A violent burst of automatic fire, the smell of gunfire; Corporal Thom Hawburne crouched in the rubble of a fallen balcony. A Puma fast assault vehicle sat half hidden by a crumbling storefront, its exposed turret gunner sprayed rounds feverishly into the smoke filled intersection ahead. The massive spire, Vrede Tower, stood tall, in the center of the burning city. Sparks of activity, smoke and fire erupted from the tower, but it was all too far away to care about. Thom looked over his shoulder; a civilian was crying, soot-ridden, over the body of a fallen soldier, the enemy. Men in fatigues and body armor hid themselves behind the scarce, jagged cover, waiting for something to force them away.
“Someone, get her out of here!” yelled Thom. The men looked back and forth for a second, exchanging foreboding looks and whispers. A soldier, his name worn off of his chest plate, stood and jogged to the woman. He argued with her through broken Hungarian and Dutch, trying to force her over his shoulder. A snap, like thunder breaking the silence of a rainless day; blood sprayed where the soldier fell. He reached up screaming for a medic, screaming for his family, for God. He grabbed his blood-stained calf. A second heavy bullet jumped from the unseen barrel of an enemy sniper rifle, pacifying him. The woman now screamed and writhed on the ground, uninjured, however traumatized and soaked by the blood of her husband’s foe. Another soldier, his sleeves rolled nearly to the armor on his shoulders, grabbed the woman across her chest before pulling her behind cover. He slid his combat knife across her strained neck. She fell silent for a moment, her eyes slumped, heavy, before her body fell in the same manner. The soldier flipped his blade around, carving a thick line into his shoulder plate, in a row with six others.
“Christ, Roebuck, she was a civilian!” yelled Thom, almost lunging forward, out of cover.
Roebuck sheathed his knife, after wiping it clean on his sleeve. “You saw her crying for the enemy; might as well be one of them, herself.”
“It isn’t right,” Thom swayed around the pillar he was behind, firing a quick volley into the next street. The whistle of a mortar, it was close and dropping fast. Thom flipped out from the dug in position, the other men scrambled about. He sprinted forward, through heavy fire, hugging cover at the cornerstone of the nearest building; a sniper’s shot tore at the wall, sending dust and stone flying. Thom stood, cursing beneath his deep breathing. He patted his upper body, expecting bloody hole-riddled flesh and broken, metal armor. Without a scratch, he kissed the mark of the Ull Armory, stamped into the side of his GA77 assault rifle. Thom’s mind fell onto the wellbeing of his comrades, nothing remained of the area they had used as shelter; the Puma lay split and twisted amidst the chaos. There was movement, not enough to ensure anyone’s survival, but there was hope.
Thom bolted from behind the building, firing wildly before diving behind a wall of sandbags; barbed wire tore at his thigh. Small arms ripped at the small emplacement. Thom slid the silvery visor down over his eyes from within the brim of his helmet before tossing a grenade into the air; it fell steeply down, just past the sandbags. After the explosion rang in his ears, Thom jumped over the sandbags; his boots sent mud flying as he dropped into the trench where the duckboard had been torn away. Another flare of automatic fire roared. Thom dove into an alcove, chased by a flurry of intense fire that licked at his armor. Thom discharged his rifle’s magazine; it jumped and skittered across the duckboard. Thom fired a volley of fire over the lip of his cover, dropping two insurrectionists. Thom was pulled backwards, over the soaked trench floor. The insurrectionist drew a large curved knife. The two wrestled in the filthy trench before the insurrectionist motioned to cut Thom’s throat. Thom prepared to die in combat before feeling the weight of the enemy’s body thrust off of him. He looked up in surprise to see a fully armored Legionary kicking the People’s Liberation Front soldier into the wall of the trench before spraying the broken soldier with a GA77.
The Legionary turned to Thom, helping him to his feet before taking cover behind the leading wall of the trench. “Wow, a real John, huh?” Thom was awestruck, not only to be alive, but to be kneeling next to a living legend, a super soldier. Thom flipped up his visor.
“Call me Loki. We don’t really like being called Johns.” This was Thom’s first opportunity to inspect the being that saved his life. Harsh, angular armor ran on tangents with the wearer’s natural form; forest green patterned with long, straight stripes of black and tan. The Legionary wore a chain-bandolier of black canisters over each shoulder. Two small, gold eye slits were surrounded by thick metal plating.
Loki pressed two fingers to the side of his head, as if pushing a communicator into his ear; his two golden eyes stared forward, unblinking. A drop-pod sat in an exploded enemy bunker to the south. “We’re headed north. Follow close behind me,” Loki stood and began walking down the trench line, standing well over six and a half feet tall. Thom moved fast, crouching to keep his head below the top of the trench.
“Where are we going, sir?” Thom asked, hesitating a little.
“There’s a sick bird sitting in the open, almost three quarters of a klick from here, full of JTACs. The details are above my pay-grade,” Loki was holding his rifle by one hand. His mind seemed to be somewhere else. The trench began ramping up into an urban epicenter, littered with the evidence of war. There were potted trees and flowers around the plaza; the blue tint of the surrounding glass structures complimented the ceramic white terrain.
Machinegun fire flared from the roof of one of the surrounding towers. “Get down!” Loki pushed Thom down, backwards behind a decorative, rectangular structure before sliding forward behind a potted shrub; his metal knee-plates scraped the hard ground. Heavy fire rained down from the one gunner. Loki jumped forward, spraying with his assault rifle, only to be forced back, his shields wavering in projected fields of static. “gak!”
Thom leapt to his feet, firing upwards toward the shooter in short, controlled bursts. Bullets glanced at his left shoulder plate and smacked into his chest armor; he fell backwards. Loki emptied his rifle’s magazine before the fire stopped hammering onto the pock marked pavilion.
Loki ran to Thom’s side. “Lucky bastard,” there was no blood, just a slick smile across Thom’s face.
“You should be happy; I survived, didn’t I?” Thom picked himself up off of the ground
“You should be dead. That stuff never works, it’ll just end up killing you,” Loki sounded a bit impressed behind his stern façade. “Alright, soldier; double-time it to the crash site. Fox doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” his voice became more serious as he jogged through the urban area.
Thom struggled to keep pace with the armored super soldier. He began slipping up, losing ground in leaps and bounds before finally reaching the downed Cormorant dropship. Loki was saluted by a pilot in a fully enclosed flight suit before leaning his head into the disabled craft’s aft boarding hatch. It was too far away for Thom to hear if any words were exchanged. Loki sauntered inside as Thom arrived at the vehicle.
The Cormorant was long bodied, a narrow nose sat in front of the tall cockpit which lead into the widened passenger compartment. At each of her shoulders and on either side of her tail was a pivoted antigravity drive.
“All four antigrav’ motivators are shot; fried by some short-circuit,” the pilot spoke calmly for a man who had just fallen out of the sky into a warzone.
“Is there any plasma damage?” asked Thom.
“Not much, probably just the kick from the motivators blowing out. Besides, it’s not like the PLF are throwing plasma around.”
“Alien tech-”
The pilot interjected, “Woah, this isn’t an outer rim colony. There isn’t anything that could get the alien fleet this deep, past the navy.”
“Maybe these rebels have experience with the bogeys, stole some guns, jerry-rigged their own?”
“That’s unlikely, and at this point, irrelevant.”
Loki walked out of the Cormorant, just past Thom and the pilot. He was wiping his hand across his helmet’s faceplate, streaking lines of waxy pink. Canisters were missing from his bandoliers. Loki was followed by another Legionary, slender and distinctly female. Her helmet was peculiarly angular, a cobalt, T-shaped visor spread out across it. The word, fox, was written in bold, white letters across the silver armor on her left breast. In her right hand she held an SA105 Battle Rifle; in her left, a remote detonator trigger.
The pilot asked nervously, “What’s going to happen to my bird?” Loki tapped at the canister by his left shoulder. The pilot removed his helmet, revealing his middle-aged face and grey hair, before dropping it beside his boots.

“Sergeant, I apologize, but I have been given a tier one objective which requires us to redirect ourselves toward Vrede Tower. After we arrive, you are free to take your men and the Cormorant elsewhere, however I-”
Sergeant Graves jumped to his feet and began talking over the super soldier, “Boy, we’re your men. I’ll be damned if any of my troopers refuse to follow you into hell itself. Am I right, Tar Heels?” Grave’s voice was full of energy, the likes of which could turn average men into loyal warriors.
Graves’ men, shock troopers from the One-Hundred-and-Eighty-Second Infantry Division (Tar Heels), had begun to pay attention during the conversation and promptly responded with a chorus, “Hooah!”

“Arjuna, are you there?”
“Just barely,” A Legionary, clad in violet and gold armor, pressed two fingers against the side of his helmet, “I assume that this is Falcon.”
Arjuna’s headset buzzed, “Affirmative, this is Falcon Actual. UHMC Fleet Gemini has entered orbit to provide assistance. All Legionary assets in New Valhalla are ordered to secure Vrede Tower. This is a tier one objective.”
“Sir, shouldn’t you and the Gemini Fleet be stationed in the outer rim?”
“We lost the fight for Atlas. The alien bastards tore right through our ships. We had just enough time to call back our ground assets before we were forced to make an FTL jump. We’re en route to Mars, but jumping an entire fleet without time to prepare is rough. We’re all badly damaged, but I felt obliged to offer any auxiliary forces at my command.”
“Say no more, Falcon Actual, consider Vrede Tower ours,” Arjuna thumbed at the controls on the side of his helmet before opening his eyes; his seat was directly behind the Cormorant pilot’s. He slid from his seat before hovering over the pilot’s shoulder. “There’s been a change of plans. I need you to set a course for the tower.”
The pilot hesitated for a moment, flipping instrument switches, “Aye, sir.” The Legionary turned, walking into the passenger hold. Four soldiers sat adjacent to the craft’s walls, fumbling with their weapons. Sitting against the forward bulkhead was the unit’s sergeant. The sergeant was a battle-hardened veteran; his skin was like weathered bronze that stuck tightly onto his muscle. A cigar smoldered, perched between his lips.
“Sergeant, I apologize, but I have been given a tier one objective which requires us to redirect ourselves toward Vrede Tower. After we arrive, you are free to take your men and the Cormorant elsewhere, however I-”
Sergeant Graves jumped to his feet and began talking over the super soldier,“Boy, I refuse to watch a Legionary go into battle alone while my Tar Heels sit high-and-dry. I’ll be damned if any of my troopers refuse to follow you into hell itself. Am I right, Tar Heels?” Grave’s voice was full of energy, the likes of which could turn average men into loyal warriors.
Graves’ men, shock troopers from the One-Hundred-and-Eighty-Second Infantry Division (Tar Heels), had begun to pay attention during the conversation and promptly responded with a chorus, “Hooah!”
Arjuna smiled behind his silver visor, although it was impossible for anyone to tell that he felt anything at all. He knew the role of a Legionary; he could not let on about his thankfulness, he could show neither gratitude nor want. Legionaries were stoic weapons of the United Human Military Command, force multipliers in the most treacherous of warzones.
Arjuna walked to the open boarding hatch of the Cormorant, where he knelt, looking out at the orange sunset silhouetting the towers of New Valhalla. He pulled his sniper rifle from the magnetic holster on his back. Arjuna began looking back and forth, passing time as the dropship wove swiftly through the burning pillars of the concrete jungle.
Loki, Thom, Fox, and the helmetless pilot walked west, toward Vrede tower, the downed Cormorant still sat perched in the open ground. Upon reaching a considerable distance from the Cormorant, Loki signaled to Fox for the remote detonator.
“Legionary, she’s my bird. I’d like to be the one who, um… decommissions her,” the pilot’s voice was wavering and trailed off quietly. Fox tossed the detonator toward the pilot. Loki grabbed at the switch as it passed by the side of his head; he flipped it around before thumbing over the priming switch and squeezing the trigger.
A skyscraper collapsed in the wake of the soaring Cormorant. A firefight raged in the courtyard below. “Pilot, put us down here!” shouted Arjuna. As the ship descended, a rocket slammed into her flank, rattling her stabilizers. Arjuna leapt to the ground, firing his rifle blindly into the gut of an insurrectionist. The shot cracked, ringing as the Tar Heels dismounted, planting their boots on the dusty roadway. There were three UHMC troopers holding the position; run down to three grenades, a pistol clip, and five shotgun shells.
To say that the Cormorant merely exploded would be a grand understatement. Blue flames chased the disintegrating windscreen. The fuselage lifted off of the ground, a full meter, all fifteen tons, before it slammed itself back into the earth below. The antigravity engines spun off, whizzing with green sparks. In seven milliseconds, the mighty craft was reduced to a charred skeleton. Loki looked on; behind his unmoving face there was a quizzical, “huh,” as if either impressed or disappointed in his work. The pilot stared silently at Loki and wondered what might be going through his mind.
“We’re getting out of here!” The three JTACs ran past Arjuna, clamoring aboard the shuddering Cormorant.
“I completely agree with that sentiment, gentlemen!” shouted Arjuna, snapping off more heavy rounds, “Nothing here is worth dying for!”
“Too late for that, son,” Sergeant Graves nodded towards the bloodied Tar Heel lying just behind a fallen barricade. Arjuna moved for the body, hefting it over his shoulder. “Leave him, he’s already gone.”
“You said that your men would follow me into hell. I expect that Vrede tower will be exactly that. This man’s going just as far as you committed him, Sergeant,” Arjuna was moving for the Cormorant, where Grave’s surviving men had already boarded. Graves fired two more bullets through his pistol before jumping onto the dropship’s boarding ramp. Arjuna laid the trooper’s body in the middle of the Cormorant before it began picking up speed, continuing its pattern of weaving through the streets.
Fox looked towards Loki; her blue visor reflected his shining golden eyes. He spoke, “We’re headed to Vrede tower,” he dropped the detonator; it skittered on the hard ground.
Thom flipped on his helmet’s integrated lighting elements to combat the falling darkness. “So, what happened to those Joint-Tactical-Air-Controllers from the Cormorant?”
The pilot shuddered a little, “They left, went off to direct some anti-armor raids. I don’t know; I’m not on their comm’ signal.” The irony in his answer was that the pilot’s tactical communications uplink was integral to his dropship and was consequently destroyed mere moments before.
“Legionary!” shouted the pilot, from the Cormorant’s cockpit. Arjuna walked through the passenger compartment, clipping his rifle onto his back. “We got lucky there, our shields are shot, but there’s nothing wrong with our hardware except… Oh, gak…”
Arjuna grabbed the pilot, “What is it?”
“It’s the AI. Most of the Cormorants from Ull armory are testing new piloting software, a ‘Dumb-AI’. It’s rerouting vital energy to attempt to restore the shields, when the motivators run dry they’ll detonate. It’s blocking landing protocol and denying a course change, it knows that the tower is a tier one objective,” the pilot knew what he was talking about.
“Will we make it to the tower?” Arjuna’s voice was flat and dry.
“We should, but barely. We might blow on arrival. Do you have a plan, Legionary?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a plan. By the way, call me Arjuna.”
Sergeant Graves was listening from behind Arjuna. He blew a cloud of smoke past the Legionary’s cheek, “Alright, let’s hear it then.”