Blasts of antimatter rockets shook the gunship as it hurdled down towards its target, accompanied by a vast invasion armada of dropships, bombers, and fighters. In the gunmetal grey compartment of gunship TK896, the men of 3rd Platoon, 2nd Company, 1st Battalion, the Crown Prince’s Life Guards awaited to reach their destination in an all-encompassing silence that was louder than any sort of chatter that they could’ve produced.
    The Guardsmen, among the most elite of the Commonwealth, had been dispatched to Scillion Prime to give the last full measure needed to dispose with the separatists on the colony, who had given the colonial cannon fodder a run for their money. It seemed that they didn’t have the mettle to put the upstarts in the ground. The foot guards of the Imperial Family would now have to show them how it was done.
    Scillion Prime, on the outer frontier of known space, was advertised as a winter wonderland - an icy planet with a stable ecosystem, not unlike the taigas of Earth - but it now resemble something closer to a nuclear wasteland. The colony had torn itself apart over some matter or another. It didn’t matter much in the moment to the soldiers of the Life Guards. It only mattered that they had enough ammunition to end it.
    The gargantuan Avro Yorkshire gunships, large enough to carry thirty men, were about 42 meters in length, about eight meters high, and had a wingspan of 22 meters. Equipped with a Gatling laser, an antimatter bomb bay, and sufficient chaff and flares to disorient and confuse the sensors of the enemy, they were formidable for any foe, especially rebellious colonists. They were a dark shade of grey and their wings were sloped to be aerodynamic, the twin engines mounted on them capable of vertical hovering.
    The men of 3rd Platoon stood in four rows, the middle two facing the outer two, strapped into the static lines that would extend out of the dropship once over the landing zone. They had rehearsed this hundreds of times, and some of the men had even done this in a live combat zone. Lance Corporal Greg Phillips seemed confident at that exact moment, that he had done this countless times before, that it was just an awesome display of force meant to disperse the frontier rabble so they could restore order, that it would all be over within the hour.
    That’s what they had said in the briefing, anyway.
    The Lance Corporal had been in the service of His Majesty for five years, and in that time he had seen very little in the way of combat, but yet his uniform was still adorned by many colorful ribbons and shiny medals. The closest he had gotten to the fire was during a deployment to the Iron Fields on Sextus V, when the local miners went on strike and held the management hostage. Thankfully, the situation there was diffused without bloodshed. Here on Scillion Prime, however, the time for talking was long over.
    “Gentlemen, I expect that you all recall the briefing, so I’ll keep this short.” Lieutenant Barrett, a towering Cambridgian at six-food-seven, began to walk up and down the aisles of soldiers, issuing a speech. “We’re expecting heavy resistance on the ground. We’ll be in the shit as soon as we hit the ground. Remember your training, and remember your oath. For King and Country!”
    “For King and Country!” The Platoon echoed in unison.
    “Thirty seconds! Opening the bay door!” The crew chief screamed, and punched a red button along the wall. The massive bay door to the rear of the gunship began to retract into the vessel, unveiling the snowy world to the Guardsmen inside. Fluorescent blue blasts from antiaircraft guns exploded mere meters away from the gunship, as they neared the market square where they would make their departure.