The Stronghold

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

Stronghold

A Seaportian Chronicle

Note: the following words before the title below is not to be considered part of the book, this is an explanation of what’s going on. The book is in an alternate earth, where a country called Seaport exists. After a disastrous world war III, the emerging victor, Seaport, forced the remaining shattered nations of earth to yield to its power. But, instead of ruling over them, Seaport dissolved them. The countries, no longer countries, united under Seaport as a single, planetary power. The reason for the small country’s success over the much larger factions was its advanced technology. You see, Seaport had formed as a country, a thousand years in advance of any other countries; therefore, they advanced ten times faster than the competition. But, they were limited in advances due to their nation’s small size. However, once they had united the nations of earth with themselves, they had access to all the required resources and more. Blueprints were quickly put to use, as technology started leapfrogging ahead. Anti-grav generators, stasis fields, energy based weaponry, light-bending cloaking devices. But the biggest invention came in the year 2347, when scientists Mark Lawrence and John Fisher created an advanced sub-light engine capable of half the speed of light. This led to a wave of colonists to mars. Previous colonists traveling to the red planet had been limited and small, because trips took six months minimum and previous fuel had been titanically expensive so only the rich could escape the rapidly swelling population of earth. By the time of the Lawrence/Fisher engine, the population of earth was over twelve billion licensed citizens, with another roughly two billion homeless and/or un-registered people, so the populating of Mars helped greatly. Around the same time, energy deflector shields were created eliminating the threat micro-meteoroids posed to colony vessels. This protection, along with the new engines, allowed the populating of other, much more distant celestial bodies such as the Jovian moons (Moons of Saturn and Jupiter) and Ceres, and other large bodies in the asteroid and Trojan belts. Then, in the year 2443, the Translight Mass Accelerator and Line Attachment System (TMALS) was created, allowing vessels to plow through an alternate dimension known as JumpSpace, to reach destinations thousands of times faster than previously had been possible. But, this alternate universe was not empty. It was populated by an unknown number of sentient and advanced species, some hostile, some peaceful. Though there were not many races discovered at this point, the realization of hostile races resulted in a large navy being built by Seaport. The Earth Stellar Control (ESC) was formed to handle all galactic military matters. By the year 2531, The Seaportian Confederation, protected by the ESC, was one of the strongest military forces known to the galaxy.

Prologue

Esoteria was a Seaportian stronghold world. With two hundred Shooting-Star class planetary defence stations orbiting the planet and a full time fleet of three hundred ships-of-the line, it was an impregnable fortress or, more appropriately, an impregnable stronghold. Huge generators on the planet’s surface created massive overlapping energy shields around it which could absorb the impact of an asteroid two hundred miles in diameter. Armies of marines and soldiers covered the ground as well as vast shipyards, spaceports, barracks, military fortresses and armouries. Fleets of single ships patrolled the planetary system, all checking for signs of the imminent attack.

Ever since the Seaportian Confederation had entered into a state of war with the Thral League ten years ago they had lost huge tracts of space to the relentless aliens. There had been several victories, but they had been too few to turn the tide of the war. While the humans could hold their positions and fight back effectively on the ground, the space fleets could not. The advanced weapons of the League would quickly destroy the defending Seaportian fleets, overloading their shields and burning through their hulls. Following which the League forces would then evacuate any soldiers from the planet. After this they would simply use their phenton weapons to set the atmosphere on fire and burn the planet to slag and glass. This process continued with grim consistency. The consequences had been enormous. With over ten billion civilians dead and thousands of warships destroyed, the economy was struggling and on many planets food was scarce because so many farming and HARVEST worlds had been destroyed.

Of this sector of space, all of it was under League control with the exception of Esoteria. And with reports of league reinforcements arriving in the neighbouring system, which might change quite soon. CENTCOMM had decided that it was a waste of soldiers to send reinforcements to a doomed planet, no matter its classification. They had given orders for the fleet there to hold out as long as possible, and then to evacuate. They also had orders to leave nothing of value to the enemy, so ground forces were setting massive charges to the planets core to effectively destroy it. Valuable equipment was also being packed up and FTL drives were being fitted to the planetary defence stations so they could also escape the coming destruction. Already about half of the soldiers on the ground had been evacuated to safer places or hot combat zones were they were needed. The fleet ships were on heavy patrols, in and out of the system and keeping track of the Leagues progress. Estimates said that they would require a fleet of five hundred to attack this planet, and they currently had three hundred and fifty nine according to the last corvette’s report. So there was another two weeks at their current rate until they reached the amount of ships necessary to attack. The admiral figured they would evacuate fully within one and one half weeks. A bit close for comfort. And as they found out, it was a little too close.

Chapter One

Lieutenant Avery Lewis Parker rolled in his bunk. His mind lazily drifted through different dream scenarios, all of which were impossible. In three of them he single-handedly destroyed the League, and in another one he was eaten by a dragon. In this one, he was being chased by a horde of Thrals through a long hallway. As he ran out of the hall he fell onto a cloud. Falling on his back, he looked up to see the Thrals aim their luent rifles at him. He tried to get up and run but they fired first. But instead of the usual high pitched thudding sound, he heard loud, sharp continuous shrieking sound. He covered his ears, trying to block it out to no avail. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of the blaring noise. Louder, and louder it got, never ending.
He opened his eyes. He heard the sound more clearly than ever now. He looked for the Thral, only to see a wooden surface above him.

What the... He wondered. Where were the Thrals? And where was that sound coming from? Then reality slowly dawned on him. He raised his hands to his eyes and started to rub the sleep out of them. Sitting erect, he yawned, stretched and cracked his knuckles. Scratching his back, he re-orientated himself with where he was. He was in his bunk, in Barracks complex nine on STRONGHOLD class planet Esoteria. The aggravating sound was his personal alarm set to wake him up at 0530 hours. He stretched again and shut off his alarm. Stretching his legs a little, he stood up in the small enclosed space of his bunk. He flung his legs over the side, stretched his arms and turned on the small sink in his bunk. A sheet of cold water spat out and hammered mercilessly into the stainless steel sink. He cupped his hands together and put them forward. Catching some of the cold water in his hands, he bent over and splashed it on his face. The shock brought him to his sense in a jolt. He switched off the sink and turned his attention to the small dispenser by his bed. He activated it, and pulled a small microphone close to his face.

“Espresso coffee, hot, black.” He had forced himself to live with the strong coffee due to academic studies which lasted all night long. The weaker stuff the non-coms drank tasted frankly like someone washed a dead cat in it. A small cardboard cup appeared in front of him and the black steaming liquid filled it. Its delicious aroma hit him immediately and he grabbed it and lifted it to his lips. Blowing some heat off the top, he tipped it and let a small amount spill into his mouth and scorch its way down his throat. He smiled appreciatively and put a lid on the rest of it. He put his drink down and grabbed his clothing off a rack. Tan clothing, standard dress uniform with the pointed officers cap to top it all off. He finished buttoning up his jacket, picked up the coffee with his left hand and popped open the door to his bunk. Then, as an afterthought, he reached back in to his weapons locker. He grabbed a holster and clipped it to his belt. Taking a neutron handheld fresh from the armoury, he was one of the few officers to carry one. Sliding it into the holster, he clipped a buckle over it. Now he went to the open door and crawled out, taking his coffee with him. Coffee in left hand, he started descending from the third floor of bunks. The other marines in his platoon were all asleep for now, so no one else was using the ladder. He climbed down past two bunks, each with a sleeping marine private inside. He reached the bottom and hopped off, careful to not spill his coffee.

He took another sip of the burning coffee, winced at the heat, smiled at the taste and headed over towards the exercise arena. He arrived at the entrance, typed in a password, and the door clicked open. A pleasant, feminine voice announced his arrival.

“Welcome Lieutenant Parker.” He answered.

“Morning, Leslie. Say, think you could unlock the equipment?”

“Yes lieutenant. All the equipment is now unlocked. Enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks Leslie.” He answered to the base AI (Artificial Intelligence). He headed over to the exercise equipment, but instead of mounting one he walked past it, got a blue workout mat and laid it flat on the ground. Then he dropped onto his hands and started to do push ups rapid fire fast. He counted to fifty, then did twenty one handed ones on his right hand and twenty on his left. Having finished this he moved on to one hundred jumping jacks, thirty squats and thirty deep knee bends. He checked out the clock. 0539 hours, another fifteen minutes and he should wrap it up. He got on the treadmill, turned up the speed and elevation to the equivalent of running up a steep hill at ten miles an hour. His legs started moving and his heart started pumping blood through the system.

He ran hard for awhile and then he checked the clock. 0555, time to shut it down. He turned off the treadmill, put away the mat and checked himself out.

“Goodbye, Lieutenant Parker.” The AI announced.

“Later, Leslie.” He replied. He jogged over to the showers, did a quick minute rinse, changed back into his uniform and jogged over to the cafeteria. He finished off his cooling coffee, ate a quick breakfast of greasy eggs, crisp bacon and a small bowl of oatmeal. All in four minutes. After this he jogged over to the parade ground where most of his platoon was lined up at attention. He walked up in front of them, and patiently waited for a few stragglers. He didn’t have to wait long. Within another minute the late soldiers had scrambled out to the parade ground and snapped to attention. With them all there and ready, he began his morning tirade.

“Good morning ladies. Did you sleep well?” The marines knew better than to say no, so they replied the only way they could.

“Yes sir!”

“Good, because you’ll need every last drop of energy in those miserable hides of yours! I and Staff sergeant Mackenzie have worked out a great schedule for you lot today, starting with a ten mile run. How’s that sound to you rabble?” The poor marines replied solemnly.

“Great sir.” Grinning inwardly, Parker pressed on.

“Great? You don’t sound very grateful now do you? How’s this, fifteen miles! No stops, with twenty kilo packs on! Now let’s hear it?” He enjoyed the look on their face go from dread to despair. They replied with enthusiasm.

“Great, thank you sir!”

“Glad to hear it, now get moving! You’ll find the kilo sacks in the armoury next to the carbines. Staff sergeant, help them out will you?” Mackenzie’s gruff voice replied in earnest.

“Yes sir! Come on ladies, let’s move your hynies!” As they last of the beleaguered troops left Parker chuckled quietly. Ah, how sweet command was! He remembered the days when he was wet behind the ears pup, a private on Earth. He joined the Earth Space Control Marine Corps when he was nineteen to escape a life of politics, like his father would have forced him into. He’d figured he’d cruise the universe, fighting aliens. What a crock that was! For three years he’d done nothing but hang around on some moon. Dull as dirt that was, his first action came when he was twenty four, during the Jovian moons uprising. After that he was shipped around on a cruiser for the better part of two years. He was a master sergeant by then, promoted for his duty during the Jovian uprising. He got his bar and promotion to lieutenant when he led a platoon of marines against an insurrectionist base after his own LT was KIA. After that he was sent to a training facility for the years until the League wars. After that he was in active duty for ten years until a few months ago. He was sent here to train some more soldiers, and here he was. In charge of a platoon during an evacuation prior to a massive alien assault. After the marines started their horrid run, he headed to his office to check any messages and the planets status report.
He arrived at the door to his office, pressed his hand against a scanner, and spoke into a microphone.

“Lieutenant Parker.” A flat female voice replied.

“Welcome Lieutenant Parker.” A small ding sounded as the computer authorized his entry, and the door hissed open. He walked in and it hissed shut, sealing him from the outside world. The office was nice little place. With it being a roomy 20x20, it gave him some space. In the centre of the room was a desk that was nearly bare. It had some pictures of earth and a few other planets on it and a book or two. On the wall he had mounted a few of his favourite weapons, an ailon beam rifle, a mk. 3 plasma boarding carbine, and a mk. Nine energy sword. He walked over to the desk, pulled up a wheeled chair and sat down. He pressed his finger against a small scanner for identification and it beeped to confirm it was him. Now that his system was unlocked and ready for use, he tapped a small blue icon in front of him. Immediately a humming filled the room as the main computer powered on and holographic screen two feet by two feet formed in front of him. The logo for the Earth Space Control, a black background of stars with earth in the middle clutched by an eagle, appeared on screen and a small box appeared requesting a password. He quickly typed in parkerestate and touched the enter icon. The screen faded from view for a moment and was replaced by a luminous turquoise screen displaying several different options. He tapped the small envelope and opened up his emails. They loaded, requested another password which he entered, and he was in. He touched the ‘receive’ option and a flood of messages poured in. Most of it was junk, how even with today’s technology spam email still existed was beyond him, so he set to work deleting most of his messages. A couple he saved, mainly messages from friends and loved ones. He was looking for one in particular, he scrolled down, tying to find it, there! It was entitled as Officers memo: League threat magnitude. He tapped it once to open it. Again, it requested a password. He cursed silently. These CNI spooks were getting more paranoid everyday! He typed in another password before it let him through. It was a pretty simple straight forward message. It read as following.

To: All Seaportian ESC officers stationed on Esoteria.
From: Esoterian CENTCOMM
Subject: Magnitude of League fleet in Bevory system
/start file/

To all officers, you are receiving this memo because you have the right to know the size of the threat we are currently facing. Our latest reconnaissance in the Bevory system conducted by the Corvette ESCS Mills shows that League ships-of the line number at three hundred and seventy eight out of the estimated five hundred required to attack Esoteria. The evacuation is currently under way as you know and is going well. At the current rate we will be ready to send all our vessels to JumpSpace by the end of eight days. Until then you will continue doing your duty to the fullest. No more and no less is expected of you. Good work gentlemen.

Admiral Stilforth
/end file/

Parker finished the memo and deleted it, protocol to deny access to unauthorized personal. He checked the clock, 0630 hours. He figured the platoon would be finished their morning run at 0900 hours. He figured normally it would take five hours at least for sixty men to do it normally, but ESC marines had been given biochemical injections to increase their strength, speed and stamina so they could perform twice as well as the standard soldier. And with Mackenzie driving them they would have to push themselves to their very core to keep up with his demands. In the corps, the LT gave the orders and the sergeants stretched and added to it. If Parker ordered fifty pushups and twenty knee bends, Mackenzie would have them do one hundred pushups and fifty knee bends with rock packs on their backs followed by a two kilo run to top it all off. And for the Hornet shock troopers? This was heaven compared to what they had to endure. Parker had served a sting with them for two months, to see what it was like. He’d planned to serve for two years, but two months was all his body could take, even with the better body enhancements the Hornets got. So he was content to stick with the normal Marine Corps for now.

He scanned through his emails for anything else important, found none, and shut the computer down. Wondering what to do, he decided to take a quick nap. Nothing else to do, so he would sleep until the soldiers got back. He walked over to his personal cyro-tube, a small machine which used cryogenic technology to suspend his body functions. He climbed inside, shut the hatch and set the timer for two and a half hours and started it up. Immediately cold wisps of vapour started to crawl over him. He took a deep breath, akin to breathing in cold thick fog and let it settle on his lungs and throat. Drowsiness kicked in suddenly and he let his eyes fall asleep. He took in one last breath, and then lost himself to the inky blackness of sleep.

He awoke slowly, drifting in and out of consciousness. He could see the thick fog in front of him slowly dispersing, like mist before the sun. He opened his eyes fully and could see vague shapes outside of the tank. He remembered where and who he was and he snapped awake. As the last of the mist cleared he reached up and tapped an icon on the upper left side of the cyro-tube. The hatch popped open and the last few wisps of mist evaporated in the room’s heat. He shook his head to clear the effects of the cyro-sleep and took a deep breath of room air. His lungs ached a little as they warmed up after their two and a half hour freeze. He coughed three times to help clear up his throat and lungs and then headed out to greet the troops who’d be back shortly. He straightened his uniform, put his cap back on and walked out of the office.

He headed to the parade ground and turned on his communication chip on to Mackenzie’s channel.

“Mack, you read me?” Mackenzie’s gruff voice replied in earnest.

“Sure do sir, what you want?”

“Status report, how are the troops doing and when will you be back?”

“They’re gasping like fish; we’re just about at the door actually. Mind if you could open it for us sir?”

“No problem Mack, hang tight. Over and out.” He turned off his c-chip and head over to the controls to open the main doors. He reached the console, typed in yet another password and touched the icon to open the door. With an initial creak and a groan, the big doors slid open just in time to allow sixty gasping panting marines in, running full speed. Mackenzie led them, breathing just a little more than usual. As they entered onto the artificial grass of the parade ground, Mackenzie yelled out.

“Platoon halt!” They all stopped and the rookie of the platoon, Private Colcheck fell on his back, dumping the heavy backpack of weights and gasped heavily. Mackenzie was immediately on him.

“Did I give you the order to rest boot? I don’t think so, so get the pack back on and give me twenty! Double time!” Colcheck looked pleadingly at the rock hard face of Mackenzie for mercy. He found none. With a moan, he got up, slung the backpack on and hit the deck and started doing pushups. Parker watched without remorse. They had to learn after all. He said.

“Attention!” Immediately all of them snapped to attention with the exception of Colcheck. Mackenzie grabbed him and yanked him to his feet. He growled at him.

“When the lieutenant says attention, you do it! Two laps with rock pack on afterwards for insubordination!” Colcheck moaned quietly, and stood at attention the best his weary frame could. Parker smiled inwardly at the poor recruit. He remembered when he was fresh in boot and was yelled at for not going to attention either when he was in the bathroom. He pushed the thought from his mind and asked Mackenzie.

“Staff sergeant! How did these men perform?”

“Well sir, despite the facts they can’t run well, drink right, hold their lunch down or do what they’re told.” He glared at Colcheck with that last statement. “They did fine for a bunch of overworked lunch ladies.”

“Good to hear Staff Sergeant. You may now herd them all over to the range for some shooting. Oh, and they can leave their packs behind. ‘Cept for the green horn here.” He said motioning to Colcheck. He saluted and Mackenzie did likewise. He wheeled around and addressed the assembled.

“Alright you lot, put those packs away and run over to the range. And I do mean run Kowalski! Go, go, go! Colcheck, you stay behind and finish those pushups and start the laps, then join us at the range.” Colcheck complained, a big mistake for a boot.

“But sir, I don’t know what number I was at.” Mackenzie grinned wickedly.

“Then start over at thirty.” Colcheck talked back, bigger mistake.

“It was twenty sir.”

“No, it was forty. Start at forty.”

“Sir, it was twenty.”

“I’m quite sure it was fifty private.” Said Mackenzie, obviously enjoying himself.” Colcheck was about to open his mouth again when he realized what was going on. He saluted and said.

“Yes sir, fifty. You’re never ever wrong sir.” Mackenzie growled.

“Make it sixty for sucking up!” With that, he turned around and left. Colcheck sighed in despair, hit the deck and started to dole out the pushups. Parker chuckled quietly and turned to follow the troops.

He laughed a bit more at the rookie’s folly. Mackenzie was delighted when Colcheck had arrived a week and a half ago fresh out of boot camp. By now all the other soldiers in his platoon had long ago learned Mackenzie’s tricks and he rarely got to have any fun with them. Now Colcheck would have to learn it all the hard way, figuring out all of the sergeant’s tricks, and by how slow he was it could take a very, very long time for that to happen.

Pushing away the thoughts of the rookie, Parker arrived at the entrance to the range. He typed in a quick code, scanned his hand and retina and the door hissed open. His ears and nose were both greeted by the sound and smell of energy weapons discharging. He heard the hums, thuds and sizzles as energy beams and bolts boiled through the air at slammed into holographic targets which flashed and disappeared. The marines were all busy shooting at the holographic Thrals with an assortment of weaponry most commonly used by the corps. He recognized the chatter of pulser assault rifles. Pulsers were the AK-47 of the modern day, cheap, easy to maintain and durable. However they were getting to be outdated by now, having been in active service for over one hundred years. It rapid fire laser pulses rapidly depleted shields, but it was hard to pierce the body armour used by Thrals, so this weapon was only ever used because of its rapid rate of fire. This weapon was nowadays usually bypassed in favour of the ailon beam rifle or the more popular plasma carbine. A few of the troops were using the sniper rifles for some long rang targets at over hundred meters, and two of them were shooting the heavy weapons at simulated tanks and other vehicles.

Parker walked over to the armoury and scanned the multitude of firepower resting so quaintly on the magnetic walls of the armoury. Running his fingers down the selection of weapons, he selected the mark nine plasma boarding carbine. Picking it off the wall, he walked casually over to grab a battery for the gun. Picking one up, he slid it in and locked it with a satisfying lick. Grabbing a helmet in exchange for his officer’s cap he slid it on and activated it. A targeting reticule appeared in the bottom left hand corner of his view. Holding the gun in his right hand, he strolled over to the targeting range and selected a clear firing pit and slid into it and laid down. He raised the gun upwards and towards the target and the targeting reticule on his helmet went upwards as well, following his aim and sighting whatever the barrel pointed at. He looked for a target and selected a Thral fifty meters away. Sighting the reticule on it, he flicked off the safety and exhaled. As his breath expended, he squeezed the trigger. A carbine buckled as a bolt of highly explosive compressed gas exited the muzzle and blazed towards the target. It hit the hologram and the hologram in the lower chest. It vanished immediately in a flash of static. He turned the rifle towards another target and squeezed the trigger again. Three more bolts followed in rapid succession, one missed and turned a patch of mud to a blast of steam.

He fired until the battery was depleted. He stood up and unclipped the battery. He pulled it out and tossed it into a disposal until and took the weapon back to the armoury wall. He set it back on the wall and it stuck there due to the magnetic plates. Running his fingers along the arsenal, he moved away and pulled his neutron handheld from his holster. Grabbing two extra power cells, he walked back over to the range. He flicked the safety off the firearm and allowed it a second to power up, then pointed it at a target twenty meters away. He closed one guy, aimed and squeezed. The pistol bucked up as the super compressed energy bolt seared down the range and hit a armoured Thral figure, shields and all. The bolt hit the shields, and exploded. The shield died immediately, providing no defence for the second bolt which hit home moments later. The round blasted right through the armour, and also exploded. The Thral figure vaporized from the inside out. Parker smiled, and holstered the weapon. He could practise his aim later, there were other things to do for now.

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

Chapter Two

Cruiser Stalingrad, in orbit over Esoteria, 1230 hours

Ten thousand kilometres above the glistening sphere of Esoteria, the Armada Assault Cruiser ESCS Stalingrad floated lazily through space, surrounded by squadrons of fighters. One of the most powerful vessels ever created by the Seaportian Confederation, Armada Assault Cruisers, or AACs packed a fearsome punch. With a particle accelerator cannon capable of firing a super compressed bolt of super heated energy particles at the speed of light, twenty plasma turrets, each capable of firing six blasts of burning plasma per minute, forty torpedo launchers, ten ailon turrets and two hundred Hellfire point defence cannons, it could turn a league destroyer to a slab of molten metal with ease. With primary, secondary and emergency shields it could take a great beating, added to the six meters of titanium-coson alloy armour plating. Ironically, the first ship destroyed by the League was an AAC, vaporized by a League battleship in the Jerusalem IV system. Now, with only a little over fifty left, they were quite scarce now.

On the bridge of the Stalingrad, Admiral Scott King stood, looking over the shoulder of a crewman handling the scanners.

“Now son, you say you saw something. What is it you saw?” The crewman stuttered nervously.

“I-I-I don’t know sir. Something emerged from JumpSpace, but it just disappeared off the scanners, gone as soon as it appeared.”

“Well, what are the possibilities?”

“Well sir, it could have been a system glitch, or meteors, those things sometimes get into JumpSpace and tumble out and random points.”

“Yes, but it vanished off the display seconds after we picked it up. And unless the meteors ‘round here are acquiring cloaking devices, we’re going to assume this is a ship. And since it has not hailed us or made any attempt at communication, and only activating some sort of cloaking device and going ghost on us, I’m going to assume it has hostile intentions.” The crewman looked back up at him, doubt in his eyes mixed with nervousness.

“Sir, the patrols have showed that the enemy fleet is not yet at maximum or even minimum attack potential! How could this be a league vessel, if our Intel is correct? Do you actually doubt the accuracy of our recon patrols sir?” At this point the Admiral cut loose on him.

“Yes! Yes I am doubting them! Do you remember Teranus? Intel told us we had another week and a half until the League could attack, and they were all dead in three days! Two hundred ships lost and fifty defence platforms! Not to mention the three million soldiers killed groundside when the League ignited the atmosphere burnt the planet to a glass ball! I have very good reason to doubt our Intel!” With each word the crewman cringed lower and lower, until he was almost on the floor. The bridge had gone quiet, for the rest of the entire bridge crew watching the poor man at the console. The Admiral was not an easy man to please; he had a bit of a reputation for being a drill sergeant worse nightmare. They were still watching this spectacle when Lieutenant Robertson saw a blip on his holographic display out of the corner of his eye. He turned his body the rest of the way, and suddenly identified the blip. He whipped around and blurted out.

“Contact! Inbound fenton torpedo!” The entire crew was immediately alive, their pity fate of the crewman replaced by concern for the fate of their lives. The Admiral saw the target on screen, and was immediately yelling loud enough to hear through the bulkheads.

“Hard to port! Emergency thrusters now!” Every engine on the cruiser immediately blasted exhaust in the commanded direction, and the entire vessel shot with startling speed to the right. A few crewmen fell to the ground, unprepared for this sudden acceleration. But the rest held on and manned their stations.
Outside the mammoth cruiser, the burning blue fentonic torpedo sizzled past the ship. But instead of shooting by, it turned around sharply and homed in onto the AACs massive hull. The crew tried to turn the behemoth ship out of harms way, but it was too late. The brilliant blue round slammed into the unshielded hull and exploded. The ship b uckled as a ten meter hole was blown open in the hull, and several dozen sailors were sucked out into the infinite vacuum of space. Just as the initial explosion started to die away, one hundred meters port of the gaping hole in the ships side, space changed. It rippled and shimmered like a mirage in a desert, and like a fish sliding out of the water emerged the ship.

A league gunship. Fast, manuverable, and Packed with weapons, gunships posed a serious threat despite their lack of heavy shielding and armour. Shaped like a three hundred meter long elongated three sided pyramid, and made solely out of some sort of glossy black material similar in appearance to jet stone, it was easily distinguishable as an affiliate of the death bringing empire that scourged the Confederation. It slid out of its cloaking system not one hundred meters from the damaged ship. Its engines flared a cool blue and darted it forward, right into the still burning hole in the ships armoured flank. Its pointed bow shot forward, and into the gaping wound and lodged there. The ships engines flickered off and the vessel ground to a halt. It stopped moving and then the space in between the crashed bow and burnt edges of the hole popped as a force field blocked the hole off from space. There was a pause as the space pressurized and filled up with oxygen, and then the front of the bow popped open, letting a swarm of Thrals charge into the ship.

Ensign Evens was trained for emergencies, but not this. He was trained to handle fires, hull breaches, basic fist aid, maybe even an occasional firefight. But he was definitely not trained for this. None of the instructors had taught him proper procedure for thirty foot holes being blown in the hull, watching several dozen other crewman get sucked out into space and then getting boarded by a massive Thral force. No one had taught him anything about this. Good thing he was on the other side of the door, the other side of the two inch thick titanium shield which protected him from the vacuum. As he saw though, the vacuum was no longer a problem. Several dozen League warriors boarding the ship however, was a very serious problem. Evens felt fear. He felt his heart stop beating for a moment and freeze cold, like an invisible icy hand had clasped it. He felt the deck shudder as secondary explosions went off throughout the ship. He felt the door shudder as an energy bolt hit it, followed by a second one which blew it open. He tried to turn to run, but his legs were immobile. He tried to scream, but his mouth refused to move. He just stood there, and felt the alien firearm press against his head. He felt slight pressure as the firing mechanism was pulled, and then he felt nothing at all. He didn’t feel the bolt of fire tear through his head, vaporizing his skull and brains. He didn’t feel the viscous alien clawed foot which kicked him aside. And he most certainly didn’t feel his destroyed corpse hit the metal deck with a dull thump.

Up aboard the bridge however, the Admiral and the crew were feeling many different things. Emotions mostly, fear, terror, confusion, fear, bewilderment, fear.

“What the bloody devil just happened? Sitrep now!” the Admiral roared to the bridge crew. There was a brief period of silence, then another voice, human but disembodied, answered him.

“Admiral, we have been just attacked by a league gunship. C1 attack class, three hundred meters in length, primary weapo- His specifications were cut of by the admiral’s voice and upraised hand.

“Don’t give me a technical breakdown, give it to me short and sweet.” The ships onboard AI sighed in frustration and continued on.

“We were attacked by a League gunship. They hit out port side with a fentonic torpedo which blasted a roughly ten meter hole in the hull. He sealed it off with a forcefield, pressurized it, and are currently disgorging a large amount of special operations soldiers. The fleet is targeting the gunship, it will be gone momentarily. However before it vaporizes, added to the troops already onboard I estimate we will be facing seven hundred Thral special operations soldiers, lead by a group of soldiers they call members off ‘The Order of the Elite.” The admiral let loose a muttered string of alien curses, and then rubbed his face with his right hands. True to the AIs words, every single warship in system acquired a targeting lock on intruding gunship. Ailon beams, plasma bolts, torpedoes, missiles, lasers, weapons of every kind all locked on and fired. A wall of fire burned toward the gunship which made no move, no attempt to disengage and flee the coming destruction. It just stood there, disgorging the last of its troops before the wave of energy hit it. Its energy shields flared brilliant gold for a split second, and then popped leaving the hull defenceless to the onslaught. It’s jet black hull vaporized in a split second as the heat and burning energy splashed all over it and thoroughly consumed it. As it vaporized, its forcefield also died and the nearest boarding soldiers were suddenly unprotected to the space vacuum. They were sucked out and flew straight into the mass of flame. Their personal over shields flared and overloaded in a microsecond and they too flared like matches.

On the bridge, the Admiral questioned the AI on the invaders intentions though he feared he already knew the truth. The flat voice came back to him in the moment it took for the program to answer the question.

“Sir, the enemy forces are most likely attempting to board and destroy you and this ship. They have succeeded in the boarding and will now make with all due haste for this bridge. The reasons for this assault are to confuse, scatter and demoralize our forces with the death and destruction of their commander and flagship respectively. I can calculate the effect on moral, which prior to now was generally at seventy percent due to the numerous losses in the war up to date, and are now at sixty percent as they know that this planet is doomed to fall. The general moral after such an attack would be at thirty percent, severely compromising their fighting and commanding abilities.” Just as the Admiral feared, a suicide attack to knock out the command and control of the fleet. His thoughts were once again interrupted by the AIs voice. “Sir, due to the nature of this attack I must say that an enemy attack is scheduled to commence very soon. I would advise an immediate course of action. The admiral already knew it, but the facts being spoken right out to him just made it worse. Now he had not only a ship full of league spec ops troops on board, but he had an alien attack and invasion imminent. Fight or flight? That was the question now. If he stayed and fought it out, he and his fleet was sure to die. But they could at least buy some time for the remaining battle platforms to be outfitted for FTL travel and get the remaining soldiers ready for transport. If he fled, his fleet would survive, but several million soldiers and the other battle platforms would be all destroyed. His head almost hurt as he strained, groping for an answer. He clutched his head with his hands, trying to decide which lives would be destroyed by his commands. Below him, he felt a very faint shudder and a very far off explosion. He lifted his head and faced the bridge crew, all deathly silent now.

“All hands, prepare for battle.” The spell broke and a rush of noise flooded in as the bridge crew all started to bring the ships weapons and such online. The Admiral turned to the AI whose avatar was now floating six inches in front of him. “Prepare all our assets for battle.” His voice hardened and his eyes narrowed. “All of them.” The AIs holographic eyes flickered in momentary surprise as his lightning fast brain proceeded and registered what the admiral was requesting of him. The surprise however only lasted for a split second then vanished. He
answered in his smooth, emotionless voice.

“Yes sir.”

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

Chapter Three

Private first class Colcheck was exhausted. No, he was beyond exhausted. He lay in his bunk, gasping for air in short raggedy gulps. No man should ever have to do this, he thought. Chemical augmentations be screwed, his body was not designed for this. Fifteen mile run with thick packs loaded with twenty kilograms of rocks, then running back and doing sixty push ups just for doing his orders! Then came the two laps with the rock packs on, each lap was a kilometre. Then came in half an hour of shooting practise, which due to his fatigue and exhaustion, he did quite badly at earning him more bull crap from the sarge. Now they had an hour of break time before more exercises and practises. Colcheck felt like throwing up, or crying. Maybe both actually. It was all he could do to keep himself from falling asleep and never waking up, but if he did that it would assure him definitely getting hammered more by sarge. He groaned, he was only half-way through the day and he was almost dead. He doubted he could survive much longer. He didn’t want to be here. He was a city kid, a rich kid, a spoiled kid. He wasn’t a brat really, but he came from quite a wealthy family.

His father had been an assistant city administrator for Quintle, one of the big cities on New Rome, one of the confederations bigger CITY worlds. He had joined because of influence actually, influence from Vidgames. He had always loved shooter games, from the old classics of the twenty first centaury like Halo, to the newest hot releases like Star Sigmus. He was always playing as the galactic hero, the saviour of the galaxy from some evil marauding alien race. So when the League invaded, he figured he could have a chance of being the hero and crushing the alien scum against his metal combat boots. So it made perfect sense when he turned eighteen he went to enlist, and promptly failed the physical examination. So then he left back for home to work out and try to bulk up some muscles to the requirements. But before he could head back, he started to hear the horror stories about the war. How the Thrals destroyed the ESC fleets and then set the planets atmosphere alight with their advanced weaponry, reducing them to burning balls of interstellar slag and glass.

This made him more cautious, a little more reluctant to run over to the recruiting office. Then he saw some helmet cam feed from an unknown marine during the siege for Seigmas. It was a lot different from the Vidgames. The scenes of violence, watching the sadistic aliens blow holes through defending marines and then tear them apart in bloody feeding frenzies; convinced him maybe the Marine Corps was not the life for him. But unfortunately the draft caught up to him. He found himself forcibly taken from his nice house to the boot camp, where they did pushups, running, shooting, saluting, driving, and more pushups. And now he found himself here, on what was soon to be the frontline of a major battle, or so the barracks rumours said.

He groaned again, fifteen minutes until they would be called back again. He sighed, and slowly sat up in his bunk. He reached in his pocket for the item he’d bought at the store. The store was a little shop selling the troop’s things like candies, chips, soft drinks, tobacco, smokes and other little conveniences to make life easier. An adrenaline/simulative, like a hyped up power drink on steroids. A little glass contained, filled with bright yellow liquid. It looked a lot like snake poison then anything beneficial. He grimaced in anticipation at what he had to do, and then he popped open the little drawer bodies his bunk and pulled out the injector. He stuck the needle into the contained and let the little machine suck up half the subscription, the maximum safety dose. He closed the container and put it away. He took a deep breath, steadying himself and relaxed his muscles. He placed the injector against his skin, winced a little, and then pulled the trigger.
There was a stab of pain as the needle shot forward and punctured his bicep, followed by a cool flowing sensation as the liquid streamed into his blood vessel. He watched as the yellow liquid quickly drained, then he pulled it out. The tiny dribble of blood showed where the needle hand punctured, and other than that he was normal outwardly. But inwardly, he was much different. For one he felt better, a lot better. As the drugs coursed through his bodies and gave him strength and wiped away his fatigue he could feel the power coursing through him. But his fatigue wasn’t exactly wiped away. It was still there, somewhere back in the far crevices of his consciousness, he could feel it, and after six hours or so it would return, stronger than ever. But in six hours, he would be able to turn for the night. He sat up straighter, stretched his ever-strengthening frame, and reached into the small box-fridge beside his bunk for a drink. He popped open the magnetically sealed door and browsed inside for the correct flavour. His finger landed on a lime flavoured soft-drink which he pulled from its holder, out of the fridge and shut the little door. He cracked open the tab, heard the delicious hiss as the CO2 fizzled away at the surface. He twisted off the tab, and dropped it in the drink, causing the fizz to flare up a little more. He raised it to his lips, and tipped the canister. The delightfully tangy liquid hit his taste buds, exploding them with flavour. The sugary liquid slid down his tongue and into his throat. He pulled the rim away, took a breath of air and started to raise it to his mouth again when, about six inches from his head, an alarm rung. This upset his heart beat and his hands, causing his arm to lurch forward hitting himself in the head and spilling fuzzy liquid all over his face. He slammed the can down, muttering off curses at the pain from his head, the blaring klaxon by his head and the sticky juice all over his face. He grabbed a little towel and wiped his face off, all while the alarm kept blaring in his ear. Dang it Sarge! He raged in his head. Can’t a man get a moment of rest here without you setting us off on some goose-hunt or surprise drills? He was seriously mad now. He just wanted to have his hour of rest, but nope. Sarge was making sure nobody here got it, setting off alarms and whatnot. He crawled over to the door to his quarters and popped it open. He stuck his legs out, rested them on the ladder rungs and then moved the rest of himself out.

Gripping the rungs with his feet and a hand, he slammed the door shut and roughly shoved himself down the rungs. He let go and dropped the last six feet and landed. He absorbed the impact and turned around to see quite a scene. Personal and marines were running all over the place like chickens with their heads cut off. In corners, people were manning consoles and terminals and checking over data pads. Now Colcheck was more confused than mad or angry. This wasn’t one of the sarges usual routines. The last thing he ever wanted was a bunch of techies running around the parade ground. He frowned, no something was up here. The personal and servicemen all had grim looks plastered on their faces, as if they knew something bad was about to happen. This gave an air of inevitability, but inevitability of what? Colcheck wasn’t sure, but whatever it was it couldn’t be good. He ran over to the nearest technician, who was pouring over a datapad covered with flashing numbers and symbols, -censored- alone knew what they meant. He ran over and tapped him on his shoulder. The man stopped and whipped around, startled. He saw who it was and calmed down a bit.

“Sorry marine, brasses have been all over me for the last little while. Thought you were one of them. You got a problem soldier?”

“Yeah, you mind telling me what’s going on? What’s with the alarms and such? You guys all seem pretty upset over something and I wanna know what that is?” The technician looked at him, perplexed.

“What, haven’t you heard? The admiral’s flagship was just attacked by a cloaked League boarding craft. We figure they’re trying to take our Commander and flagship, to demoralize and disorientate us and all that. Brass figure it’s all a prelude to massive assault. We’ve got our hands full, trying to coordinate the evacuations faster now. FTL drives are being placed on the rest of the shooting stars and everything else is being packed up. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.” With this, the technician turned around and continued on his way. Colcheck was almost stunned. He wasn’t really surprised, everyone the League were coming soon, why with all the evacuations and preparations and whatnot you’d have to be an idiot not to. But they’d never expected them so soon. Then again, you never expect an alien invasion ‘soon.’ It was always expected tomorrow and never today. But now it appeared that tomorrow had come, like it or now better or for worse. Out of the corner of his eye he saw more movement, quicker and more professional. He turned and there was Lieutenant Parker and Staff Sergeant Mackenzie heading toward him. He quickly snapped to attention and saluted. The two saluted and then brushed past him. He turned around and saw all of the other marines all out and about, milling around and completely confused. He saw the officers stop, Mackenzie marched forward, wheeled around and saluted the Lieutenant. Colcheck realized what was about to happen, and he started to run for the other marines.

“Attention!” Mackenzie yelled out in a strong, authorative voice. The other platoon members immediately whipped around and ran forward into place, Colcheck was among them. He reached a position in line, wheeled around and snapped to attention. The other soldiers quickly followed suite and soon all sixty marines stood deathly quiet and still. Parker was wasting no time on formalities today and went straight to business.

“Men, some of you may already know this but most of you do not, so I’m going to cut right to the chase. At 01234 hours today, Admiral Scott Kings flagship the ESC Stalingrad was attacked. The attacker was a modified League gunship which immediately cloaked upon entering the system. It was lost on trackers and moved in close to the flagship. Upon reaching its target, it immediately fired a fentonic torpedo which penetrated the hull due to the shields were offline for repairs. Once the hull was breached, the ship moved forward and sealed off and pressurized the breach and started dispatching large amounts of special operations Thrals into the ship. We believe the purpose of this suicide attack is to destroy our commander, flagship and our moral, plus destabilizing our command. We have concluded that this is the prelude to an imminent attack on Esoteria and evacuations and preparations have quadrupled. The admiral has decided to remain here with the fleet to engage the Thrals and allow the evacuations to complete. He has also dictated that a large portion of the land force will remain to under see the success of the evacuation, and if time remains, to escape.” Here his voice turned stiff and his face blanked out. “Our division has orders to assist in defending the evacuations.”

Colchecks heart nearly stopped. There it was. A death sentence. Parker knew it, the Sarge knew it, and every marine knew it. A suicide mission. There was no way in gods black space that the navy would risk valuable ships for the lives of some marines. His hands were cold; he brought them to his mouth and breathed on them, trying to warm them up. He suddenly cringed, expecting a reprimand from the sarge, but he was silent. Colcheck looked, and Mackenzie’s face was slightly pale, and rock hard. Colcheck craned his head, almost everyone’s face, including the lieutenants had the same, pale look. Colcheck realized he had that look on his face too. Parker broke the dead silence.

“Report back here at 0100 hours in armour. Dismissed.” He saluted Mackenzie who saluted back, wheeled around and walked away. Sarge did likewise, and the marines all broke up, heading back to their quarters. Colcheck climbed the rungs to his quarters, popped open the door and crawled in and onto his bunk. He lay down, dumbly staring at the ceiling with empty eyes.

Why me? He wondered, as did every man in the platoon.

Why me?

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

Chapter Four

Tier 0 did not exist. Not technically or legally anyways. Neither did the few tier 0 operators. And it was best one left it that way for many reasons. One chief reason that if one discovered their existence, one would be promptly shot without trial. Tier 0 was a branch of Central Naval Intelligence section 2 which was devoted to special operations and advanced weapons. They were the masterminds behind the famous Next Generation Trooper program which was created in the 2100s. The idea was a group of soldiers with a certain genetic trait inherited from birth. A trait which made them a bit stronger, a bit faster, and above all more durable and resistant physically than normal people. Once a child like this was born, military officials were dispatched to the residence and asked the parents or guardians permission to take the child away and subject them to the NGT training.

In peacetime this was always the parent’s choice, whether they wanted their child to grow up with them or as a soldier. But in times of war or serious need, that choice was removed and the children were drafted. They would be taken to the NGT training planet which is classified beyond top secret. Once there, they would be vigorously and brutally trained. Hundreds of viscious exercises and hard school work were dolled out to them to make them the soldiers they were required to be. Once they were six years old, they started intensive combat training. Information in use of various weapons were divided into segments and then one by one, artificially imprinted into the childs brain, giving them the know-how to do whatever was required. After each segment was implanted into their brains, they were given time to process and practise the data in real life and become accustomed to it before the next segment. After all of this, they were given the final test. Physical and biological augmentations. These augmentations were standard procedure for members of the Seaportian military, but in much smaller, safer doses. Normal marines were given doses which made them capable of well over twice the physical performance of any non-augmented soldier. Hornet special operations soldiers were given larger doses, which were more costly and more dangerous to their well being. They could perform up to almost six times as well as a normal non-altered man. But the NGTs, they were given doses which could, and sometimes did, kill them. Over the course of two weeks, various chemicals were added into their bodies, making them stronger, faster, smarter, and superior to a normal human in every way. They could perform over twenty times as well as a Hornet trooper, capable of running sixty miles and hour in short bursts, flipping fully loaded LRVs over, giving them reflexes at fifteen milliseconds. And when these super soldiers added to their state-of-the-art TROY assault armour, they were even more so with reflexes at under one millisecond. They were the ultimate fighting machines, trained to fight any enemy, made to beat any foe.

Tier 0 was commissioned in the 2500s as an elite BlackOps unit. They were to be sent on suicide missions and come back alive. Their missions were to immobilize entire armies, destroy flagships singe handily and then do it again. Hand picked from the best of the NGTs, they had their memories altered. Their names were erased from their memory banks and all computers in existence. They were assigned names to use amongst each other, and other names to use on assignments. All in all, there were nine of them. Three teams of three. A principal reason for the short numbers was for security, but another was for personality. Since they were often sent out on undercover assignments in heavily populated areas, they were required to have a personality. Years of torturous training had reduced most of the NGTs to mere shells of their self, being cold, emotionless killers almost like robots. This would be far to conspicuous for undercover assignments, so they had to find the few NGT’s with real personality, find the best of those, take them, and make them better.

Of the three Tier 0 units stationed throughout the confederation, two were on active duty, and one was on standby. This was how it always was, in case one unit was needed immediately. So it happened that Tier 0 unit one, was stationed on Esoteria.
They were the best of the best. Literally.

They were the top Tier 0 team, the best of the best NGTs. Tier 0, unit one. They were Team CHAOS.

The second lieutenant lay on the bunk. Even without his armour, the tier 0 NGT known only as ‘Joseph,’ was imposing. With his six foot nine inch height he towered over most military personal, even his best friends, ‘Pyro’ and his commander ‘Johnson’ head to look up to face him. And when he was clad in his TROY armour, he was easily over seven foot eight. Of all the NGTs, he’d been the biggest, and the strongest. The fact he was an explosives, demolitions, and heavy weapons expert was almost fitting, even though he had a nearly non-existent temper. He has been specially trained with all manner of explosives, heavy weapons and demolition techniques. He could blow open the locks of a titanium vault with scarce more than a whisper, or he could rig a bomb powerful enough to gut a League battle cruiser. This fact, plus he was just a natural at setting charges and such, proved to be a lot of trouble in the NGT training. He, actually all of CHAOS team, had been very unwilling to become government employed killing machines that could never see their families again.
So they’d made many incredible attempts to escape, several included acts like stealing a condor dropship, hijacking LRVs and even tanks, and several times even blowing the training instructor’s barracks sky high in acts of defiance. Eventually, they were simply told that they could either stick with the program, or be shot. They chose to be shot, and at dawn they were lined up. But they had no intention of being shot. Pyro dropped a smoke bomb he hid in his mouth, causing the firing squad to hold their fire for a few seconds. A few seconds was more than enough time for them, running forward and disarming and shooting their executors. They stole a dropship and made a run for the mountains, but were shot down by fighters. They were recaptured and forced back into the training, the brass deciding that they were too skilful to be killed.

They eventually gave in to the training, and proved to be very dangerous in any sort of combat situations. And were eventually chosen to be in tier 0. Joseph was more or less okay with his life now. It wasn’t so bad really, he had reasoned with himself. Despite they didn’t exist, were presumed dead by all their former friends and family, didn’t know their real names, and only about fifty non-admirals knew of their existence, life wasn’t so bad. Being in what was essentially a suicide squad had some advantages. A blank cheque for example, free, un-hindered access to every bit of new weaponry, getting to field test it for the other NGTs, and of course there was total freedom and amnesty from military formality. Yes, life was actually quite good, and would most likely get better assuming he survived this crazy war. A knock on the door broke him out of his ponderings. He swivelled his head with lightning speed, and saw the door to his private quarters he was in bulge inwardly, like something was sucking it inward. The sold Titanium A door bulged more, at least seven inches in. This structural damage was followed by a loud, familiar voice.

“Hey Joe, come on outta there! We’ve got some major developments out here.” Joseph sighed, and slid his feet to the ground and stood up.

“Pyro, you broke the door again.” He heard a confused “What the,” followed by a loud, inappropriate curse. Then,

“Sorry man, but you gotta get some stronger doors, that’d help.”

“It was solid titanium.”

“Can’t prove that.”

“I sure can, now get out of the way, I’m coming out.” He walked forward and swung the mangled door open. Just outside of the swinging arc, stood the six foot three red haired NGT, Pyro. He had been nicknamed this back in training, and absolutely despised the fact that everyone had started stereotyping him as a pyromaniac. He would often violently correct them, exclaiming that he was in fact, an arsonist and a pyrotechnician, not a pyromaniac. Of course when the tier 0 operators wiped his name from his memory banks the only name he could really remember was Pyro, which was also what everyone else remembered. They used this to great delight and to such an extent that even the Admirals and such called him Pyro. For this, he had never forgiven Joseph and Johnson and they knew it.

“Morning Pyro.” Pyro’s eye twitched a bit, and his teeth grated.

“Joseph, for the last time. I’m not, a pyro, maniac. I am a professional arsonist and pyrotechnician. Stop calling me Pyro.” Joseph grinned here.

“Sure thing Arsy.” Now Pyro’s eye flared. He nearly hissed at his team mate and friend.

“Don’t. Ever. Call. Me. That.”

“Sure thing Pyro. Now what’s the situation?” Pyro glared at him, furious for a moment, then the anger faded to despair, then annoyance then nothing.

“OK, basically a league gunship entered the system cloaked. They got in close to the Stalingrad and smoked her in the portside with a torpedo. They sealed and pressurized the hole, and dropped off something like seven hundred special operations Thrals before they fleet vaped the gunship. Admiral King wants us to fly over there and drive ‘em of, preferably dead.” Joseph shrugged his large shoulders.

“Ok, when do we go?” Pyro turned around, motioning for him to follow.

“Johnson wants to go for it right now, he’s already armoured up. Sent me to get you so we could get going. Oh yeah, and we’ve got some new guns to try out.” At this Joseph perked up.

“Really? What kind?” Pyro replied.

“Remember those type-one fentonic SMGs we tried out last mission?”
Joseph nodded. “Yep, those were sweet weapons. Good range, even for SMGs and long battery.”

“Yeah, those things. We’ve got a new deal here, a rifle version. Semi-automatic, more powerful than the SMGs and a maximum of two hundred shots per crystal.” Pyro informed him. “Oh, and grenade launcher only for explosives. We don’t want to tear up the ship anymore than needed, OK?” Joseph’s shoulders drooped, but only slightly.

“Sure, whatever. Let’s just go armour up man.” He turned around a corner and walked into the suiting room. Two suits of TROY assault armour stood, floating in midair. Joseph walked forward to his larger suit, and typed in a pass code, took a retinal scan and a voice confirmation system. The armour unlocked, and the suit suddenly split apart, dozens of armour plates just split apart and hung suspended in mid air. Joseph walked forward as did Pyro into his suit. As he stopped inside the floating disassembled armour plates, they suddenly moved back into place around him, effectively caging his body in the armour. It locked into place with a beep, and he stepped forward along with Pyro off the platform. They picked up their respective helmets and headed down the corridor to find Johnson.

First Lieutenant ‘Johnson’ was at the hanger bay, awaiting his two friends and subordinates. He did have to wait long, for the two NGTs rounded the corner, clad in armour and with their helmets in their armoured hands. Johnson’s own helmet was already on and the visor was depolarized, showing his tanned face beneath. He stepped forward and greeted them.

“Good day gents, you ready for a little action?” The response was immediate.

“Yessir skipper, ready to and smoke some aliens.”

“Good to know. Now this is the plan. We’re going to take a condor over to the hanger. We’ll dock in hanger 2A and from there head up to attack them from behind. A pincher movement you see. Us from behind them and the marines from front. Got it?” The response was unanimous.

“Yes sir!” Johnson grinned.

“Okay then, let’s go arm up!” He turned around and moved of in the direction of the armoury, his friends in tow.
The tier 0 NGTs armoury was to them, a heaven. Packed with every conceivable type of weapon, human and alien, there was something for everything in here. Actually, there were multiple things for everything here. Walls and racks, loaded with plasma carbines, ailons, neutron handhelds, rail gun sniper rifles, plasma rocket launchers, pulsers, spread guns, energy swords, neutron chain guns, grenades of every type, and of course some of the newer fentonic weapons. But this is only a small sample of the room’s arsenal, for it would take pages to really describe it. The three immediately split up, each heading off to find their own personal weapons. Johnson, a professional sniper usually took the S6N9 rail gun sniper. But of course in the close combat conditions of the AAC he would be taking a different weapon more ideal for close range. However, he already had a weapon in mind for this assignment, a new experimental weapon which CNI section 2 had been developing. It was a mix of captured League technology and existing Seaportian technology. It was called the X32 directed Fentonic energy weapon, the X the denoting experimental. It a new breed of energy rifle which fired bolts of the advanced fenton energy bolts in a semi automatic mode. It was supposed to be extremely accurate from the section 2 initial tests, but it has never actually been fired in the stress and strains of combat before. So Johnson and the rest of CHAOS were to find out. They would be taking one fenton rifle each, a choice of sidearm and a backup weapon in case that the rifles failed.

Johnson selected a fenton rifle off the weapons rack, checked for a power source, found one and placed it in the rifle. The energy level on the rifles power reading immediately glowed blue and shot upwards, indicating a full charge. On his visors Tactical View Display or TVD, the battery charge flickered in the upper left corner of his view, showing a number indicating the number of shots remaining. As he picked it up, a targeting reticule popped into being on his TVD, the reticule pointed in whichever direction he pointed the rifle. Good, his gear was all in working order. He strapped the rifle to the magnetic clips on the back of his armour where it clicked and rested. He let go and moved forward to the rack of assorted side arms. Running his metal encased fingers along the arsenal, he stopped at the neutron handhelds. He picked on up, checked the battery to see if it was loaded. Seeing it was not, he grabbed a power cell and slid it in with a satisfying click. Then he grabbed a hand full of more cells, putting them in a small compartment around his waist. He clipped the sidearm to his side and moved over to the SMGs. He quickly selected the fentonic SMG called the Type-two. Small durable, and incredibly powerful with reasonable accuracy, it was the ideal weapon for fighting in CQB. He took one, clipped it to his other side and then also pocketed a handful of batteries for it and sealed them shut inside another compartment. He also grabbed half a dozen plasma grenades and stuck them on his belt. He then looked around for the rest of his team.

They were also ready of course. Pyro had his rifle, an energy sword, a bundle of grenades, and a type two. Joseph was totting a grenade launcher capable of firing six grenades per clip, several extra clips, a fenton rifle and an energy sword. Johnson remarked.

“Well, you ladies look ready to dance. Care to lead?” He said, making a mock bow to them. They rolled their eyes and pushed him aside, heading down to the main hanger. Johnson laughed, and followed them.

The hanger of the destroyer they were on was quite large. No cavernous or anything, but still quite big. There were three decks, each with multiple docking points for different ships of different sizes. It was organized so that the larger bombers, transports and dropships were on the upper levels, and the smaller fighters, interceptors and such were on the lower level. The three NGTs arrived in the main entrance on deck two and headed over to docking point five. A condor dropship rested there, it engines hummed quietly in synchronization with its anti-gravity generators, keeping it hovering off the deck by a mere six inches. Joseph got in first, ducking under the stubby wings and popped open the main hatch. It hissed open and he stepped aboard and made his way through the troop compartment and into the cockpit. He started the main engines as the others stepped in. Pyro sat down in the main compartment while Johnson came forward behind Joseph. Joseph sealed the main hatch and brought the engines up to full power. He activated the belly thrusters to bring the condor up to ten feet above the docking point, and then rotated it around so its nose was pointing at the hanger doors. He tapped in a request for the doors to be opened and waited. Sure enough, there was a groan, and then the massive doors slid open, a basic forcefield protecting the inside of the hanger from the cold, dark vacuum of space.

Joseph pressed forward on the throttle, firing the main engines and having the large dropship fire forward. It darted forward, and out and through the gap in the door. There was a bit of a feeling like static electricity as they passed through the forcefield and out into space. Now out in the open, Joseph pressed the throttle forward more, activating the compensators to make up for the acceleration and the pull of gravity. The craft shot forward through the mostly empty space. The rest of the fleet was very active now, with well over a hundred engines flaring brightly as they moved around, looking for any signs of the league fleet. They dropship moved easily through the fighter patrols and the occasional frigate. Joseph gunned the accelerators even more to sixty percent throttle, the compensators automatically adjusting. In the troop compartment, Pyro looked out a view port. He saw Esoteria, glistening green, blue, white and red. All around it where the remaining Orbital Defence Platforms, hanging in perfect formation as if strung on invisible wires. And to think that all of this is doomed to destruction. He thought. This magnificent military fortress, this stronghold, a central hub of power and military might, was all doomed to be burnt to charcoal by alien energy. The condor flew through space, nearing the assailed cruiser. Pyro got up from his seat by the viewport, and ducking his head as so to not damage the bulkheads, he walked over to the cockpit. Johnson was still up there, head craned over Josephs shoulder. The Armada Assault Cruiser was ahead, growing larger and larger with each passing moment. They could now all see the gaping hole ahead of them, were the Thral ships had attacked and boarded the cruiser. Where they had boarded the cruiser. That gave Pyro and idea. He tapped Johnson on the shoulder.

“Hey, Johnson. I’ve got an idea.” Without turning his head, he replied coolly.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Joseph let loose a little chuckle. Pyro rolled his eyes, then in a more serous tone.

“No seriously. Instead of landing in the hanger, why don’t we just land in the breach? That way we’ll come up right behind them.” Johnson turned his head this time.

“You know, that’s actually a good idea.” Then turning his head back to Joseph, “Joe, drive into that breach in the hull over there.”

“Will do boss-man.” He moved the controls to starboard, and the condor drifted to the side. They neared the burnt gap in the side, and could see the molten corridors and slagged metal. Joseph drew over into the breach, and searched around for a place to land. He spotted a rather flat space to land and moved forward more. He activated the automated landing sequence, and the dropship started to descend. As they touched down, Johnson called out.

“Alright boys, make sure your armours sealed and the shields are up, because there ain’t any air for awhile.” The other two made a quick check over their armour for any breaches and made sure their shields were online and intact. They both were good to go, so Joseph started a quick depressurization of the condor. There was a hissing sound as the atmosphere escaped into the vacuum of space, and then there was silence. Joseph typed in one more command into the console and opened the main hatch. It cracked open, revealing the burnt interior of the cruiser.

They walked out of the condor and into one of the partially melted corridors. A broken door obstructed their immediate path, emergency lights flickering on it as it tried to close, but failed due to the fact it was trapped in frozen molten metal. Joseph kicked it with his right leg once, twice. The door buckled and burst open. Beyond it was some another corridor with scorch marks from both ailons and luent rifles. Five crewman lay dead, ravaged by both the league boarders and the loss of atmosphere. Blood, both human and alien, was flash frozen on the floor and sides of the corridor. Johnson spoke up.

“Ok guys, form up. I’ll cover our rears, Joseph you’re on point and Pyro’s in the middle.”

“Sure thing boss.” Came Josephs reply as he moved up forward, pointing his grenade launcher at whatever may be foolhardy enough to attack them. Johnson turned around with his back to Pyro, and started to backtrack. He doubted there would be any attack from the vacuum behind them but it never hurt to be careful, especially in a battle zone. Pyro was in between the two of them, fenton rifle at the ready. His bio-scanners were reading blank, but League camouflage could evade this. Still, he doubted he’d have to wait long. He could hear the faint sound of energy discharges from upper levels.

They rounded a corner and went through a door and a forcefield which acted as an airlock. They were now in atmosphere, and the prospect of a battle was growing. He checked his motion detector. It was showing nothing yet, no wait. A group of hostiles was fifteen meters ahead of them, not moving toward them but not getting farther either. Johnson sent out a quick order over the TEAMCOM.

“Okay guys, it’s time to go ghost now.”

“Copy that.” Pyro and Joseph responded in near unison. They Pyro reached down and tapped the little activator on his back, activating the light-bending combat camouflage. Combat camouflage worked similar to the shield generators, spreading a field of energy around the wearer. But instead of absorbing and reflecting energy blasts and such, it bent light. This advanced type the NGTs used, rendered them nearly one hundred percent invisible on both visual and infrared. The only way to see them was if one looked at them if there was bright light behind them, allowing a faint outline to be seen. But by the time anyone got that close, they were usually dead. The trio moved forward, virtually invisible to the Thral group. They rounded another corner, and there they were. Five Thrals, their reptilian forms were outfitted in the black glossy armour preferred by the League. But instead of the standard grunt armour of the normal Thral soldier, they had armour which flared out in a flame-like fashion. Their helmets curved back into an elongated tip, and the armour besides being just jet black, had tinges of brilliant crimson red. They had seen this type before, the armour of Thral Special Forces. They were stronger, smarter, and better trained then other Thral units, tougher to beat. But CHAOS had fought them before, killed them before, beat them before. They were only a little more of challenge to the NGTs. Then, Josephs voice broke in through the TEAMCOM.

“So, who’s doing the honours?” Johnson replied.

“You get the first two shots with the grenade launcher, then everyone switch to fentons.”

“Got it.” Joseph replied and he aligned the grenade launcher.
Joseph raised the grenade launcher until the reticule on his TVD was directly in the centre of the alien group. He smiled inside his helmet, and squeezed the trigger twice. There were two loud thumps followed in rapid succession by two loud explosions as the grenades detonated in the midst of the Thrals. Josephs visor polarized immediately to compensate for the blast of light the explosions called and what he saw was good. Two of the aliens were dead, ripped apart. The other three were wounded and dazed. Before they could even think about recovering, Joseph had put away the launcher and drew the rifle. He and the other two brought the fenton rifles to bear, levelling the reticules on the alien’s chest and squeezed. The guns made the sound of a spark snapping, and three bolts of fire zeroed in on the Thrals. With their shields already destroyed by the grenades, their armour offered no protection to this powerful energy. The armour heated and exploded, and the bolts burned right through the aliens, armour and hole. They dropped dead, sizzling holes right through their chests.

“Good shooting guys, keep it up. We’ll have plenty more where that came from.”

“Aye to that sir.” Pyro replied. Joseph didn’t say anything at first, and then spoke.

“Come on guys, we should keep going. There’ll be a bunch of those guys coming round here looking for us.”

“Poor them huh?” Pyro said.

“Yeah, poor them.” Came the heavy weapon specialists answer.

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

(Note: Chaper five is currently WIP)

Chapter Five

Private Colcheck was in his quarters, getting out his armour and pondering his doom. He wasn’t huge on pessimism, but he was strong on realism. And realism told him survival was no longer an option. He wanted to believe it would be like the Vidgames, that they would fight bravely and heroically and the cavalry would rush in to save them from the jaws of defeat. But of course that would never happen; no admiral with any sanity would risk a task force to save a few hundred thousand marines. Admiral King was fighting this ludicrously impossible fight just long enough for the evacuation to successfully escape, then he and whatever ships were left, if any were left, would also flee the inevitable carnage. Then as the last Seaportian ships escaped, the League vessels would remove any troops still on the ground, power up their fenton weapons and fire. The intense heat set to the right settings would soon set the very atmosphere itself on fire. The gases would ignite, blanketing the whole planet in a layer of super heated flame. The atmosphere, the very thing which kept them safe from all the horrors of space would become their death. And they couldn’t do anything about, the air speeders would explode as the heat washed over them, the armoured tanks would erupt, and then melt into the scorched and charred ground, the fighters would likewise explode in midair, and the soldiers, the soldiers would all die. Either burnt to oblivion, vaporized by the sheer heat or if any survived the heat, they would be killed by the sudden loss of atmosphere and pressure and get brutally mutilated by the black vacuum of space.

No, I won’t think of this, he told himself. It’ll only do harm. But then again, it couldn’t do anymore harm than having his body fused to the slagged ground. He shook his head, trying to clear the grim thoughts of his inevitable death. Don’t worry, you get killed by that, he assured his shaking mind. No, the Thrals will tear you apart long before. He slumped down on his bunk, sweating cold bullets. The final horror of the fact he and all his friends on the platoon were doomed to die was really sinking in now. He would die, and he would die a million light years from home, murdered by sadistic aliens. In fact, this was probably how the entire population of the Confederation would die. He and all of the frontlines soldiers knew the truth about the confederations dire situation. Despite the Central Naval Intelligences propaganda claiming that the League was being pushed back on all fronts, they knew the truth.

Their fleets, now matter how well lead, usually needed a three to one advantage over the League in order to win, and even then it was a hollow victory, often with eighty percent losses or more. Usually more. No matter the tactics and strategies used, they couldn’t deal with the superior weaponry of the League. That blasted fenton which burned through shields like fire through tissue paper! While they fared well enough on the ground, decimating the League armies, they just couldn’t handle the more important aspect of the war, controlling the space around the planet! Once the league finished off the Seaportian fleets they could simply pick off the ground forces at their leisure, or open up with their main weapons and ignite the atmosphere and finish the bloody job all the quicker. One of the worse things was that no one, not even CNI knew the cause and the intent of the League. From what they could tell, it appeared that the Leagues were species supremacists, believing that no species other than them was worthy of space flight or technology, believing the humans should be either dead or slaves to the master race. But this was just information gleamed from tapped transmissions or captured prisoners who didn’t know much anyway.

Colcheck lay on his bunk; these thoughts are swarming around his head like bees swarming around their hive. He was going to die; there was no doubt about it, but how? That was the one hundred credit question now circling his brain. Burnt to vapour by League ships from high altitudes, blown down in combat by Thrals, head popped open by a sniper, or maybe stuck by a Farrel assassin. Those were just a few of the possibilities on how is life would be cut short. He had always thought that when he enlisted, if he died, it would be in a glorious last stand, over a mountain of his enemy’s dead bodies, or maybe in some heroic action, like sacrificing his life to save a city or maybe the whole planet. He had always figured he would be a hero, someone who’s name would be etched in the pages of history in a big glowing golden font. He’d be the legendary hero kids would ask to be told about time and time again, then being shocked when finding out he was real, that all his glorious and heroic acts were ten times better than the stories said, and no holofilm would be able to do him justice. He would have funds, and charities and all of that sort of stuff named after him, the James K. Colcheck Humanitarian Society. Yeah, that had a nice ring to it. There would be holofilms, programs, weapons, machines, ships, planets and countless children all named after him.

But know he realized, he would not go out in a heroic action, or in a glorious last stand. No, he’d most likely; actually he’d most definitely die in his sleep, or shot in the back, or from far off ships burning the whole planet to slag. This drove the weight of despair even deeper into his already aching heart, it felt like he’d swallowed a bowling ball. Aw man, who was I kidding? Me? A hero? Yeah that’s a good one for sure. I’m a gamer, not a soldier. Heroic death, yeah right. I’ll probably get shot in the face begging for mercy!
Yep, he was getting more sure by the second that his inevitable death would be insignificant, worthless. No one would take about it, no one would write about it. There would be no movies, no games, no funds, nothing would be named after him. Why would they? He was just a marine, a dumb grunt troopers about to be fed into a meat grinder. Yep, he was doomed. Plain and simple. He rolled over on his bunk and checked the small digital clock imbedded in the wall. 1250, five minutes until they had to report back to the lieutenant. Time for him to stop drowning himself in self-pity and get ready. He flung his legs over the side of the bunk, and sighed. He clutched his face in his hands for a moment, and then pulled them off and scooted himself over to the end of his bunk. He dialled in a quick personal code on a small panel in the side of the bunk, and moved his leg out of the way as a large drawer shot out of the siding. The drawer was actually a locker for his gear, including his armour and weapon. He pulled out the chest pieces first, a simple affair of a plate to fit snugly over his torso coloured drab olive green, and a back piece which was more complicated. It looked like another armour plate to cover the upper half of his back, but instead of a featureless surface like its torso companion, it had a bulge mounding out of the upper middle portion of it, with some pieces of machinery visible. This was the shield generator, a device capable of wrapping the wearer in a form-fitting layer of hardened energy designed to absorb kinetic force and absorb and reflect energy blasts.

The two pieces fit together via metal straps which were attached to each piece as to go over the shoulders and touch similar straps on the other plate, which then magnetically locked together. This was the same for similar straps placed at the bottom of the torso as it efficiently lock the wearer in the armour piece. He fitted the twin pieces together and heard them connect and lock with a metallic click. Next he fitted on a smaller piece of armour in similar design to the torso piece, but this smaller piece provided some protection to the abdomen. With this part fitted to him, he turned his attention to limb protection. Plates and guards with were attached to the forearm, upper arm, shoulder, shins, and thighs. These pieces only protected the front part of the body part they were designed for, so the back parts of these limbs were more vulnerable than the front.

Next came the helmet, the second most advanced part of the armour suit. The helmet fully enveloped the wearers head, coming down the back of the wearers neck and curling up as to go right underneath the wearers ears. The face was fully exposed, except for a visor which extended from the helmet and in front of the eyes. On the inside of this visor right in front of the users eyes, data was shown. This was the Tactical View Display, or the TVD for short. It showed the users bio-stats, shield strength, weapon charge and a motion scanner which detected any type of movement created by a life form over the weight of one hundred pounds. It would also show NAV markers if needed, incoming orders from commanders, and other valuable battlefield intelligence. Now that his armour was on, he checked the clock again. 1255, good, he still had some time. He booted up the armour power system, and his TVD flared to life before his eyes. His vitals pulsed in front of him, and his motion tracker started giving out readings, showing him the movement of fellow marines nearby. He shoved his arm behind him and started feeling over the shield generator, searching for the switch to activate it. His probing fingers stumbled over a small switch, which he quickly pushed.

There was pause, then a sound like air popping over him. A sensation like static electricity rolled over him causing him to shiver. In the corner of his TVD, the shield bar flickered, and then slowly filled like a glass of water. He tested it himself, touching his arm. His fingers stopped millimetres from his armour plate; the air seemed to flare silver. Yep, they were working all right. Satisfied with his equipments conditions, he reached back down into his locker and grabbed his firearm. A plasma carbine, though it’s technical name was the FA36 Direct-Energy Based Individual Combat Weapons System. It fired bolts of compressed superheated ionized gas at a rapid speed in a semiautomatic mode of fire as to avoid overheated the weapon. It had a range of one hundred yards, though it was best to use at fifty yards or less. After one hundred yards, the rounds would loose their form and dissipate into gas and float off. Its battery had enough power to fire eighty shots before it needed to be replaced, so it was hard to run out of rounds for it. A formidable weapon, its close range efficiency was made even better so by the addition of an energy bayonet, a sixteen inch long blade of plasma compressed in upon itself via a magnetic bubble until it was solid. He tested it, activating it for a moment.

The small handle-like attachment on his weapon sprouted the blade, a white hot sizzling shaft of plasma sixteen inches long. With his shields off for now, Colcheck could feel the heat radiating off of the weapon, enough to make him start sweating. Satisfied it was working, he flicked it off and watched it power away. His face cooled off quickly as the beads of sweat interacted with the air and became a cool, refreshing liquid. He checked his clock again, 1259. It was about time he made his appearance. He made sure everything was on right, then popped open the hatch to the outside and started making his way down the latter, making sure of course to seal the door behind him.