“Hey, Sergeant” Fredrick asks, face plastered upwards, probably staring at something stupid again. I answer, unenthusiastically, hoping that he doesn’t ask me another one of his stupid questions. “Yeah?” “Is it just me, or does that cloud look like a dick?” He says with a look of pure delibiration, as if he was pondering life's greatest questions. I merely sigh defeated, of course he asks me something stupid again. Then answer back, not caring to look up at the supposed dick-cloud. “I don’t care, can you just focus for once in your life? We’re in no-man's-land. Any minute and we could be attacked.” He looks down, then towards me, giving me a cursory glance before saying. “Yeah I know that, but I mean, it’s a dick in the sky. Isn’t that kinda funny?” He looks back up at the sky, reaching one hand upwards, as if he was trying to grab it, or frame it. I don't respond, instead deciding to ignore him, instead focusing back on the bleak land infront, land simply called, no-man's-land. Grey and yellow, looking almost like a desert, at least if you can compare it to the pictures I’ve seen taken back on earth. As i'm from a colony filled to the brim with water, I couldn’t tell you what a desert was even if it could speak to me and tell me, it was a desert. Now that I think about it, this planet is the first planet I’ve been on that’s not just water. Glancing backwards, I gauge the company, seeing forty-eight men, bored and a little frightened, talking with each other in hushed voices and picking noses when they think nobodies looking, carrying heavy packs of armaments, weapons and ammo. I turn forward again, peeking over at Fredrick, seeing him still staring up at the sky. carrying a pack that swelled out, filled to the brim with the heaviest ammo one could imagine, one hand holding one side of our companies best gun. The BPC Mark II, with me holding the other side. The BPC Mark II weighing enough to crush a normal person, but lucky for me and Fredrick, we are not normal people. “Sergeant, are we there yet?” I look back for a second, seeking out who spoke up, seeing one of the new recruits, face twitching with hands tremoring slightly around his gun. I look away, glancing down at the map strapped to my arm. A red light pulsing slightly with a dot that marked our destination in the middle, a green dot a tiny bit down, marked our location. Seeing that we were close, I yelled out, loud enough for everyone to hear. “A few kilometers more and we’re there” The company practically deflated in relief, a chorus of delighted sighs echoed out, the tension leaving with it. A few even dared to loudly celebrate. Behavior that would usually lead to a longer march and with their food held as hostage. But I didn’t feel like punishing them for this, the men had earned it, we’ve been marching through no-man's-land for days, even weeks, it’s not easy being on your guard twenty-four-seven for so long. Getting closer, the signs of fortifications made themselves known, placed in between two enormous mountain, located in a valley that almost seemed dug out. A few steel towers poked up from the horizon, smoke pluming up from barracks inside the fortification. Close to the company, on their way to the fortification, trenches started making themselves known, scars of previous battles. As we get close enough to make out the walls of the fortification, Fredrick suddenly stopped, yanking our gun backwards, making me stumble before I could find my balance. I glared at him, but stopped as I noticed his focused expression. “Shouldn’t there be snipers on the towers?” He asked narrowing his eyes at the distant towers, I followed his eyes, squinting myself, trying to spot some. Eyes going to work, processing, doing what they were built too do, zooming in my vision, making it clear as day, as if I was standing right next to the tower. But even with these eyes, I couldn’t see anyone. Glancing down to the wall, still with my zoomed in vision, I still didn't see anyone. Signaling the rest of the company to stop. Pushing a button on the side of my helmet, my sight getting swarmed by numbers upon numbers, stopping only when I see this fortifications specific code. Old tech, but reliable, untraceable and non hackable. The static came in, indicating that the signal got through, I ask. “Warden depot, come in, over” The static comes back on, but nothing else. I let the second tick by, then ask again. “Warden depot, come in, over” But still nothing. The rest of the men are getting weary, frightened, letting their backpacks fall to the ground, pulling out their respective guns and loading up, cocking them. Fredrick does the same, the heavy backpack filled with ammo falling down with a heavy thump, pulling out strands and strands of bullets the size of a normal persons hand, connected by thick wires of metal tubing. I push the button again, letting the static and numbers fall away as I refocus on the camp, squinting my eyes. A flash of silver glittering from below the fortifications, I whip my head towards it, squinting harder, eyes doing its best to zoom more, blurring my vision. Then I see it, and realised we were in deep shit. “AMBUSH!” I screamed out, the first tell-tale sounds of plasma guns swooshing past, hitting one of my men with a hissing sound and a guttural scream following it. Me and Fredrick pulled the gun down into the trench, quickly unfolding it and hurrying to assemble it into position. Plasma rounds flying past, scorching earth and leaving large holes where my men had stood mere seconds before. Some lay dead, holes punctured straight through, sizzling from the heat and ignoring the heavy armor that they were wearing. Pushing a hand towards the helmet, I switched the internal comm to that of the nearest company, calling for backup, for reinforcement, for cover, for air support. Then switching back to the companies comm, yelling out for everyone to take cover and focus their fire, something they’ve already started doing. Then switching my attention back to the BPC Mark II, our companies best weapon, maybe even humanities best weapon. While assembling the gun, I took a quick scan over the enemy, cursing loudly at how many there were. At just my cursory glance, my helmet picked out seventy-seven enemies, presumably more hiding in the trenches or behind the walls of Warden depot. Even fighting ten of these can be hard, but more than we were? A statistical impossibility. Sitting in their giant mech’s, battle suits that towered over even the biggest man, clad in wires of steel and armor denser than even the most refined diamond. Armed with weapons that could tear through the most well armored tank. But that wasn’t even the worst of it, as their armor emanated a magnetic field that had enough power to stop any metalic bullet. Every soldier of my company knew this, every soldier had been assigned guns specifically made to fight them, told about their abilities. But firing that first round, seeing just how ineffective it was, seeing it stop in midair in front of your enemy, was still a shock that few could handle. Some would succumb, men that would be ducking behind trenches, never to leave, screaming for their loved ones. But those that didn't falter, the men that that let their training do the talking, fired back, pelting the battelfield with human ingenuity. Flames licked the lines of my men, flames that spewed out of rifles, firing back with such ferocity that the very air grew hotter. Some would run up and down the trench lines, finding better positions, helping the wounded or coherting the scared ones into battle. I briefly watched one of my men unload a big crate filled to the brim with bullets, bullets containing small, hardened pieces of plastic, bullets designed to explode once stopped, designed to propel the pieces of plastic like shrapnel from a grenade. Each shot containing the same power as a grenade, and each man firing hundred of these shots per minute, and one company firing the equivalent of thousands of these bullets per second, the power of human ingenuity. But even this amount wouldn't be enough, as the armor of the enemies were far too dense to be penetrated by such small pieces of shrapnel. The enemy were so undeterred that they even walked without considering cover, looking like they were out on a stroll, a deadly stroll. A plasma round hit the side of my cover, sizzling the ground just a meter to my side, another hit a soldier in the head, removing it with a blast of heat and smoking meat, falling over limp with his gun held fast in a death grip, firing out into the sky, stopping once every last bullet emptied. I tore my eyes away from the dead soldier, seeing one of the enemies tumbling backwards, dripping of blood, oozing out from a large carved out hole in its mechanised chest. One of the few tactics capable of taking one of these mech’s down, concentrated fire. Even if the plastic isn't capable on their own, a million of them could. A second later, the mech fell down limp, a smaller body falling out of the big hole. Out coming a small thing, not even bigger than a human child, but fiercely capable, and dangerous. Looking like a mix of a goat and a centipede, with eight arms that also worked like legs, fingers on each hand capable of gripping anything. It lacked eyes on its head but instead had them just underneath its mouth, which was positioned on its neck. An enemy that was formally called “Vregmen”, but informally called “alien-scum”. “Sergeant! The guns ready!” Fredrick screamed out on the comms, but ot was dim, not quite clear, hard to hear, the screaming and calls for reinforcement by the others in the company didn't make it any better. I switched off the comms, merely a bad background, it would dull my senses. Then glancing at the BPC Mark II, it had a huge main turret, one side opened and ready to receive bullets. “Wheres the ammo?!” I screamed back, not using the comms. Fredrick looked around with focused eyes, brows furrowed. And quickly spotting them, then picking them up with a grunt and some effort, immidietly loading the BPC Mark II. I heard a distinct scream for help, somewhere behind, close enough to be louder than the fire and screaming from the rest of the company. Looking back, I could see one man out of his trench, crawling with one leg missing, scorched straight through. He crawled while wailing, screaming for his mom, screaming for God, screaming for help. A swish of a plasma round passed me by, then a second one. I ducked down behind cover and turned back to the gun. “IS THE AMMO READY?” I screamed at Fredrick, but paused as the top of his head was missing. Brain matter and goo spilling out as he leaned forward on the guns ammo. I stood still for a second, but quickly moved again, years and years of training taking over as my mind went blank. Fredrick had pushed the bullets into the chamber of the gun, but hadn’t fully locked it in, his arms wrapped around the loading chamber. I did the last bit while removing his limp body, locking the gun, cocking it with the sound of gears turning, clicking into place. I readied myself, bracing my legs against the earth while pushing my entire weight against the gun. Eyes still locked on the dead body of Fredrick. One arm reaching for the trigger of the gun. Then, after what felt like an eternity, I removed my attention on Fredrick, looking out over the battlefield. The enemy had gained a lot of ground, only being a few hundred meters away from us, more bodies of the mech’s strew the battlefield, but not nearly enough. And from the walls of the fort, more enemies had poured out, grabbing fallen allies or joining the assault on our position. I took a deep breath, aiming the behemoth of a gun, our BPC Mark II... My BPC Mark II on the closest enemy. Then pulled the trigger. Each round of the BPC Mark II had enough power to pierce a tank, but designed to explode on impact, filled to the brim with the densest, sharpest shrapnel of plastic that mankind could design. Each round capable of exploding one human to little pieces of gore splatter. The BPC Mark II also worked like a machine gun, spewing out fire like an angry dragon, firing rounds that would deafen anyone without the proper protection, kill anyone too close to the muzzle, blind anyone looking straight at it. For all that it was, it packed a punch, strong enough to kill even the most heavily armored titan. But this came with a grave cost, as it weighed far too much for any normal man to handle, its recoil being far too strong for a single, even strong, human, requiring the strength of at least two inhumanly strong men, two men far above the rest, two men like me and Fredrick. But this gun had only me, and me alone shall be enough, it has to be enough. The first rounds flew out of the barrel, devestating, ear wrenching fire, practically blinding all those around, pushing and straining against my arms as I held firm. Then the first bullets found its target, impacting with such force that the mech had to take a step back, then a mere moment later, collapsing with a huge hole filling what once was its mechanized body. The battlefield went quiet for a singular moment, my soldiers realising that they still had a chance, the enemy realising the threat that had just come. They tried picking up speed, running faster than was recommended, as their magnetic fields would get weaker the faster they moved, working like the doppler effect. I turned the gun towards the next nearest target and fired, killing another one after just a few seconds. Then another one and then another one. Deciding to instead hold down the finger against the trigger, dragging the gun around while bracing with my whole body, letting as little of my head as possible peak out and look over the battlefield. Eventually, my body grew tired, the strain of the recoil vibrating like the heaviest of weights. Bullets spraying more and more, missing more than they should, but still within reason, still hitting the enemy, still killing them in droves. Plasma shots started raining down my position, but would helplessly pelt against the armor of my BPC Mark II, designed to disperse the heat and tank damage from such a plasma rifle. A very costly tech that few ever got their hands on, or even got to see. Then my body grew even more tired, more tired than any training, more tired than I’ve ever felt before. But my mind was firm, singularly focusing on keeping the hand on the trigger and bracing the gun. I was one with the gun, I had to be, for I was death, I would kill all those daring to fight us. The alien-scum growing weary of me, even using the few trenches they could get their hands on to try and hide from my devastating power. Fewer rounds flying towards me as they started hunkering down. Then something bit me, pushing me back, enough for the recoil off my BCP Mark II too shove me down on my ass. Gun going silent, awaiting its master orders, smoke billowing out of its mouth. I turned my gaze to were the thing had bitten me, seeing a sizzling hole in my left shoulder. Staring at it, it took me a moment to realise that I hadn’t been bitten. Then the burning came on, keeping my thoughts muddled and unfocused. The battle had grown to a halt, but as the seconds passed, and the devastating gun wasn't firing, the alien-scum came out of their hidey-holes, celebrating the supposed death of the human killing them. I clenched my teeth, knowing that I was the pillar upon our only victory, the thing keeping the alien-scum at bay. I took a staggering step, then another, pushing myself forwards on all four, shamefull, but necessary. Eventually, with great effort, I made it to the gun, pulling myself upwards, my left shoulder uselessly hanging limp on my left side. I braced myself against the gun, using the same left side, feeling the burning pain filling my thoughts, but ignoring it the best I could. Letting my right arm rest on the trigger, taking aim. Then fire. As the first bullets hit the rank of the alien-scum, they ducked for cover in a panic, not ready for the dead soldier to come back to life. Many more getting slain in the chaos, their armor useless in the onslaught of bullets, magnetic fields a hindrance as they couldn’t use grenades or other metallic weapons. And their weapons a weight, firing far too slow to give them any chance at hitting me while under fire. I had closed my eyes, focusing every muscle that could move on bracing, dragging the gun from side to side, hopefully hitting the enemies. The open wound pushing harder against the warm metal, clenching my teeth, enough to draw blood, dripping down my cheek. Fingers cramping up on the trigger, hand growing numb, skull vibrating with the rhythm of the gun. Then it grew silent. The recoil of the gun stopping, my mind immidietly felt reliefed, then confused, pulling against the trigger one, two, three times. Then it dawned on me, and I looked down att the ammo, only seeing a dead Fredrick and an empty magazine. I looked around, trying to assess the situation, but saw nothing, saw no one. Then I looked back, seeing my men running away, leaving me to die. Then I sat down, shock filled with pain. A stillness came over me, and I just sat there, in silence. The plasma rounds started firing again, distant sounds of screaming echoing out, and some tell-tale sounds of human rifles firing back. I looked down, seeing Fredricks own rifle perked up on the wall of the trench. Then I slowly looked over the trench, seeing the enemy move quickly towards me, close enough to see the details of the mech’s, wires and screws, and smaller arms that seemed to hold up the two bigger arms inside the mech. Then I sat back down again, and I just felt so... Tired. Tired of fighting, tired of always marching, tired of eating shit food, being on this shit planet. But most of all, I was just so tired of being scared. I hated it; I was so tired of it. I sighed, then looked at Fredricks dead body, whispering. “I kinda get you now, Fredrick, I’m sorry for being a bad friend” Then a thought came, brighter than anything I've ever felt. Well, if I’m about to die, why not die in a blaze of glory? I Picked up Fredricks gun, using my one functioning arm, checking its ammo and seeing a glowing red “200” on its display. I then peeked over the trench and picked the closest enemy. Jumping up and over while screaming my guts out, a sense of serenity filling my thoughts, for I had a purpose, my thoughts could focus, and I could be the best damn soldier on this fucked up planet. The alien-scum that I had randomly decided to charge noticed me, but hesitated for a second, seeming unsure and maybe even scared, not prepared for a lone human to come out of nowhere to attack it. It turned fast towards me, but in its haste, only managing to fire of two rounds, one hitting the ground beside me, and the other behind me. And as I closed the distance, my bullets penetrated further and further into the magnetic field, until I was barely a few meters away from it, almost seeing its beady eyes staring at me through its monitors. Then the bullets penetrated its magnetic field, each bullet landing with a small explosion that quickly tore through the mech’s armor and killing its resident, falling down limp. I quickly dove behind the mech, plasma rounds hitting my previous position, the alien-scum slowly realising that a human was amongst their ranks. Glancing down on the ammo, I could see a measly red “34” blinking on the screen. I swore inwardly at that, but my eyes glimpsed to the dead mech’s plasma gun, held softly in its hands. I quickly grabbed it, then aimed it at a nearby mech who was slowly walking towards my position. I than frantically started mashing buttons, clicking and pulling, almost holding the entire gun with my big hand, until I felt the gun emanate a low rasp, then the gun heated up. I aimed it squarely at the nearest mech, ducking behind the dead mech’s body as it got peppered with plasma round, filling it with sizzling and molten holes. Then my plasma gun let out a whimper and quickly cooled down. I peaked above the mech’s body, seeing the one I had aimed at falling forwards, a sizzling hole that had penetrated all the way through its chest and exposed a dead alien inside. A plasma shot hit just beside me, a hole in the dead mech being carved out, exposing my left flank to more shots. I dived out, aiming the plasma rifle with my lone arm, trembling under the weight but holding it firmly. Then I pushed what I presumed was the right buttons and felt the gun heat up, my hands protected from sizzling away by the armored gloves that now were red hot. Then the whimper came out, and another mech was down, one leg removed. I aimed the gun again, running with all my might. Then I was flying, hitting the ground with a force big enough to knock the wind out of me, tumbling around before I could stop myself and orientate where I was. Quickly looking down to see the source of my flying, I saw a charred stump for a leg and the rest of it a few meters away. I ignored it, the pain not even surfacing, weirdly enough. I rolled around to my stomach and supported the gun on the ground, aiming it at a nearby mech, hitting the trigger, waiting for the mechanism to fire, feeling like an eternity. Then the shot went off, but I couldn’t gauge if I had hit. As a blast of plasma hit my hand, removing it along with my plasma gun. I looked at my blackened, empty hand with a blank expression, then sighed. Turning myself around to lay down on my back, lifting the stump of an arm to my chest while trying to lift my left arm, failing. The mech’s around me continued shooting, scoring a few glancing shots until they noticed I wasn’t firing back. Moving in, closing the distance, very slowly. But I paid them no mind. No, I was staring up at the sky. Then I saw a cloud, and I started laughing. And laughed and laughed, laughing until my lungs couldn’t laugh no more. Then I cried, but I cried happy tears. Eyes going dark as I cried and laughed, even as nothing came out. And then I stopped, smiling brightly as I whispered. “It does look like a dick.”