Galactic

“Tomorrow, when we start our voyage across the galaxy. I want you to be there. By my side.” Marcellus said to her, she gently caressed his scarred but well-built chest.  “You know I can’t.” she replied softly. He stayed silent, he stared blankly at the wall of his room. All of this, he would give up, for what exactly. He looked at her, knowing that this was the last time he would feel her warm embrace. If he makes it back, she would be the wife of a senator. With her flock of children, cared for by her servants and spoiled by his rich and uncaring husband. “Oh how I wish to be your rich and uncaring husband.” he thought to himself. A dream. The warm embrace now replaced by nothing but the coldness of Gimal, a  frozen planet,rebels. Their trench offers a few dugouts, big enough for ten men to lay in, only poorly lit candles serving as the common soldier’s heat source and light inside these dugouts. Bombardments have gone on for almost three hours non-stop. Between the constant bombardments and the occasional charges of rebels, coldness and diseases have claimed almost half of his men. They’ve been tasked with attacking this planet, Gimal. One of the known rebel base planets. Marcellus had set up a trench around the base, cutting the rebels off from basic supplies. For months rebels have fiercely defended every inch of land as well as trying to push back Marcellus in order to restore supply lines. Hundreds of thousands of men had already perished on both sides on this planet alone. And the war is far from over.  Marcellus stands up, his bulky space armour clanking with each step he takes, the ground almost shaking. He places his helmet on his head, he sees nothing inside but blackness until he turns the helmet to the right, a clicking sound followed by him being able to see signifies the activation of his armor. He opens the makeshift door and gusts of cold piercing wind enter the room. At night time no human can possibly withstand the harshness of the weather. Only Space Soldiers, with their special hand crafted armors, can withstand such extreme conditions. He steps out, his armor enabling him to see past the night and nightly blizzards. Without his armor he would have been dead within minutes. He makes his way to the nearest platform, two of his brothers already waiting for him, armed with their rifles. A single space soldier can hold off one billion men with the help of half a million men. Three space soldiers can take the fight to those one billion men. “Are you ready?” The one on the right, Killian asks him through their personalized intercom.  “Yeah, I’ve uploaded the schematics to your armors.” “What are the objectives?” Fritz asks. “Take the base, eliminate all present rebel leaders.” “Rules of engagement?” Killian asks as he steps out of the trench. “Fire at will.”  “Civilians?” “Fire at will.” Marcellus repeated coldly. They make their way across frozen fields. Until they reach the bunker, with a giant cannon poking out from its roof. They managed to hide their heat signatures using their armor, and the blizzard had masked the heavy sounds of their footsteps. Marcellus and Killian kept marching forward, while Fritz kicked down the door, drew his side arm and systematically eliminated each soldier inside the bunker. Aside from being blessed with one of the finest armors in the entire galaxy, space soldiers are also genetically enhanced humans, giving them enhanced strength, speed, and reflexes. Fritz moved like the wind, even with his bulky armor, sometimes he would use it to crush a soldier against the metal walls of the bunker. Thirteen bunkers were operational before sundown, each serving as the rebel’s primary defense against Marcellus’ Legions. And as the sun rose once more, all thirteen bunkers were dismantled and emptied of their operators. As the sun rose and the blizzard died down, hundreds of thousands of soldiers began charging the rebel base. The single canon of the rebel base is not enough to hinder the 1,500,000 men pushing them and all sides. Waves and waves of rebel soldiers, old people, women and the occasional child struggle to hold back the sea of gun fire and violence that were coming their way.  Fritz along with his soldiers made their way to the control station of the cannon. Upon seeing the children inside operating the death machine that had claimed the lives of his soldiers, he decided to step aside and let the remaining brothers of his fallen soldiers exact their revenge. Only unheard begging and pleas for mercy were heard before 300 men entered the room, setting their rifles aside and beating the children inside to death. Fritz’s men also managed to turn off the shield, allowing Marcellus’ men to blast it open. And at that point the battle for Gamil was won. Months of pent up rage released inside the inhabitants of the rebel base. Soldiers and civilians all surrendering were ignored. Butchered and shot on the spot without any hesitation from Marcellus’ soldiers. As chaos ensued around him, his victory within his grasp, the computer in his armor started blaring an alert. “THE EMPEROR IS DEAD! THE EMPEROR IS DEAD!”