Major, and Link stood in the rear, the seven bright red stripes of color sergeant resting on her shoulder. Griffin cleared his throat as he stood in front of at least 1500 men in the battlecruisers' enormous hangar.

"As you know...This is going to be one of the biggest military endeavors our army has ever constructed or planned. Four years in the making, ladies, and gentlemen...Four! Four years of dead bodies! Four years of lost souls! Four years of fatherless and motherless families! Four years of blood, sweat and tears amassed into this...The Generals are calling this campaign "The Last 500 Days..." They predict that Earth will be taken in a year and a half..."

The eyes of a young generation stared into the face of their commander. A man who had seen the worst of war, and survived campaign after campaign of bloody conflict with the Assembly. His jade eyes dimmed with age and hardship that only war could bring. Shrapnel wounds and close calls with death scarred his face. His uniform was crisp and clean, creases so sharp one could cut a log in half with it. Lancer took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment.

"I come to you now to give you greenhorns some advice: Listen to your NCOs and Officers. Anyone who has a higher rank than you has obviously earned it the hard way; you will give them the respect they deserve. Every veteran in this Division has fought beside another, or me at one point and they can all recall my determination to get the mission completed...But do not let that fool you that this is going to be a cakewalk. We are landing in a hot zone, and some of you may die before we even touch ground...Tough shit. If you're in your dropship and your buddy beside you gets torn up from an armor piercing shell that has pierced your dropships armor, I expect you to take his ammunition and grenades, and use them to your best advantage..."

Griffin looked into his division, and noticed a young boy, no older than sixteen. His eyes were wide with fear, His body rigid at attention as he listened to his commander. Griffin took a deep breath and checked his watch.

"Spare equipment is rare to come by in the Federation, people. Scrounge for everything you need: canteens, ammo, rifles, extra pistols, grenades, first-aid kits, boots...underwear, you name it. Where we are going, we are not going to have supply depots like in BARTs or ACES. There is going to be no Drill Instructors to tell you how to fire your weapon at another man and kill him at 50 yards or less, or how to operate an enemy machinegun, turn it around at him, and hose down their entire reserve platoon...There is no time for sick call. You get a round in your arm? Call the medic, let him do his magic, take a styptic and keep fighting. You're incapacitated? You had better start praying. This is Special Forces. You have made it through the toughest training your army has to offer you.  You've already shown you're one of the toughest, meanest, most determined sonsofbitches to come out of your mommas' wombs! When we board, I want every last one of you to don your arctic gear. Start camouflaging your weapons, faces, hands, everything. Dress warm, be prepared for a bumpy ride and an even rougher campaign...We depart in 12 hours.... So, get a hot meal, shower, pray, write out your wills if you haven't done so already...because once we land on Terra Firma, it’s a whole 'nother can of worms...Company Commanders take charge of your units..." With that, he walked off his podium, and retreated to his quarters.

[12 hours later]
[March 31, 2159]

As the armada of dropships coasted through the void of space, there was an ominous silence amongst the dozens of men. A soldier quietly spoke up as he quietly sang to himself the Federation Anthem.

"Pride give us our destiny,
Deliver us from misery,
Keep our hope and strength alive,
Blood and sweat will save our lives...”
Other men quietly joined in as the dropship speeded towards Earth. As they got within 10 miles of the orbit, they were bombarded by orbital artillery, shrapnel flying in every direction.

Griffin, who had quietly been thinking to himself, noticed the craft was shaking back and forth from the concussion of the AA being fired at them, as they got closer and closer to the surface of the Earth.

As they broke the atmosphere, the cannon fire became even more intense, as the armada of soldiers delved deeper into the wall of steel and shrapnel. As each corps of Federation soldiers got to their destination, they separated from their formation and sped towards their drop points.

Griffin's division inched closer to their destination as the interior of the ship got colder as they came closer to the surface of Antarctica. As they got to their drop point, the hatches below their seats opened up, revealing a wall of white ice. The drop rope fell between their legs, and they grabbed hold, rappelling down to the surface, the cold wind whipping their faces.

As they all touched ground and oriented themselves, they came under fire by mortars and artillery, followed by a massive spray of heavy machinegun fire.

"Where’s it coming' from?" One soldier screamed as he took cover beneath a fold of ground. Lancer checked his compass, taking cover as he rolled forward into a fold of ground. Most of the division took cover where they stood, while some others were not so lucky, getting hit by one of the three armaments. Griffin rolled on his side, pulling out a fresh magazine from his pouch, and loading his rifle with it.

"Open fire; give some covering fire so we can get out of this trench!" The order was given by another soldier, relayed down the line, until the burst of rifle fire covered up the sound of the wind, as hot brass casings jumped about into the wind. The machineguns stopped as Griffin pointed east.

"Let’s go! Get out of this trench!" The remainder of the men winded around the hill facing them, and flanked the machinegun nest, disabling everything and everyone in it. As they regrouped at the machinegun nest, Lancer checked his map quickly. Some of the younger men winced as artillery whistled and exploded over their heads.  Captain Templeton finally ran into his commander, and tapped his shoulder.

"Sir, we can't stay here, the artillery is zeroing in on us!" Griffin nodded and pointed forward.

"We're half a mile from the Assembly fort, let’s keep pressing forward!" As they pressed forward, they came to a massive hill. A thick sheet of snow and fog obscured the peak.

"Spread out! Templeton, take two companies and go up that hill! We'll try and flank around!"

As the division made its way up the hill, the artillery and another machinegun nest pinned them down. The intensity of enemy fire forced their heads down even further. Griffin dropped his rucksack and opened the case to his entrenching tool amidst the intense firepower the Assembly was hurling at this company of SCARs.

"Dig in!" He shouted at the top of his lungs. The division began to dig furiously, explosions rocking their eardrums and breaking their spirit.

As the sun disappeared from the horizon, the region turned into pitch black. The storm subsided as the SCARs made camp within deep frozen foxholes. Templeton and Lancer, along with Link made their home in one foxhole.

"Goddammit...." Lancer said as he puffed on his cigarette as he shook from a brief chill. Templeton took the cigarette from Griffin's hand as he took a drag and passed it back to Griffin.

"Agreed...A quarter mile from the fort...And we've been stopped dead in our tracks. We've lost 75 on the touchdown...25 wounded...5 missing, possibly K.I.A... That makes 105 casualties...Out of a division of 1500." Templeton said as he scribbled onto a notepad.

Griffin took one last drag of his cigarette and put it out on the side of the foxhole.

"How many are holding that fort, do you think?" Templeton thought for a minute.

"Given the volume of fire we've encountered the last 12 hours...I think it’s safe to say we're faced with a company of Assembly at this fort. A head on assault is a risk of valuable men and resources, but they've pushed us into a bottleneck, an uphill bottleneck at that...They've got us zeroed in with artillery and they've got machineguns all around our axis of advance...We need to get through this blockade."

-"I concur, Captain. I suggest a small SCARs team to dismantle the defensive capabilities of the Assembly..."

The wind picked up once again, the frost flowing back into the air, obscuring visibility once again. Griffin looked to Templeton as he took a fresh cigarette, and lit it, taking a long drag before he spoke.

"I'll do it. Send runners to meet here in 30 minutes."

-"What exactly are you going to do?" Link said softly as she checked her watch.

"I'm leading a raid party to get behind their defensive lines and dismantle their defensive capabilities." Templeton shook his head in disapproval.

"Sir, with your rank, you'd be a liability. Let me go. Color Sergeant Link and me. You can conduct our operations from here, Sir. Just make the plans and we'll follow through." Griffin sighed and nodded.

"Fine. I trust you to take care of this mission, the both of you."

In the cold darkness of the twilight, a dozen or so shadowy figures drifted across the landscape as they disappeared behind enemy lines. A single Assembly soldier on guard overlooking the hill looked up to the stars, seeing small flickers of what looked like shooting stars, followed by the distant blast of battlecruiser fire. The blasts distracted him from the knife that quickly pressed against his throat as the edge of the blade dove into his neck, severing his artery. He gasped and attempted to scream for help, but the blade removed itself from his throat, only to sink into his chest, stealing the air from his lungs. He exhaled, never to breathe again.

Link cleaned her blade as she gave an all clear to Captain Templeton. The small group of Federation Raiders sprinted as quietly as possible into the enemy dugouts, quickly and quietly slashing the throats of sleeping soldiers, and planting charges on their ammo dump and machinegun nests. The twilight obscured them as they continued silently killing everyone in the trench. The shadows left as quickly and as quietly as they had arrived, vanishing into the blanket of white frost enveloping the horizon.

Templeton turned on his radio as he checked his watch.

"SCAR Six-Actual, this is SCAR Six-Two. Objectives completed. Go ahead and ready the advance, sir."

No reply was heard as the sound of rustling was heard from down the hill. The crunching of boots on frozen snow marked the advance of the scars team as they made their way up the hill and stopped at the peak. Templeton linked up with Lancer, and they exchanged a few short hand signals. Templeton nodded and waved his arm forward. Link pulled out a flare gun and fired it into the air. The darkness illuminated by a sickly green hue. At that moment, the entire division opened fire as they advanced on the small fort. Behind them, the charges planted on the trenches finally detonated, smoke and flame dancing behind them, smoke billowing out from the ammo dump. The Assembly was caught off guard as they hurriedly operated their posts and returned fire. Bursts of gunfire lit up the frozen tundra as the flare dimmed down into darkness. The gunfire stopped as another flare illuminated the landscape. The eyes of Lancer looked ahead to see that the fort was quiet.

"Move out, secure that fort, then we can get the hell out of this place."

A few minutes later, The SCARs division was encamped inside the fort, realizing there were only 10 men guarding the fort. They had killed the rest in the trenches.

Colonel Lancer, Captain Templeton and Color Sergeant Link sat in the warm command room, as they looked over scores of documents and dispatches the Assembly had received. Griffin read the dispatches and sucked on his bottom lip as he sighed.

"It seems the main force had abandoned this fort, leaving only a platoon behind. They were ordered to fall back to America; New York to be exact."

-"New York? Why didn't they just make it easy on us and huddle up in the old Congressional building or flee to Germany and take cover in the Reichstag..." Templeton scoffed as he took a drag of his cigarette. "I assume we're getting picked up tomorrow?"

"Correct," Lancer said as he stretched. "We're going to help support 70th Light in California. They've been held on the beach for a day now. We're going to give some extra firepower."

"Any intel on what might happen when we get there?" Link asked as she read a stack of Intel sheets.

"Command is saying to expect severe resistance near Los Angeles and another troop in reserve in San Diego. Our men are being squeezed into a tight ravine. The only thing that’s defending them is our air support, and even that isn't going to last long. We have no hold in California. We lose California, it will set our campaign back another year...Have your companies draw from supply, and stock up on an extra supplies for your medics. Link, I want you to relay with Amos, give him my report."

As the next day came, The SCARs division was replaced with a corps of Federation regulars, as they reported to the command ship "Sparta", where they restocked and rearmed in the Hangar. As the Battlecruiser lifted off into the sky, Lancer made his way to the armory, stopping in front of the front desk. The armorer nodded his head and pulled out a requisition form. Lancer placed his unloaded rifle on the desk and pointed at the barrel.

"This barrel is worn down. I need it exchanged. The bolt is sloppy as well, It jams every 40 rounds or so. The magazine well is worn, and the sights are bent. I've been aiming down the front sight post for the last three days...Any new rifles in stock?"

The armorer picked up the rifle and tagged it, placing it into a large crate. He then revealed a steel suitcase on the desk, opening it, revealing a weapon broken down into parts.

"Sir, this weapon is going to replace the standard issue weapon our soldiers are carrying. It’s chambered in 7.62x38, high power, tungsten core with a nickel-bronze coat with a reinforced aluminum jacket. Galil Golani clone, customized to SCARs specifications. Sixty round magazine interchangeable to a 120-round drum. Rails to accommodate attachments. Sights are practically welded to the upper receiver, but can be detached with a knife, if needed. Silencer threads built-in to allow multiple silencer systems. Every part of this weapon is interchangeable with other parts." Griffin assembled the parts of the rifle as the armorer explained the model to him.

"That’s all fine and dandy, but how does it compare to the SR-56? Can it take a target down from 700 meters with a 5cm spread?" The armorer chuckled and nodded his head.

"I can guarantee this thing is going to win the war for you, Colonel. They're going to be fielded when your division gets to California..."

-"Which reminds me, can it still fire after exposed to sand and sea water?"

The sun was setting on the horizon, the orange and purple lights danced on the Pacific Ocean as Griffin stood on the portside deck of the battlecruiser, the wind whipping the clouds past the gargantuan battlecruiser as it lowered down to 5,000 Feet. The klaxon alarm blared from a distance as he walked down the service stairs to the docking bay. The troopships were already filled to bursting with eager and anxious soldiers ready for combat. In the distance, they could see the California beachhead, small specks of unnatural cloud covering what lay beyond, an obvious sign that the region was being heavily shelled. As Griffin entered one of the many transports on the docking bay, he looked to the crowd of soldiers. He said nothing as he fished in his vest pocket for a cigarette. As he found one, he placed it between his lips and with his lighter, lit the cigarette without a second thought. He took a short drag and quietly exhaled, looking to his watch before sitting down in his seat, closing the safety harness over his chest. He put his helmet on, and turned on the heads-up display that was built into his visor. As the computer inside his helmet chirped and booted the targeting program, a familiar voice called out to him.

Her red hair danced wildly through the wind created from the turbines and the open hangar door. Her equipment was polished and pressed, from her helmet to the soles of her boots. The most amazing aspect was that she was not in a wheelchair anymore.

"Colonel Lancer, Sir. Lt. Colonel Belle reporting for duty. Is this your company?" Griffin nodded and motioned for her to sit next to him. She did so, handing Griffin a sheet of paper.

"What’s this?" He asked, as he looked it over. She simply smiled and locked herself in.

-"They implanted some stem cells into my back. It gave me full function of my lower half again. I’ve been in physical rehab for the past 5 months, but it’s been worth it...Just to stand by your side again. Amos wanted me to relay a message to you: 'God-Speed'."

Griffin smiled and gently took her free hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I missed you."

The flight of troopships lifted off and slowly made their way to the beachhead of California. The inside of the hull of the Troopship, the loading dock in the rear was removed to make room for a mounted machinegun, with a Federation Marine in a powered exoskeleton. The leatherneck rotated 180 degrees left and right, scanning his sectors as the sea flowed beneath his feet.

Daylight dimmed a bit more as the sun seemed to disappear under the sea. The moon blossomed through the vast expanse of sky. As they inched closer to the coast, the troopship rocked back and forth from Flak being shot at them from the ground.

Lancer cocked his weapon as he reassured his company. "Hang on! We're coming in hot! Lock and load and keep your eyes open!"

The Troopship slowly dropped altitude as it landed on the beachhead. As soon as they touched ground, the gunners began to open fire, providing cover for the infantry. Griffin and Rei quickly exited the craft and took cover behind a sand dune as the mass of infantry swarmed the beachhead and started to eliminate Assembly soldiers and machine-gun nests.

"You stick right behind me, Rei. No use in you being here if you get wounded." Rei nodded and took her weapon off safe. Griffin crawled up the dune and took aim with his weapon, squeezing off a few rounds at a couple of Assembly Stragglers. The sunlight was nearly gone, and the troopships deployed flares into the sky, illuminating everything in a golden hue. As darkness fell, the gunfire subsided as the Assembly retreated once again. After about an hour, the area was deemed secure as engineers and logistics landed and conducted base operations. MCVs were dropped and were erected as Federation Marines followed in behind the SCARs Teams. All hands were on call as sandbags and defensive trenches were constructed around the perimeter of the base. Griffin and his SCARs division made camp along the Perimeter of the camp, settling down for the night. His men had fought hard and made an effort to secure the beachhead. The only hope he had was that the offensive into California would be quick. He knew everyone could taste absolute victory. They just had to get to the East Coast and their mission would be completed. Griffin fixed his sleeping bag and laid on top of it. Rei rested next to him, her breaths deep and slow, her eyes darting back and forth, as dreams danced through her head.

Lancer was greeted by a blast of artillery fire in the morning. He shot up and picked up his rifle and helmet, jumping outside. Seeing nothing but the artillery cannons opening fire on designated targets, He went back inside. He checked his watch and banged on the door with his fist. Slowly, men woke up and looked to their leader. There was obviously no rush as Lancer lit a fresh cigarette, relaying orders to his men.

"Get up! Y'all got 90 minutes for personal hygiene and chow. Meet me in the briefing room over at HQ."
-----------------------------------
[3 hours later]
Lancer relayed on the radio to Amos, who was in Europe with the brunt of the Invasion force,

"Affirmative. We hit the beach at 1800 and deemed the area secure at 2230. We lost 30 men to a few strategically placed machine-guns on the ridge. I'm waiting to send the spear into their flank, over."

Amos took a moment to relay his message.

"Lancer, take your battalion and some armor and advance across Route 66. Your rally point is Las Vegas, Nevada. Prepare your supplies accordingly. When you get to Reno, relay a message, burst transmission. Your flanks with the 300th Armored on your left and the 34th Colonial Marine Division on your right. Expect heavy resistance along this road, expect some rough fighting."

With that, the transmission ceased. Griffin placed the microphone on the table, and turned, seeing Rei standing in the doorway. She took a puff of the cigarette between her lips and rested her helmet on the conference table. Link and Templeton entered in right behind her. They all sat down at the table with Colonel Lancer as he sighed softly.

"I assume we're marching off again..." Rei said as she put her feet on the table. Lancer nodded and took a deep breath, his left hand stroking his chin.

"We're humping off again, and we're going to be on the trail for a while. Our orders are to rally in Nevada. So, brief your men to pack everything, and tell them to draw extra canteens and bandoleers from the Quartermaster. We'll be linking up with the 40th Light Armored Company who will be giving us support. We're heading out tonight."


As light faded off into twilight, There were shadows dancing about the California hills as APCs and Troops marched quietly down Route 80, amidst the burnt-out cars and broken asphalt razed into the Mojave desert surrounding them.

Lancer's eyes darted back and forth from one side of the road to the other, as he sat on the back of an APC, he flipped open a map and marked their progress, and mapped out their pit stops before they reached Vegas, and ultimately, New York, the crux of the Assembly’s political power. Wisps of dust and sand spun through the air as in the distance, an ominous orange glow colored the sky to their Northeast in flames from a large forest, where unchecked fires had grown rampant. Rei was sitting next to him, puffing away on a cigarette as she retied her boot, the smell of burning evergreen rested in their nostrils as they continued.
"So where are we going now, Griffin?" She asked nonchalantly as she tossed the spent butt on the ground, watching it disappear under the treads of the vehicle behind them. The musty fumes of Diesel and dust hovered over them like vultures. Save for the shadows of the troop ships and capital destroyers casting themselves upon the Mojave, unmoving cloud-like structures sitting in the fast approaching twilight, black shadows without natural purpose loomed, as if a nurturing mother were watching them.
- “Reno,” Griffin muttered, marking something on his map. “Should take us a week or so. Supply line will get thin and we’ll have to slow down to allow them to catch up. As long as we have enough water, it shouldn’t be a problem”

 The desert was vast and empty, something most of the colony-born Troopers had never seen in their entire lives. Empty space was a foreign concept to them, and it frankly scared the bejesus out of the Federation greenhorns. The air was cold and empty as the convoy continued silently along the paved road; each treaded tire rolling against the sunbaked asphalt, waffled boots following suit shortly after. The sun slowly danced its way behind the convoy’s back as the bright blue sky turned into hues of purples, oranges, green-blues, and blacks as the sunset turned into twilight, and finally, calm darkness.

Through the tranquil night and through the encroaching dawn, The Colonists had experienced something that in ten years seemed like a gift from the Gods; Silence. No ambushes, artillery strikes or any semblance of a defensive line. As day approached, the convoy stopped, just outside Reno as planned. Soldiers and vehicle crews alike took the time to rest, eat, refuel and before heading back out along the highway that night.

For the next three days, the Federation crawled east across the desert, stopping as the sun came up. Every time they stopped, they expected some sort of attack or harassment from the Assembly, but it never came. Peace and quiet, something Griffin had not known for over 10 years, granted to him and his men as a reward by the Goddess. He took the quiet moments to write in his journal.

August 3rd, 2159,

Took contact at our initial drop zone in Antarctica. Assembly detachment left behind to guard a radar post. Recovered significant information to troop positions in the Western hemisphere; Diverted to San Francisco to assist in the landing shortly after. Fifth Guards were defending their posts as expected, fought until they were overrun. Been moving for 3 days now, No contact. Just outside of Las Vegas, Part of the Red Rock Canyon called Eva’s Tower Peak. I can see activity in the City with 28x85 power observation equipment, as well as radio chatter from the region. They’re ready and waiting for us.

	The Assembly is fighting smart. They’re not going to hold every city in the region, that would stretch their forces too thin. Instead, they plan on setting up strongpoints in certain cities across the country, and in the hopes we slip up, would cut off the head of the spear and destroy us. New reports give accounts of fierce fighting in Sao Paolo, Kinshasa, Kirkuk, Lisbon, Hereford, Aomori, dozens of other spots. It’s a global campaign; logistical nightmare for both sides.

Their supposed insurmountable power is now fading; we’re going to be stepping off within a fortnight into the heart of their defensive line, Las Vegas proper. Recon hasn’t reported in. Perhaps captured, or killed. No doubt, if this is the case, we have a long battle ahead of us, and I fear for the men. Many of them are not even over the age of 20, yet they are expected to conduct themselves as seasoned veterans.


August 4th 2159

  	The local population is now passing through our line. Some stop for medical aid from our specialists, as well as asking for water, trade, food, sometimes. Many of them look starved, disheveled husks of flesh. Gaunt eyes and sallow expressions on most of them. Long strands of wispy frail hair rests on their heads in various styles, mostly shaggy.

	A man who claimed to be the mayor stopped by my post, asking for the commander of the forces in this area. As the ranking official, I responded to his requests; I was not disappointed to find that he was giving me information of a possible mole in the division, a soldier or soldiers relaying communique to the Assembly.

Until I can confirm these suspicions, I will keep a tab on my tongue until I can speak with Commander Amos. No doubt, Jorge will want to hear of the information.

I lay here awake, Rei beside me. Rei. A good friend, a good X.O. We agreed to leave our feelings for each other aside until this war was over, and I intend to honor that promise.

It’s funny, the sky seems so much clearer now than it ever did in space…

Colonel Griffin Aleksander Lancer


It was not until they reached the outskirts of an aged metropolis called Las Vegas, that the brevity of the campaign was known.
As they stopped on the expressway, there was a dim glow of red and orange from the city. Aircraft were dancing about, dropping ordinance and other weapons onto the buildings.

Lancer took this moment to take a cigarette from his pack, and light it, taking a few puffs of it before he walked to his rucksack sitting on the APC to his left. He put it on, and picked up his rifle next to it, loading a fresh magazine. He then looked to a group of soldiers who were still on looking at the explosions ravaging the concrete jungle in the distance.

"Don’t focus on the noise, men. Focus on the objective. Ready yourselves; we’re at the tip of the spear, anything can happen while we’re waiting for the order.” His voice resonated through each snap of gunfire in the distance, as the sun planted firmly in the center of the sky. No sleep for the men, not while the world burned around them.

Griffin got on his personal radio and paged his platoon leader. Templeton relayed this call, and answered after a few moments.

“Sir?” His voice was hushed, tired. All the men and women were tired from endless days of travel. Even sitting still caused fatigue if they stayed in that position for more than a few hours at a time. Griffin knew he’d have to prepare for the worst, should it come.

- “Templeton, I want you to order your officers and NCOs to start digging entrenchments along either side of the road here, facing the town. We cannot step off until we get the greenlight. Ready fighting positions for the vehicles too. Copy?” Griffin asked as he slapped the back of his neck, killing a small bug that pestered his ears as he spoke. A few moments passed before there was a response.

“Understood, I’ll get Colonel Belle and Color Sergeant Link on it…We’ve got the longwave radio back on truck 5, sir. I recommend you contact Amos on the situation.” His voice responded much like Griffin did: short, sharp, direct. The mark of a combat veteran who had more than his fill of frontline duty.  Griffin took the response in stride and quickly made his way to the back of the cargo truck holding the radio equipment. Tapping the operator’s shoulder aside, the man shifted over to allow the Colonel entrance and access to the equipment he needed.

“Vulcan, this is Onyx, over.” There was a few moments of silence, before the familiar voice of Amos chimed in.

- “Onyx, Vulcan. Send it.” He responded. Griffin adjusted his stance as he looked towards the barricaded town of Vegas in the distance, the slow dancing of cloud cover highlighting the streetlights and searchlights pockmarked along the defensive wall.

“My division is taking the moment to dig in and fortify our stepping off position; requesting ETA on when we’re moving out, over.” A solar flare created a buzz of interference before Amos responded.

- “You’ll receive the order when I give it. Vulcan out.”

Strange. Amos never snapped at his field officers like that; he wasn’t the sort of leader to damage another’s reputation by words. There was something odd about the way he said it, as if something sidetracked him.

Griffin kept this exchange earmarked for later, when he would have time to discuss it personally with his commander. For the moment, he would stand by his command, and order his men to dig in…

[August 17, 2159]
[Las Vegas Outskirts]


The division Sat ready in their defensive trenches. It had seemed for the past few days now that the Assembly had massed their own troops in preparation for this fight. Intel had trickled in to Griffin and the rest of the leadership that several divisions of infantry and armor defended the city. In the distance, Griffin could see troop movement amongst the grey buildings and colored neon signs that had now ceased to shine defiantly in the night sky. The sun was cradled gently against the cusp of two mountains in the distance, like two thin arms trying to hold the universe up with no success.

Griffin sat shakily in one of the fighting positions, Templeton, Rei, and Link beside him as they hunched over a map of the city of Vegas. Griffin, with a red marker, drew out the first few positions on the map. Their position, just west of the city at Calico Basin, and the sectors where there was an abundance of enemy movement and activity, within the city limits. The radio chatter in the background picked up as the Federation space navy began to bombard the position with heavy cannon, the streaks of light cresting down from the heavens to crash down into the town below with a thunderous roar, kicking up sand and debris as they fired salvo after salvo. Griffin’s hand shook gently as he hovered the tip of the marker above a spot on the map.

“This. This is our entry point. Route 153, it’s called. One of the main arteries of the town, cuts right through the city at its axis…6th Regiment’s mission is to secure the road and the adjacent blocks, effectively cutting the town in twain…”

A long stroke through the city marked the movement of the division.

“Supported by the 1st, 9th, and 24th mechanized infantry to our North. They’ll secure the airport and Nellis Air Force Base, and will link with us at the Police station, just south of our objective…”

Another few squeaks of his marker as he drew another few lines, indicating another division.

“Colonial Marines and the rest of the main body will be south of us, providing interference and support, keeping a majority of the Assembly off our ass until we secure our objective. From there, we push on down, straddling I-15 and the strip, until we reach the opposite end of the town…”

- “Cakewalk…” Link said quietly as she observed the map. “Intelligence indicates the Assembly has their elite guards posted along the casino strip, 10th Regiment. Seasoned veterans…” She motioned to the strip, indicating the Bellagio and the surrounding areas.

“Yeah; once we hit the crossroads at Rancho Oakey, it’s a whole ‘nother can of worms. Tenacious fighters. We’re going to be lucky if we make it out of here without a scratch.”

- “Or a body bag to show for it…” Templeton mused, his expression grim. The cherry from the cigarette he was smoking glowed against the gunmetal of his weapon as he pulled it away from his lips to exhale the smoke from his lungs. The ambience of the bombardment punctuated each moment as Griffin quietly circled Lake Mead.
“This is why we’re here. Water. The local area depends on this water system to keep its population hydrated. We saw those refugees earlier in the week; they’re dying of thirst, just like we will if we don’t capture this area. We take the city, Assembly backs off, and everyone gets clean water.”

Griffin’s hand shook a bit more now. Rei reached out and gently took his extended hand, grasping it tightly.

- “It’s going to be okay, Griffin…we’ll do our job, you just need to do yours. The plan is here, you make sure we make it to our objective in one piece…” Griffin took her hand and shoved it away. His eyes welled with tears as he scowled angrily. He didn’t need Rei to remind him of his mission. A moment of weakness would not compromise his leadership. Now or ever. He looked around to the rest of them, a look of pain across his face as she spoke.

“Howze should be here…Ghost…They should all be here too…They died to get us this far; don’t let them down…nobody in this leadership is allowed to die until we get to New York, you understand?”

A few heads nodded as Griffin stood up and folded the map, before tucking it into his vest.

“We lose this battle, we lose the war. If we cannot control Vegas by the end of the week, the Assembly’s reinforcements will crash down from Canada and we will be wiped out of existence. Command is having a hard time trying to keep their footing in Japan and Europe, and we are not about to give them a headache in the Americas. Not while we have the upper hand, got it?”

There was silence as Griffin wiped the sweat from his brow, before taking up his rifle in his left hand, the orbital bombardment increasing in intensity as he checked his watch.

“We step off in 3 hours. Get your shit squared away.”


The darkness of the Mojave was saturated with tracer fire dancing across the sandscape in Griffin’s field of view as both sides exchanged fire. Griffin looked to his right to see Rei kneeling beside him, flare gun in her hands. Colonel Lancer quietly checked his watch by the light of the moon above. The hour had arrived, and with a deep breath, he tapped Rei on the shoulder, giving the signal to begin the advance.
Rei quickly aimed her flare gun above her head into the night sky, amidst the dancing trails of afterburners and missile smoke to fire off a single red flare as it danced into the sky, exploded, and illuminated the desert. As the light struck the ground, Griffin shouted at the top of his lungs, throwing his hand forward as he climbed out of the fighting trench and started running.

“Forward! Follow me!”

A cacophony of war cries erupted behind him as he and the rest of the division charged to the retaining wall defending the city. The Assembly troopers not under assault from the orbital bombardment or the covering fire from the tanks opened fire at the advancing lines of Federation infantry, as Colonel Lancer and his unit made the 2-mile advance in darkness to the retaining wall that signaled the city limits of Las Vegas.

The exchange of fire increased, as tracer fire danced across the landscape amidst the advance, the percussive sounds and pressure displacement of firearms beside him, in front of him, behind him. Mid-stride, he turned his head to glance to his left to catch a glimpse of what looked like Link stumbling amidst the increasing fire. Griffin instinctively reached out and gripped her sleeve as he pulled her alongside him.

“Come on,” was all he managed to say, before an enemy explosion a few feet to his right threw Griffin backward into the air for what seemed like an eternity, suddenly hitting the ground. His vision blurred, and his hearing deafened, save for a high-pitched ring seated just below his chin and between his eyes. Heavy breaths escaped him as he attempted to stand, but he found standing incredibly difficult for a moment. He resorted to crawling forward now, stopping after a few meters, feeling tired suddenly.

Link had returned to tend to her commander, the look on her face saying it all.

“Griffin…” Her voice said quietly, before resting her hand on his chest, the noise of battle seeming to subside and fade out as Griffin laid there, his eyes facing the sky. He could feel the warmth of his body bleeding out onto the cold desert, as he tried to reach for his first aid Kit. Link helped him secure a bandage around his wound, before crying at the top of her lungs for a medic.

As the medical officer arrived, he quickly tended to the Commander’s wounds, before starting to speak to Griffin.

“I need your name, Sir.” He said, starting to add more bandage to the wounds on Griffin’s leg.

- “Sky’s beautiful tonight. So many stars…” Lancer muttered as he felt the cold reaches of the desert night creeping up his spine. As he glanced down to see the medic tending his wounds, he noticed the bandages on his leg.

Then the stump.

Then the pain.

He screamed at the top of his lungs, the pain now shooting through his body in waves as he reached down to grab his stump, the Medic and Link fighting to hold him back, as she reached to her radio on her shoulder to call Rei and Templeton.

“It’s the Colonel, he’s hurt bad…I don’t think he’s got much time left, the dressings aren’t holding.”

As Griffin struggled to stay awake amidst both the pain and the medical procedures undertaken by the medic, Rei and Templeton moved under the cover of darkness to meet with the other two members of their leadership. Rei took a moment to let the scene she was witnessing come full circle, before suddenly rushing to her friend’s side and gripping his hand.

“Griffin, Focus; the medic is doing all he can to fix you, but you have to stay awake.” She spoke clearly now, feeling nothing but the desire to keep her ally alive. She watched as Griffin’s chest heaved from shock, the chills he felt now being seen by all present as he fought to maintain consciousness.

The medic gasped in horror as he stopped working on the leg, noticing something amidst the ambient light of a flare.

“There’s…nothing to worry about now, Ma’am…He’ll be fine…I need to radio an Engineer.”

- “The fuck are you talking about, Corporal?”

“Look at his fucking leg! It’s not human! He’s not human!” The medic cried as he got on his radio, hailing an Engineer, as Rei glanced down to the leg.

Sure enough, the stump left behind was superficially made to look like a mortal wound. Instead, the metal skeletal frame that created his leg, with wires and servos attached jerked in a useless attempt to stand up.

“I’m…fine,” Griffin muttered as he rolled back onto his stomach to start crawling once again. “Just…gotta get up…I gotta get up.”

Griffin’s hand reached out to pick up his rifle before he felt a sudden impact in the back of his skull. His vision dimmed and faded to black.


“Griffin…Colonel Lancer?” An aged voice asked as Griffin’s face felt a weathered hand on his chin, pushing his head left and right, as his eyes opened, the blurred vision returning for a moment, as he darted his eyes around to focus and figure out where he was.

“…Fuck.” Was all the Colonel could muster up to say as he looked up to the person inspecting him. He found his arms bound by his wrists as he sat against a shot-up brick wall. The sunlight above him burned his retinas as he focused even more on his inspector; Amos. That old man was here on Earth.

“Close enough…Colonel.” Amos said with a grim expression. “Quite a nasty spill you took last night. Care to explain to me why I have a medical officer spooked to even look at your wound? If that’s what you call this…” He said as he moved his hand from Griffin’s chin down to the bloodied stump, before gripping a frayed wire and pulling it out of its housing, showing it to Griffin, who grimaced in pain.

“The hell you talking about.” Griffin said as he looked at the frayed wire, inspecting its blood-covered insulation as he then glanced down to his stump. “Oh God…What the fuck.” He whispered as he looked up to Amos. “Sir…If I knew this…I would’ve told you long ago.”

Jorge Amos, Storm Commander of the entire Colonial Federation sighed softly as he rubbed his chin, glancing over to Link, Rei, and Templeton, who were seated next to the Colonel. Restrained and held at gunpoint by Griffin’s own men, as Amos gripped Griffin’s collar, pulling the limp field grade officer up to eye-level, his breath hot and tinged with pipe smoke as he drew his pistol from his right hip to place the business end below Lancer’s chin.

“We’re surprised you’re still alive, especially myself. There’s more going on than you know, and if I were to tell you, I’d have to kill you, and personally, I’d rather not spill your ‘blood’ all over my uniform…But duty binds me to leave you with essential information.”

Amos removed the pistol from Griffin’s chin, turned its aim to his gut, and fired off three rounds in succession. Griffin could do nothing but stare at his commander in disbelief as he collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain, his arms still suspending his body with futility.

“On behalf of the Assembly, I and the rest of my men here are willing to extend our gratitude to you and Color Sergeant Link for uploading the secrets of the Colonial Federation to us. Storm Commander Amos would be shocked to hear of the betrayal of his devoted SCARS commander- if he were alive.”

The man reached for his face and gripped his skin, creating a tear in the forehead and jawbone as he pulled away the face of Jorge Amos to reveal his identity: General Mostafa.

“Your beloved Storm Commander will be found dead in his office tonight, and it will be from your hands…I have agents within your organization, pulling strings and turning the war into a sham…Including your subordinate, Templeton. He’s one of ours. Has been since you met him back on Hungarias; before, even...It’s how we found you and transported you to Mars for your…surgery.”

Griffin groaned softly as he weakly reached a hand, freeing itself from its binding to grip Mostafa’s pant leg. Another gunshot. Griffin hoarsely cried out as the blood poured from his arm as the General continued.

“Surgical enhancements. You are nothing more than a glorified cyborg. Your organs, save your heart, have been removed and replaced with more efficient machines…Your blood is your own, don’t worry about that; I’d be more concerned about your skeletal structure; forged from alloys…Consider it a gift as our little experiment was a success…” A dry, caked laugh erupted from his lungs, his Arabic accent now showing through his old façade as he resumed.

“Donated to science, Colonel. You’ll have a wonderful surprise when you face my upgraded army…” He turned to Griffin’s staff, Templeton included, who kept his head down from the shame. He bit back tears as he spoke to his dying commander.
- “My family, Sir…They were going to kill me and everyone I knew…Offered me 5 Million credits to work for them in intelligence…lied my way into 6th Regiment…I’m sorry, Griffin.”

“How poetic.” General Mostafa grumbled as he now turned the pistol to Templeton, squeezing off a round into his forehead, his now lifeless body collapsing against Rei’s shoulder.

“But loose ends were meant to be tied…As for Link…She’ll be coming with us; No doubt her memory banks have more than enough sensitive information to end this war in the Assembly’s favor.” He pointed to Link as a soldier reached out and gripped her by the hair, dragging her away to the dropship waiting in the distance as she fought helplessly to resist. The other soldiers turned and followed the first after another hand motion by General Mostafa. Now Rei, General Mostafa, and a mortally wounded Griffin were left. Mostafa took a moment to light a cigar he had kept in his front pocket, taking a few puffs, tasting the tobacco as he walked over to Rei, helpless as Templeton’s dead weight rested on her.

“And you, Madame…I thought you’d be dead by now after Mars…seems I’m underestimating the determination of Spacers again…I’ll ensure you become combat ineffective.”

With that, he took another puff of his cigar, gripped Rei’s chin in his off hand, and pressed the cherry into her retinas as hard as he could, the sizzle of her eye fluid, followed by a subdued pop as her screams echoed through the desert. There was a subsiding of her screaming as Mostafa relit his cigar and continued the process on her other eye.

“Stop…Stop!” Griffin spurted out as his dimming vision caught every morbid detail unfolding before him. “Rei…” His voice was drowned out by the screams of a woman turned blind by the scarring of a cigar ember.

General Mostafa looked pleased with himself as he then quietly checked the magazine on his pistol, before sliding it back into his weapon and firing a few times into Rei’s chest. Her screams were cut short as she gasped in pain, her body finally falling to the floor as the corpse of Templeton stiffened beside her, its weight shifting onto her legs, effectively pinning her to the ground.

“Burn in hell, the both of you…” General Mostafa said as he relit his cigar, before reaching to the radio on his shoulder and pressing the receiver.

“We’re done here. Prep the nuke and prepare our next defensive line at ‘Trinity’. I will enjoy watching this town burn.” He said aloud as he finally boarded the troopship, before taking altitude and flying away, leaving a wake of desert dust and bodies laid across the wall of an unnamed bar.

Griffin struggled to crawl next to Rei, who was lying motionless.

“Rei…C’mon…You’re not dead. You can’t be.” He muttered quietly as he left a trail of blood in the sand behind him as he crawled closer to the motionless bodies of Templeton and Rei.

As he reached the face of Rei, he could see her eyes were burned out of her skull, leaving a mass of blood and tissue adorned across her face and uniform as she laid there, mouth slightly agape and lax as Griffin weakly nudged her, pressing his ear against her chest, searching for a heartbeat.

There was nothing.

A pang of sadness erupted in a single dismayed cry as Griffin buried his head into her bloodied chest, wiping away the tears with her blood, leaving its mark on his face as he turned around to look at the mountains in the distance, the sounds of battle continuing behind him in the afternoon sun.

“I’m sorry…I let everyone down.” He said quietly. He looked off into the sky as he felt his eyes dimming into darkness, before the sky opened up in a brilliant flash of light, the immense heat flash burning everything within a two-mile radius in the city, before the blast and shockwave created a tremor within the area, splitting the ground in two as the nuke detonated. After a few moments, the wall of the building he and his two dead teammates rested beside collapsed down onto them, as well as the rest of the neighborhood block, scattering buildings and walls like chaff in the wind.

[2 weeks later]

Sergeant Jeffrey Deber wasn’t a boy anymore. The battle of Hungarias Colony almost a year ago showed him he was capable of much more than he expected. Now, even amidst the ruins of the City of Las Vegas, he stood in awe as he looked from the Red Canyon campsite down into the valley below at the smoldering remains of what was once a hub of activity for the human race. The respirator on his helmet cycled his breaths as he walked down the canyon trail down to the surface of the desert, where a few vehicles and tanks waited patiently for the rest of the infantry to scale over the mountains.
“What a fucking mess.” Jeffrey said quietly, the speaker on his helmet echoing his sentiments as he walked behind a few other soldiers.

- “Amen to that, Sarge…” A solder behind him said as he checked the radiation level on his Giger counter. “The Assembly really did a number on us here. Back home, someone killed the Storm Commander, while they detonated A-bombs across the desert here…Shockwave was so powerful it shifted tectonic plates, triggered earthquakes…Led to this giant mess before us.”

The once level city was now a scorched, glassed landscape; a burnt-out crater marked the epicenter of the detonation. A vigil for those lost in the suffering of war, only to have their lives extinguished in the blink of an eye. Jeff pulled his gaze away from the destroyed city long enough to watch his footing slip as he tumbled down the side of the trail, ending at the bottom with nothing more than hurt pride and a scuffed uniform. He was at point now due to this, and he figured he would make the best of it. With a few hand motions, he assumed his new position at point.

Every step brought him closer to the city before him, each boot pressing itself into the Alamogordo glass that rested on the desert floor, crunching beneath each footfall as he neared the city limits. The sky above him was still black as sin, and the wind gusted about the squad of soldiers scouting through the town. Jeff’s built-in Geiger counter started to sing its tick-tick tune. He stopped in his tracks and put his hand in the air, palm open, signaling the start of the radioactive hot zone they were about to walk through.
“Hold on, guys…We’re looking at some serious readings here…” Jeff said as he checked the readout on his Geiger as it continued to sing. “I’m getting…950 Millisieverts per hour…The suits are doing their job, actual exposure sitting at 1.50 Millisieverts per hour, and holding.” A few soldiers seemed afraid of entering the hot zone, particularly when their Geiger counters began to chirp and click as they ventured further into the cataclysm of the outskirts.
- “Sergeant Deber, what exactly are we doing out here in the hot zone…?” A soldier asked as they reached a series of dug out fighting positions facing the town.
“Sixth Regiment was assigned to this sector a few weeks ago. Intel suggests they were wiped out, and we are going to collect as much information on the dead as possible.”
- “On who’s orders? Storm Commander Amos is dead, Sarge.” Another chimed in as Jeffrey scaled over a large stone, landing on his feet on the other side.
“Division Commanders have direct control of the situation at the moment. The next Storm Commander will be elected this next week; the council will vote on it: weird way of doing things, but it has worked since the schism, and I doubt our representatives will change their playbook any…”
As the squad wandered through the first few blocks of Vegas, the scattered bones and long-dead corpses of Assembly and Federation littered the uneven streets and grounds surrounding them. It took only a few moments for Deber’s squad to start collecting dog tag after dog tag, friendly or enemy: they would sort it out when they finished. Every corpse they came across, one man would take the time to inspect the body, search for tags on the body’s neck, as well as their boots, and would record the body count on a notepad.
The sky above them swirled and churned the hot ash still in the air as thunderheads began to form from the blast zone. A clap of thunder and a flash of lighting signaled the start of the rain, the water contaminated with fallout and ash, falling to the ground in black droplets, as if the Earth was eating itself. The wind that stoked the life of the storm was so hot; one could feel it through their pressurized radiation suits as they went about their business.
After a few hours of searching, a soldier noticed a few limbs sticking out from a collapsed wall after a few minutes of searching. With some effort, and the help of Jeffrey, they managed to lift the large section of wall while a few other soldiers dragged three bodies out from under the cinder blocks. “Looks like they died before the blast, Sergeant…” a subordinate said as he pulled the tags off the three bodies, handing them to Jeffrey. Sergeant Deber took a moment to look over the tags, as he stopped reading after the first tag was read.
“…Templeton, James. Sixth SCARS Regiment. Blood type O Negative…” the name was familiar, and it gave him chills to read what information was allowed on those tags. He moved another tag to the front to read it aloud.
“Belle, Rei Anne. Sixth SCARS Regiment. Blood Type O Positive.” He did not know her, but the regiment was familiar too. He brought the last tag up to eye level.
“Lancer, Griffin…”
There was a long silence as Jeffrey took a moment to sit down on the crumbled cinder blocks scattered across the street, as he continued to read now.
“Sixth SCARS Regiment. Blood Type AB Negative…Major Lancer…?” He said quietly as he glanced over to the body where the tag was recovered. A stump leg, bloodied uniform. Dry, discolored skin. The corpse was familiar; more so than anything he could remember now.  Jeffrey took a moment to inspect the body of the man who motivated him to continue his mission back on Hungarias. Dead and rotten. The stench cut through the respirator’s filter now, as he now turned to approach the dead field officer. He took a knee beside the corpse, extending a gloved hand to grasp Griffin’s hand to bid him farewell. As he took Griffin’s hand however, the sensation of pressure was felt, stronger than his own as he attempted to pull his hand away now. The grip on Jeffrey’s hand was now becoming painful as he pulled his hand away even more now, the snapping of sinew and bone echoing through the ruins as the corpse’s face began to twist and contort in a mimicry of life. Scarred ashen features, sallow features decayed into bone cavity as the featureless being morphed what was once its mouth into a heaving motion, before a tear in the fleshy membrane rendered the silence null as a pained, hoarse scream emanated from the orifice.
“H E L P M E” Its voice scratched the ears of Jeffrey’s consciousness. His eyes were wide and bewildered as he tried once again to pull away, but the figure’s grip tightened as it suddenly ripped open the tissue covering its eyes, revealing two charcoal orbs as what appeared to be its pupils focused on Deber’s face.
- “Get off! Help me!” Jeffrey screamed as he kicked and aimed his rifle before the figure without warning seemed to leap forward and pin Jeffrey to the ground.
“HELP” was all it said as the being suddenly went lax, its face inches from Sergeant Deber’s face as the body gave and went limp. Fearful of it coming back to life again, Jeffrey kicked away the body before scooting backwards to stand up, training his weapon back onto it. He took his rifle selector switch and set it to Semi, before he rested his index finger on the trigger, starting to put pressure to the steel, before feeling his arm being forced down by one of his men.
“Sarge…Don’t shoot it.” The Private said, pointing to a tattered piece of cloth on the figure’s chest, dingy and rusted with blood, yet unmolested by the nuclear fire, the lettering was easy to read given the circumstances. Jeffrey’s eyes locked onto the letters. L. A. N. C. E. R.

He put his weapon back on safe, and with a hand motion, he and a few other men in his squad lifted the body onto a stretcher provided by their medic who had witnessed the entire encounter. Jeffrey turned his radio on now, relaying his status report.
It only took a few hours, but by the time reinforcements had arrived at the wasted city, they had lifted the body of the once great Colonel Lancer into a waiting transport to send him back to Mars. The sound of darkness crept upon the edges of the space wherein he rested. Long, laborious breaths cycled with the aid of a machine as the body lay dormant. Aboard the ship, a handful of medical staff tended to the vitals of the burnt husk.  They silently watched in astonishment as it tried to breathe on its own, causing difficulty with the machine, throwing off the rhythmic cycle. One of the medical aides quickly readied a needle with anesthesia and injected into the makeshift entry vein they had created by directly infusing the heart with saline. As the solution was entered into the bloodstream of the casualty, the fight with the machine ceased.
“This man…is no human. No mortal man could withstand such punishment and live…” A female voice announced as she looked through the vitals of the body. “Look here: The brain is still conscious and is active, even after heavy sedation. He knows we are speaking about him…I want him brought back to the lab for further analysis. We’ll see if we can fix him in this state.” She concluded as she looked to the watch on her left wrist.
The ship left the orbit of earth, fading off into the darkness of space, illuminated by a thousand billion stars that dotted the expanse, until finally, the crisp silhouette of the afterburners became too small to notice.

Pulse. A feeling of excitement, of fear. The tissue deep within the self-began to feel cold, feel wet, heavy, and cumbersome.
A sudden impulse of the self: the diaphragm constricted as it drew in what it thought was air as the muscle flexed and relaxed, allowing the air drawn in to the sacs within to return to the outside.
Cold. Wet. Heavy. The sensation of floating flashed against the tendrils of the self as the diaphragm once again contracted. Like the wheels of a locomotive, the sensations felt started dulled at first, but became defined, more real. The nerves awakened to find itself connected to orbs that granted sight. Moving left, right, up, and down, across and drawn close. These orbs took in the sudden influx of light, brighter than any sun, warmer than any emotion. Its environment seemed to dim now in its brilliance; features of the space around the self- began to take form as the orbs studied every angle, every curve of the environment, became clear with time.
That brilliant light was now gone. Replaced was a sickly green hue surrounding the self. Cold and heavy wet touched every inch of it as the eyes now took in more of the surroundings. In the distance, it focused on a white object dancing across the room, bouncing with a strange gait as it approached, its silhouette becoming pronounced and much larger than originally anticipated. As the head came into view, the orbs felt compelled to snap its gaze to the orbs of the other figure in front of it.
The figure’s hand reached out and touched the glass, pressing its palm against the barrier, as the orbs went lax and returned to view the face. It spoke. What it said was unclear. A series of murmurs and accents punctuated its diction before it stopped and walked away. The Orbs returned to their resting position as they slowly started to fade to darkness.

Doctor Davina Eze checked the clipboard on her desk as she brought her hands across her worn face, fingertips rubbing slightly greasy temples as she then glanced to the paper on the clipboard. A series of scientific notations and charts littered every square inch of the paper as she gave a heavy sigh, before reaching over her desk to find a pen, writing a few notes on the paper before turning the page over. The ambience of lab equipment and generators hummed in the silence as she glanced behind her shoulder to the stasis tank of the deformed figure within. A spinal cord attached to a brain and ocular nerves, connected to glazed eyes that focused on objects nearby. Lungs and a heart pulsing and resting with a healthy pink pallor as it floated in the sickly green fluid.
The melodious sound of chirping was suddenly audible as Dr. Eze snapped from the stasis tube to a light blinking angrily at her from behind a few sheets of paper, the red color flicking on and off through the thin layers of documents. With an ebony hand, she gently brushed aside the documents, revealing a small screen behind the paper. With a flick of her wrist and a few taps of her finger, the interface of the screen answered the call, and subsequently connected her to a series of other individuals, their faces visible through the screen.

- “Dr. Eze…?” The first voice asked, youthful and inquisitive in its speech, as if it were trying to find its masculine natural baritone. The face it belonged to was well-kempt, save for the tousled hair atop the scalp, and beady hazel eyes glancing from just over the edge of a pair of glasses as tan fingers reached up and pushed the frames up.

“Dr. Eze? It’s Dr. Guthrie; we spoke earlier…Is now an inconvenient time to ask you to speak with the rest of the staff?” Dr. Eze’s eyes glanced over to the group of men and women watching intently on her response. With a sigh and a glance back to the stasis pod, she gave a slight nod, before grabbing her notes and speaking.

- “Yeah…One second.” She muttered as she scrambled for something to keep her mind off the small group watching her.

Cigarettes. She managed to find a stray one from the pack she had misplaced, and with a few more moments of searching, found her lighter. Striking the flint against the steel, and catching the wick aflame, bringing the naked heat to the tip of the cigarette opposite her mouth, as it glowed angrily, she took a short drag, before putting the lighter down.

‘Subject T3-Dash-73013 was recovered in the aftermath of the nuclear detonation at Las Vegas. Host’s body was damaged beyond recognition. Subsequently, upon harvesting what organs were undamaged, we submerged the resulting connections into our bio-fluid. Stasis vial is working as anticipated, as cellular regeneration is now apparent in subject ‘Thirteen’, complete with minor nervous system response to stimuli. Full recovery of brain tissue was discovered last night at 2200 Hours, standard galactic time. Nervous system synapse for respiration actualized at 0450 this morning. I believe it’s time to proceed with the next phase of our plan.”
- “Which is, Doctor?” a deep voice rumbled through the speaker as the figure stroked his beard.

“Mental transference between the subject and a “Shell”. It’s fast, untraceable, and can give him the least amount of temporal disturbance or feedback.”
The man with the beard spoke up once again, this time a bit more agitated.

- “You want to put the brain and organs of a war criminal into one of our Android shells...? Do you realize the disturbance this may cause within the Government? We’re giving this person from a bygone era a second chance he doesn’t deserve.”
Another female spoke aloud now, interrupting the conversation between the two.

“Doesn’t he? He’s the only link left of a time where the universal Civil War had reached its peak! He will be a marvel to science and modern history. Once we awaken him, we can edit out bits the people should not be privy to…And besides, this is just a new step in human longevity that we can market to the public! Imagine it! Human ‘Shells’: experience the comfort of continuity”.

Dr. Guthrie, who was observing quietly, now decided to speak and offer his opinion.
“I say do it; once we explain to him the war’s been over for almost 20 years, I doubt he’d decide to keep fighting, and I imagine we can repair the strained relationships we have with the colonists. It is our job as scientists to extend our race as far as the limits of scientific theory will allow.”
The others murmured amongst themselves in agreeance. The one with the beard shook his head and sighed, defeated.
“I suppose. We will prep a shell for you to perform your experiment in the afternoon, Doctor Eze. We will wait to hear of your success tonight. I believe this meeting is adjourned.” He then killed the transmission, the screen turning back before Davina’s eyes. She sighed, and brought her head down to rest annoyingly atop the monitor’s housing. She then glanced over to the stasis tank, where the organs were still floating aimlessly.

With a smile, Davina sighed and glanced back to the tube.
“You are going to be my most wondrous project.”

A bright light suddenly shot through the darkness of the being’s consciousness. As soon as it appeared, so did the chaos of sound, as if a light turned on. The sudden flash of light created a surprise to the view, which revealed a sterile room, to where its gaze focused on a few individuals standing before it; their voices murmured by the deep, guttural sound of pressured air bubbling through the container it resided in. As it focused itself onto the group before it, their conversation and jovial tones ceased, their faces turning from joy to surprise, then astonishment and curious skepticism.
“Doctor Eze…Are you…. See us?” One white-robed individual said. That language. Familiar, yet the consistency of its words was what bothered the silence in the room. What was it seeing? It saw people. People? That was the correct term, it figured. Its source, unclear and void of any real consideration, as another voice spoke up.

- “I assure you…Natural reflexes…Dead.”
Dead? What was dead? Was it dead? Could one contract Dead? This answer prompted more questions, and with its gaze looking down, it noticed appendages. Rubbery to the disposal of its master, it began to test out its reflexes, the fleshy appendages knocking against the barrier before it, causing the people observing to cry in fear as it knocked harder,
Bringing its weight to bear against the barrier, until a boom was heard, followed by the cascading noise of crumbling surface; as it lost any motion of sensation as it reached the platform below it, a resounding thud echoing through the room.
“My God! Doctor Eze! Contain him!” One man shouted as he ran up to the specimen, its body flopping and struggling to make any semblance of its new body, thrashing about, and gesturing with uncontrollable arms and legs, its facial expressions obscene as its nude form cut itself amongst the shards of glass.  It did not take long for the violent tremors to subside, and allow the body to go lax as the eyes of the shell glanced feverishly, perhaps in fear, at its whereabouts.
- “Sedate him!” Dr. Eze announced to a few others as they quickly made their way to a shelf opposite of the room, while one doctor held the shell in place. As they retrieved the sedatives, they took care not to create undue stress before injecting the fluid into the shell’s back, the eyes rolling back into its skull and closing. After a moment, the staff looked around at the wet floor, the shards of glass scattered about everywhere, the blood escaping the Hull’s body, as it lay there motionless.

“Give him time, he’s still getting used to the body…another week.” Doctor Eze said quietly as she sat on the floor, taking her lab coat off to cover the Hull’s body. A colleague standing next to her looked at her with a half-angered expression.

“It’s been 6 months, Doctor. He is not progressing as rapidly as the foundation would like, and frankly, we’re catching a lot of flak from the Assembly for our lack of benchmarks hit this quarter…If it’s any indication to you, doctor, it’s that we are not ready to mass produce these…things.” Doctor Eze looked up to her colleague, stood up and brushed her knees off, before flinching at the sudden glass splinter lodged in her palm.

“You can’t rush science.” She said after removing the shard from her hand. “Now get this cleaned up.” Her voice was dark, angry, brooding. She did not appreciate the news that there was an unpopular opinion about her work. However, it did not dissuade her; it pushed her. With a sigh, she walked back to her desk and resumed her studies for the next phase, as the Hull’s body was placed upon a litter, and transferred out of view.

Doctor Eze sighed deeply, before fishing into her lab coat pockets, retrieving a cigarette and a lighter. Taking the sparked flame to the cigarette, she took a long drag, before looking over to her partner.

“…This is a small setback…When it becomes sentient, we will ensure that its reintegration into society will be unfettered and pure, unobstructed by feelings of individual wants and needs. The Assembly wants a reason to use this new scientific benchmark…As much as I want him to be a functioning member of society; they wish to use him as a weapon…against who? The Remnants? They cannot mount a suitable resistance to us now, not since their victory on Io…”

- “Doctor…I doubt this is what you wanted out of this project.” Her partner said softly, as Eze took another long drag of her cigarette.

“It doesn’t matter what I want…The Assembly decided what I wanted when I graduated high school, when I announced my hypothesis to the board of directors…They knew what they wanted, and they forced me to go along with it…I have no right to say or do anything about it…”

- “You mentioned The Remnants…Why.”

Dr. Eze sighed and finished her cigarette as she looked at the shards of glass still on the floor. “The Federation, well, what used to be The Federation; nothing more than a whole mess of misfits and rebels without a home.” The way she said it added to the tension in the room now as she furled open her lab coat, reaching for something inside.

“…They’re coming. Tonight.” She said quietly as she turned to face her colleague, brandishing a suppressed pistol in her hand. Before he had time to speak, Davina had already emptied two rounds into the man’s skull. Doctor Eze then quickly ran to her computer and typed something onto the keyboard, pulling up a small chat screen. She’d only have a few moments before the rest of the science party returned from the recovery wing, and she knew there would be a large amount of explaining to do if she was caught. The screen faded from its neutral white to black with white text.

Oracle, it’s Nimrod. It’s done. I don’t have much time before they come and find me like this.
-Where is he located?
They took him to the recovery wing. Comatose, but respondent to stimuli. Please, you have to help me.
-Chat Partner Disconnected.
No response. She bit her lip and tears welled up behind her eyes, feeling betrayed. There was months’ worth of correspondence and alliance building she felt was only a ruse to maintain contact with an information source. Millions of fears danced through her mind as she quickly started to rummage through her desk to find data sticks to offload all her data onto.

Panicked breathing escaped her lips as she placed the small pistol down on her desk, quickly working on the coding to encrypt her data, before she felt cold steel on the back of her head. She stopped, taking a long, fearful breath.
“We made a promise. Soldiers don’t break promises.” The voice behind her chimed in: soft, reassuring.
- “…The recovery wing is to your left down the hall…You’re going to fix this?” Doctor Eze shook with subsiding pangs of distress as she regained her composure. The voice behind her removed the steel against her head, and walked away, speaking aloud.
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat, Doctor. Focus on offloading your files.” Just as sudden as the voice appeared, it vanished. The only evidence was the sound of footfalls against the metal grate of the floor beyond the room she occupied.
Moments passed as Doctor Eze tried her best to calm down in between bouts of programming and sobbing uncontrollably. Her civilian career was over. She’d live the rest of her life on the run, and it scared her that she was following through with a plan she had devised almost a year prior.
She undertook the project as the idea of reanimation piqued her interest. It wasn’t before long she had uncovered a hive of data activity related to the subject, including traces from beyond the Assembly Network, a hack-proof system designed to keep the masses pacified about the truth. When she found the source of the hack, she was messaged by Oracle, a supposed member of the Remnant army who had escaped a prison camp in Venus and was living on the run, recruiting people, soldier, and scientist alike. Before she knew it, she had agreed to go along with the plan of reanimating a body for the Remnants.
Now a year later, the sounds of fear escaped through the openings in the vent registers as scientists and civilians screamed and were cut down with bursts of automatic fire.  As Doctor Eze finally offloaded the last batch of files, she turned to see a soldier standing in the doorway, weapon still smoking from the barrel, carbon dusting the barrel shroud, as her features seemed subdued. She stood at an average height, with goggles obscuring her eyes, and a baggy pair of grey BDUs, black boots laced tight, with a black armor carapace placed over her shoulders, protecting her vital organs. This soldier now looked behind her, before walking up to Doctor Eze. The Doctor could feel the heat radiating from the barrel next to her face as the ‘commando’ extended a hand.

“I’m Oracle.” She said quietly. Doctor Eze nervously extended her hand and took the soldier’s in her palm. Her skin was cool and soft, an unnatural rarity for someone who lived as a soldier. They shook hands, before Oracle turned about face and placed her free hand on her throat microphone.

“Sketch, we’ve got the Doctor, how are things coming on your end?” she asked.
- “A bit busy, boss. Body’s secure; we’re on the way to extract. Meet you there?”
“Affirmative, Oracle out.” She turned back to see the doctor still standing there with a bemused look on her face.

“You ready to leave this place, Doctor?” Doctor Eze nodded, before scooping all the data sticks she had used and pocketed them in her large lab coat pocket, before grabbing her pistol. As the Doctor gripped the frame of the gun. She felt Oracle’s hand quickly reach down, and with a single motion, remove the upper receiver, disabling the weapon.

“Sorry, Doctor. We may be collaborators, but I don’t fully trust you. You understand?”
An intimidated noise left the bottom of the Doctor’s throat. Good enough, Oracle figured.
The two of them then made their way to the spaceport of the station, straddling across bodies of her former colleagues and security personnel. As they made their way closer and closer to the landing pad, Davina Eze noticed the group of soldiers Oracle commanded. They were not some country bumpkins or ex-convicts, nor did they really appear like murderers, as the Network depicted them as. Amongst them, they could see the body of the Husk carried in the arms by a young man, who looked both angry and saddened at the events transpiring before him, as they then turned to walk into the cargo bay of an awaiting dropship.
“Come on, Doctor. Let’s take you home.” Oracle’s voice cooed, as her arm pressed against the small of Davina’s back. Each step brought her closer to destiny, until they all entered the ship. The single door closed, and without a moment to spare, they seemed to vanish into the tranquil dark of space.
Aboard the ship, there was a few moments of silence as Davina Eze settled into her seat, reached into her lab coat, and produced the two-dozen data sticks, placing them on the bench across from her. She glanced over to Oracle, who walked back from the cockpit to settle down next to the doctor. She saw the numerous data sticks, and sighed.
“Sacrifice must be rewarded with loyalty and worthful employment…” She said quietly, as she removed the goggles and a headband worn underneath, revealing the true length of her hair, dancing down the middle of her back. Davina quietly looked to Oracle, before taking a moment to compose her thoughts.
“Was it necessary to kill all of them?”
- “It was necessary to ensure the security of you and my teammates. Yes.”
“Okay.” Was all she said, detaching herself from the numerous visions of dead bodies still burned into her memory. Oracle quickly made a point to kneel in front of Davina, holding her hands. Dr. Eze could see Oracle’s eyes now. The iris of each eye was red like passion, as they focused. She noticed the pupils tightening and loosing at various intervals as she adjusted her stance.
A Cyborg kneeled before her.
“What’s your real name,” Oracle asked quietly. Dr. Eze seemed a bit nervous to answer this question, but decided to do so.
- “Davina. Davina Eze…You?” Oracle gave a warm smile in response as those pupils focused intently on Davina’s face.
“They call me Link…It’s the only name I remember.” She said quietly. “Oracle was one of the more recent names I’ve acquired over the years. If you needed a full name…I guess you could say its Oracle Link…Here, let me introduce you to the crew…”

The time spent being acquainted on the ship took the trip off everyone’s mind, until the ship found its way into the turbulent atmosphere of the planet below them. Its sickly red hue danced across the front windows of the ship as it coasted through the dust storm to find its landing point marked by a series of bright green flares arranged in a square. As the ship landed, there was a moment of hesitation as the ship powered down and lowered the dropship ramp, allowing the group of seven to exit out of the vehicle. The Green grass growing below the Doctor’s feet led in an imaginary path to a small settlement surrounded by a large iron wall and AA guns surrounding the perimeter. Link exited the ship right behind Davina and gave a reassuring smirk as she rested the unloaded rifle across her shoulders.
“This is our home. We call it ‘Hope’.” Link managed to say as she walked to a small intercom at the gateway connecting the landing pad to the door to the settlement. The sandstorm continued its assault on the Remnants as stinging bits of sand and red dust struck the open skin, creating painful friction amongst the group. Link rested her hand gently on the button provided on the intercom before a voice responded authoritatively.
“What do you want?” The voice demanded on the other side.
- “Shut up Deber. It’s me. I have our parcel. Open the gate.”
There was a moment of silence before the large gates creaked open, the gears behind them turning slow enough to hear the squeaking of unlubricated joints. The doors opened to reveal a small plot of land within, a series of buildings and a few major streets crisscrossed through the settlement. Those who resided inside stood opposite of the crew, cautiously inspecting the husk being carried in, as well as Davina Eze, her black curls bouncing gently across the sides of her face as she walked inside, eyes peering into the soul of the doctor.
“I feel lost, Link…I don’t feel like I should be here.”
- “This place is home to those who would otherwise be considered undesirables. The despots, the remnants. All lifestyles live here in harmony. According to the Assembly, we don’t exist, and so, we don’t…This place is our hub of communications for the rest of the Remnants in the star system…” Link said, almost prideful of the success they had made. “We’ve kept this place concealed for almost 10 years…If it were not for the specimen in tow, I would’ve killed you on the spot, Doctor. Don’t make me regret the decision to keep you here, instead of letting you fend for yourself with the Assembly’s Secret Police.”
Davina felt offended by this, and she immediately turned to face the cyborg.
“You think I’m some sort of mole?” She asked aloud as she gripped Link’s arm. Link quickly snatched Doctor Eze’s grip from her arm, her red eyes focused on Davina’s face, her voice quick and seething with anger.
- “I think you’re a liability. Either way, you are still of use to me. That man we took from your lab. He’s a Federation war hero. Colonel Griffin Aleksander Lancer. 38 years old, Commander of the 6th Division of Special Combat Assault Reconnaissance Troopers- My Commander.”
Davina didn’t say a word as the secret was transpired before her. She stood there, arms crossed as she concluded just what Link wanted out of her, and the not-so-secret body they had gone to lengths to capture and return to the custody of the Remnants.
- “I’m waking him up, then?” She asked.
“You’re waking him up, yes.” Link replied. No surprises there.

A few days had passed since their last conversation. Davina had spent most of her time in Hope repurposing an old Warehouse into a lab, with the help of Link’s team. She had gotten to know a handful of them, but the rest were either too sketchy to speak with, or simply too quiet. She did know that Link would ask these people to check in on her regularly, at all times. In effect, this was worse than prison.
Atop a repurposed table lay the husk of Griffin Lancer. Her hands worked diligently to insert IV tubes into his body at various arterial points, to increase the maximum dispersal of drugs and fluids. By twilight of the 3rd day, she had started the process to awaken the late Colonel from his eternal slumber. She knew he wasn’t dead, but braindead was just as bad, and in order to ensure he was going to stay alive, she would have to keep his organs moving and pumping without his help, until he could regain control.

As she turned the switch on, Link knocked on the doorway. A bit unsure, Dr. Eze motioned for the cyborg to enter. The synthetic stopped at the table, and with a tender hand, gently touched the tubes connected to her commander.

“He saved me. When I was a slave to the Assembly’s data-net system…Stuck in the same prison, he saw me in stasis and busted me out. I stayed loyal to him since, even after the insurrection of Nevada…They call it “Freedom Day” Now…” She scoffed, closing her eyes for a moment, now moving her hand to Griffin’s chest. She felt warmth, and a faint heartbeat. “…They took me away again after that. Harvested my mind for almost 10 years…Cycled me into the data frame, threw me in a proverbial cupboard, never to be heard from again…I woke up. I don’t know how, and I won’t question it…but I broke out, found a man willing to touch me in all the right spots…to get rid of tracking hardware…Joined the Remnants. Those still loyal to the Principles of the Federation…’we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal…’ You know. That one. The one that says we’re able to live our lives without interference from anyone. Freedom. Happiness.”

- “I know it. I studied the politics of the Federation back in school…I prefer your egalitarian approach to issues, even if you can get a little eccentric, militarily.” Davina said this quietly as she watched Link trace her fingers along the grooves of muscle on Colonel Lancer’s chest lovingly, as if she wanted more out of this body than what was being provided.

“I want you to promise me something,” Link said aloud, stopping what she was doing to look at Dr. Davina Eze, who stared back fatigued. “Promise me that you will serve the Remnants with honor, duty. Courage under fire, dedication no matter what…Can you promise me that?” Davina thought about this for a long time, much to the mild annoyance of the cyborg. Finally, her eyes brightened up, and she opened her lips.
“No.”
Link tilted her head in surprise. “No? What’s holding you back?” Link asked quietly. For once, the two of them were having a heart-to-heart. Dr. Eze sighed and closed her eyes, out of fear of repercussive action.
“I want to go home…live my life…start a family someday. I can’t do that if I live my life on the run, Link…Not like this…If you want me to do that; you have to promise me something.”
Link sighed and reached into her pocket, fetching a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Spill it.”
- “I want you to promise me that you’ll do everything to make sure I’m safe…I’ve not felt that way in a few days, granted, it’s been pretty hectic…but I want to feel secure in where I’m at and what I’m doing…Can you do that?” Link smiled as she now had a cigarette between her lips. With a strike of the lighter, she brought the flame to her lips and puffed away for a moment, before pocketing the lighter in her trousers.
“Deal,” Link responded.
With that out of the way, Davina smiled gave a reassuring glance to Link, before looking to the heart monitor of Colonel Lancer. There was increased activity, nothing too flashy, but there was something noticeably different about the rhythm and speed of his heart.
“Funny. Jumped up 10 bpm in the last 20 minutes.”
- “Does that mean whatever you’re doing is working?” Link asked.
“I hope so,” Davina replied. “At least, this means he’ll wake up soon, by my best guess.”

Suddenly, the heart monitor skyrocketed, from thirty, to over one hundred beats per minute. His lifeless eyes snapped open as his eyes twitched, rolled, and danced in and out of focus, his inner dreams becoming reality.

“Jesus Christ…What do we do…?” Link muttered quietly, taken aback from this sudden display of activity. Her expression swelled of pride, fear, joy, and confusion, all in one ruined expression that looked like she had sucked on a rotten lemon, and enjoyed it. Davina was too preoccupied with stabilizing the Colonel to pay attention to the awkward face Link made. The cyborg snapped back into reality and with her hands, shoved them against the once dead man’s chest.

“Sir! Sir! You need to relax!” She tried to establish control by shaking his shoulders, but to no avail. The jerking motions of the man’s body became fluid, thoughtful, planned. He was aware now. A groan escaped his dry lips as his eyes focused on Dr. Eze’s face, before turning to face Link. The two locked eyes and soon the shaking subsided. Gasping for air that provided itself in abundance, Griffin stopped and slowly, wearily sat up from the surface he resided.

“What place is this…” he croaked. “What place is this that makes mockery of the dead and damned? Where am I?” Doctor Eze was about to answer his question, but Link suddenly interjected and regained the man’s focus.

“Shh. It’s over now…We can answer your questions when we get you squared away, okay. Look,” She said, finding a small shard of stained glass on the dusty floor, picking it up and showing Griffin his reflection. “You exist.” It was all she could manage to say.

Griffin quietly contemplated his features in the glass. The eyes. Not the color he knew. Not that jade green he grew up with and took for granted. These eyes were blue, so much so, they resembled the depths of the ocean. His hair, snow white. Even his once Eurasian features, gone. Replaced with a larger proboscis and wider eyes, a narrow upper lip and full bottom one. Once sharp edges dulled.

“I’m…not who I once was…who is this?” he asked, tired from existing, already. Link was about to answer, when it was Dr. Eze’s turn to interject.

- “You’re a husk. An empty shell without a soul…Well, you were, at one point. When we recovered your body, there wasn’t much left to save, except your brain. We harvested that and placed it into this body you’re in…and with it, your soul.”

A few moments of silence passed between Griffin and the two women in his presence, a look of deep thought in his mind.

“Did we win…?” He posed.
- “No, Sir.” Link answered in a snap. Griffin’s frown deepened.
“Do they know who I am?” He asked now. Dr. Eze shook her head. “No, Colonel. That information was sensitive and wasn’t privy to anyone’s eyes but mine…”

- “Then we need to fix that. I want my old face back…Can we do that…?” He muttered, still looking at the features of his new mug. He didn’t seem so happy, but his words were short, sharp. Anger at the tip of each letter. Dr. Eze shrugged at the soldier’s request and thought.

“If it’s possible, then I will do so.” She said.

- “See to it that you do…I have enemies out there thinking I am nothing more than a memory. It’s time to prove them wrong by staging an encore performance.” Griffin said this with a sick-looking smile on his face. There was something not right about this man now. Years of slumber made his speech dark and sinister, a trait that neither party was entirely sure of its origin. Link walked over and tried to grab the glass out of Griffin’s hand before he snatched it away.
He stared a bit longer. His eyes focused on the edge of the glass that cut into his hand as he held it. “…A war needs a bogey-man, a shadow in the darkness to scare the people; if that’s what we must become to remain relevant…It’s not about…” He stopped, a coughing fit escaping his lungs as he leaned against the makeshift table. Link quickly reached over to hold him up as the attack passed. Griffin wiped his mouth and took a deep breath before continuing.

“It’s not about winning the war by conventional means; It’s about winning psychologically.”

Even so, Griffin still had that charismatic air about him that brought people to him. He opened his mouth to speak, but took a moment to finally give up the mirror, turning to face a small opening in the window to the front of where he was seated. A dust storm started to rage outside, the red Martian soil creating a wall of blood in the distance, crawling faster and faster to where they were.
“To arms, my soldiers…The bogey-man comes.”


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Next Book: The Remnants

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