“High command, this is forward operations, over.”

The lieutenant spoke calmly into the radio. Old equipment that predated even his knowledge, but which was supposedly airtight for security. Security and stealth, as the mission demanded.

Stealth possibly ruined by the report that just came in from the outer defences.

Awaiting response, he glanced up from his hastily built table with the ancient radio on it, an antenna shooting up far into the sky with two men holding the thing in place as to not let it fall over into the sandy dunes. Two good men.

Glancing away from the two men, he spotted several men sitting down, spotted some taking a piss, spotted some drinking water and some muffing about. He could not blame them, as these breaks were far and few between.

Some, he saw, drew weary glances in his direction. Mostly those of higher ranks, sitting close to his singular tank and orbital cloak truck. Those few who’d received the report before him, knowing that they might, or might not be, in deep shit.

Static, louder and louder, came through the ancient radio. He focused back on it as he listened intently. The static grew worse, then stiller, before settling into a voice.

“—over”

A womanly voice said, and he cussed the ancient and unreliable technology. Grabbing the radio mic, he pushed it close to his mouth as he calmly, yet louder than before, spoke.

“I could not hear, repeat over.”

Letting go, static came, but settled quicker than before and he could hear his commander’s voice more clearly.

“High command reading you loud and clear, over”

“I’ve just received words that an imperial patrol has spotted our convoy. According to the report, only the outer defences were spotted, but that they now know of our movements are a certainty. Over”

He said and let go of the mic, waiting for a response. A response that took longer than the previous, expected considering the situation.

“Standby”

His commander spoke, and he nodded to himself, waiting. As he waited, he glanced around again. The two men holding the radio looking away as his eye met theirs.

Good men with good heads. They knew we were in a dangerous situation. They also knew to not talk about it and instill unnecessary panic. Good, loyal men.

Looking up at the tank, he spotted its tanker crew giving out a jolly laugh as a nearby infantry man did their absolute best to clamber up its humongous side. His friends mocking him from the sideline. A sergeant spotted the man ridiculing himself, then saw the lieutenant staring at the jolly men. With a frown and a nervous gulp, the sergeant hurriedly jogged up to the men fooling around and screamed out orders, screaming for order. Which they quickly obeyed as they scampered around like cats caught doing something naughty.

The lieutenant couldn’t help himself as a smile breached his normally stoic facade. He really couldn’t help himself. For he remembered how it was being a recruit himself. How it felt marching with your comrades. The nerves before combat yet the infallible camaraderie one felt to one another for just that reason.

Life and death created the best friends.

The radio woke to static, revealing a clear female voice speaking up that he listened intently too.

“The mission has been compromised. I want you to fall back to the nearest outpost and await further orders. I repeat, I want you to fall back to the nearest outpost and await further orders. Out.”

A sigh escaped his lips, relief that he could not show his men. He tensed quickly as he realised his mistake and looked up, spotting the two good men also sagging in relief, though straightening soon after as they spotted him. Good men, those two.

Ignoring them, he looked around for the radio operating team, informing them he was finished. Next, he started walking to the tanker crew, wanting to bring the good news to his convoy as quickly as he could.

Yes, the war hadn’t stopped. Yes, they would fight again. But having to fight a fight not on your own terms wasn’t something that one came out of with few casualties. Something that he assumed high command knew, as they, time and time again, seemed to put the lives of the troops above their respective missions.

Some might find that weak, or stupid. He, as a lowly lieutenant, was just happy that he wouldn’t have to risk his life for just one, more, day.

As he walked with brisk and upbeat steps towards the tank. Something loud and booming suddenly echoed out from far above. He wondered for but a second on what it could be, looking up.

Something big, heavy and thunderous slammed into the sandy dunes just a few dozen meters away from him.

He saw it clear as day. Black and hazy, shaped like a drop of water.

Only one thought came to mind before everything went wrong.

“No.”

Another explosion of sand and gore came from behind, followed by the first black and hazy drop of watery metal to explode outwards. Followed by what looked like four turrets shooting out from the metal water drop.

Out from the dropship.

The lieutenant hadn’t even fully comprehended the situation before the turrets had opened fire, and from within, a figure clad in nothing but black armour came crashing down. Holding what appeared to be a ludicrously big rifle that fired the second he emerged from the dropship.

No, not a man. The Varangian.

Screams followed soon after, blood splattering from everywhere and nowhere. He managed, through sheer panic and animalistic instinct, to run for cover. Any cover.

Coming up to the tank.

Then being blasted backwards as it exploded in a shower of metal and red-hot fragments. Pain became his world, disorientation became his reality. He looked around in confusion as he searched for the right way up.

He found it, followed by a searing pain in his leg. He glanced down and spotted a shard of metal imbedded slightly in his chin.

Pain pushed aside as an animalistic scream rocketed his mind to wakefulness. Vision slightly blurred, he stared forward, forward at the tank- no, stared at the wreckage that burned in an unnatural white. Rounds of incendiary, his tactical mind knew. Fire of hell, his instinctual mind saw.

And from the wreckage came the screaming animals. No, the screaming men, his men. Half burnt and burning. Skin falling off as they did everything and anything they could to bat the unnaturally white flames away.

Some mercifully fell, shot down to death.

He glanced right, spotting a man lying beside him. Something to do, his mind thought as he desperately grabbed the obviously hurt man. Pulling him up and to the side, a brain suddenly popped out from the side of the man’s skull. From one of the good men’s skull. A head that only had one side, with its one and only eye staring blankly into his soul.

Time seemed to stop as he stared down at the good man, down on his one eye. Feeling as if all of his sins were being judged.

Time still stopped. He looked up. Seeing one of the Varangian’s dropping what appeared to be a giant barrel, before grabbing that stupidly big rifle again. Firing it with such efficiency that it looked like the man- no, the thing, was simply counting sheep.

One and one, his men fell in the slowed time. He spotted the other Varangian, looking the same as the first Varangian but at the same time, not, as he lacked, something. He also fired endlessly, but with more vigor. Instead of one shot per man, calculated like the first Varangian, this Varangian fired with impunity, firing rounds so quick that a machine gun felt slow in comparison.

And men died, right to left. Some had gathered their wits and fired back. But the rounds bounced helplessly off of what he knew was a shield. His strategic mind knew sustained or powerful fire would bring the shields down. His instinctual mind saw only helplessness, gods amongst men. All hope lost.

Time suddenly resumed, and the screams came with it. So loud, like an orchestra of noise, followed by the unending gunfire. Overwhelming. He started standing up, half standing as the pain in his leg made the move hard. He desperately looked around, spotting many hunkering down behind cover, firing away in desperation.

Some he saw running around like headless chickens. Some helping comrades.

Many upon many, dying. Dying in droves as they desperately tried to run for cover. Run for their lives.

An explosion rang out, his mind looking back to spot one of the dropships being blown to bits. Who had done it, he did not know. But it brought an amber of hope in his dwindling heart. Hope that burned into knowing that lit a fire of awareness.

He was the lieutenant, and he needed to salvage this situation quick before it escalated into madness and mass panic.

Hobbling with his life on the line, he ambled towards the nearest cover. Shots ringing out from everywhere, followed by either screams or silence. Any second and they could shoot him, and he would be one amongst many.

On his periphery, he spotted a man running towards him. One of the two good men, bleeding slightly from atop his head, holding a rifle that he quickly holstered as he sprinted towards the lieutenant.

“Are you okay?!”

The good man screamed as he quickly grabbed the lieutenant.

“Yes! Where’s our machine guns?!”

“I don’t know, sir!”

“Our anti-tank weapons?!”

“I don’t know!”

“Our explosives?!”

“I don’t know!”

“FUCK!”

The lieutenant screamed as they hobbled desperately, quickly coming to a makeshift defense of cargo and equipment, piled up so that the few dozen men could fire upon their descended enemies with some semblance of cover.

Looking around, the lieutenant spotted several such positions, firing helplessly at the two Varangian’s that killed mercilessly. One with deadly efficiency, the other with ruthless overwhelming, firepower. One dropship remained, firing away in all directions. And from each of them, death screamed.

The lieutenant and good man managed, against all odds, to jump behind cover. Falling down on his rump, the lieutenant held back a scream of pain before looking around frantically, taking in his new position.

Three dozen men, armed with nothing but rifles, taking potshots as most seemed content with hunkering down behind cover. Fear clear in each and everyone’s eyes.

That could not do.

“I need you to run down the line and tell everyone to focus fire on the Varangian’s.”

The lieutenant screamed at the good man, looking back at him with fearful, but obeying eyes. The man saluted quickly before scampering down the line, screaming at everyone to focus fire on the Varangians.

Next, the lieutenant stood up, half hunkered down to keep behind cover while hobbling down the line himself. Screaming at each and everyone that was behind cover to get up, fire and keep firing.

Some did as they were told, some more reluctant than others. But one by one, the men started getting up. And more gained the courage to do the same.

The air was heavy with the sound of gunshots and led, the taste of metal and blood. It grew hard to make himself heard, as even his scream grew dimmer from the overwhelming firepower.

He managed never-the-less to salvage a few men to grab anything and everything they could find in the cargo they hid behind.

More men seemed to stream behind their cover, wounded and not, adding up more and more to keep the pressure on the Varangians.

A lull in the battle, and the lieutenant found himself at the end of the line. Glancing back, the dozen men had grown to a hundred, and dotted amongst the line, he saw machine guns and anti-tank weapons.

Hobbling with all his might, he ran down to those carrying anti-tank weapons, screaming at them to do anything and everything in their power to destroy the remaining dropship.

Explosion. He turned around and spotted that one of their machine gun squads had been utterly destroyed in a blast of guts and gore.

Finding courage, he looked over the battlefield to spot the threat. Seeing that one of the Varangians had pulled back, hiding behind their one remaining dropship as they blasted anything and everything that dared come close. But using a rifle, not explosives.

Looking towards the other Varangian, his mind grew blank for but a moment. Seeing him- no, the thing, running towards his line, bullets richocheing helplessly off of their shield with a stupidly big gun on their shoulder.

The moment vanished, and he screamed in both panic and desperation.

“Focus fire, focus fire! Kill that Varangian!”

He drew a pistol from his hip, aiming at the incoming Varangian as his line drew their attention to the incoming threat. Everyone focusing their fire, and the very air grew hot from it. Another explosion, more people dead. Everyone continued firing, explosives ringing out, ineffective as the shield remained.

The lieutenant didn’t stop shooting. Even as his men died like flies alongst his line. His men didn’t stop firing, even as incoming doom was approaching. Each and every man knowing that if they stopped, certain death was the only other option.

Hope flickered to light as the Varangians shield suddenly vanished with a pop and an explosion of smoke.

None stopped firing. None dared.

The Varangian emerged from the smoke as if a living deity, having swapped their humongous gun for the smaller, yet still big rifle.

Cracks in the Varangians armour started appearing, ricocheting off of the seemingly invulnerable reincarnation of death.

Hope flashed.

Hope dashed as something blindingly bright blinded him. His body flew backwards and his mind drew blank. Dark.

Flashing back to life. Time could have passed for centuries, or but a moment. All he knew was that he needed to get back up.

He managed to push himself onto his left side, his right arm burning hot, feeling numb and unresponsive for some reason. Up on his left side, he glanced forwards- stared forward. Freezing on the spot.

The Varangian was on their lines, lines devastated by several enormous explosions. A mere meter away from him, the Varangian punched once, caving in the skull of a screaming man, falling silent and limp with their weapon at their side.

Punching once more, another man fell dead, his ribs pushed inwards, blood exploding outwards from his back. The Varangian turned and fired, fired down the line and gunned down each and everyone unfortunate enough to have survived the earlier explosion.

The Varangian turned around again and fired at the other side of the line. Men dead or routing, running around like ants without their queen.

Chaos. Utter and devastating.

The Varangian turned and looked straight. Straight down at him.

The Varangian hadn’t come out unscathed though, bleeding profusely from several holes in its armour. A particularly big hole at the top of its head, exposing a scalp that seemed burnt and charred. Yet, the Varangain kept on killing.

The Varangian stared down at him. And he refused to die without a fight.

Collapsing down on his back, he looked right, finding his pistol on the ground beside him. Reaching for it, he spotted his arm. Or rather, the lack of his arm. A stump, the rest of the arm lying further away in a pool of his own blood.

Looking back on the Varangian, time slowed. Time stopped. Two nemesis facing off in their final battle.

But a second passed, and the Varangian moved away. Shots ringing out, screams echoing, wounded crying and air filling up with the scent of death.

The lieutenant ignored it all. Collapsing on the ground as he felt his hearing dim. His vision going blurry. Thoughts muddled.

Everything suddenly started feeling alright. Pain suddenly washing away.

Yet, he could not push the emotions aside.

The overwhelming emotions that pushed the tears out.

“I want to go home.” He croaked helplessly.