A small holographic dot blossomed into life beside the Scrael. It grew larger, zooming towards us, and became a planet. Rolling oceans and vast land masses visible on its surface. The world didn't look terribly unlike earth, giving me sudden pangs of homesickness. As we watched, the scene changed from day to night, and lights twinkled across the planet's surface showing cities within the landmasses.

"This is the planet Skraeling as it once was." The Scrael's voice was laden with emotion, and he opened his arms to us imploringly.

Behind him, the planet changed. The radiant blue oceans now contained murky oil colored pools. The healthy green-hued continents were now discolored, burnt sand.

"Twelve years ago, my home planet, Skraeling, was invaded. Those we had treated with kindness betrayed us. They raped and pillaged the planet, leaving the debased shell you see before you."

The view zoomed in on the planet now, zooming through dirty looking chemical clouds down into a cityscape which was tortured with pock marked craters and on-going explosions.

I'd never seen a Scrael emotional, but the being paused and wiped an eye. I couldn't see one, but I imagined a tear.

"Today, with your help, we begin to retake our home planet. Today Skraelings liberation begins. We will reclaim the world back from its occupiers."

The globe spun again, zooming out slightly with an eastern coastal section of a continent highlighted in red. "You have the privilege of being part of the advance force in this invasion and will be landing on the continent of Grondland and establishing a beachhead within which further forces will land."

He looked up and over us, smiling with what I believe he thought was kindness. "While you are lesser races, You will forever be part of our history, and I thank those assembled for the sacrifice you will make in the coming days and weeks. Overseers will now direct you to your landing shuttles. Inside your craft, you will find uniforms and further mission briefings."

A column of identically dressed Scrael marched silently into the room, splitting off wordlessly to guide individual squads towards their designated craft. I couldn't determine if this Scrael was the same one who had instructed us through the training or not. They all looked identical to me: white tunics and bland unemotional expressions.

The shuttle was small, no larger than your average Buick. However, that is where its resemblance to an earth vehicle ended. This craft resembled nothing more glamorous than a skip. It was boxy, rusty, and only had small slits on the side for windows. The huge exhaust vents at the back of the vehicle made me think this trip would be akin to riding astride a giant firework.

If we'd had a choice in the matter, I think I'd have asked for a transfer. Sadly we'd been conscripted.

Our guide clicked a button on the back of the skip, and it clanged open. "Your uniforms are on the benches inside. The internal consoles will communicate additional mission parameters."

Sarge led the team into the dimly lit interior. Once we'd entered, the bulkhead door clanged shut once again. From the window slits, I could see the hundreds of other craft, each with their own teams entering them.

Inside the craft we each found dark grey uniforms neatly sitting in our seats. The material stretched unnaturally in my hands. “One size fits all?” I commented as I stripped off my battered Marine uniform and pulled the jumpsuit on.

Stolen story; please report.

Newly dressed it felt like we were a proper fighting outfit again, better coordinated and presented as having one purpose.

It felt good to be part of something larger than myself. I remembered my father talking about the GI's in World War 2, Liberators of Europe he had called them. I smiled. That was going to be us. Today we would write history.

"Peters, pay attention," Sarge said sternly. He'd pulled a console screen out of the wall, and it was displaying our mission parameters.

Liberation of Skraeling

Ground Assault - Objective

Shuttles will land on the beaches in the easternmost peninsula of Grondland and immediately establish a beachhead.

Combat Units 265 / 176 will be early entrants into the region and assigned to eliminating local resistance.

Eliminating the coastal fortifications at A3 will be critical to establishing the beachhead and securing the first steps in liberating Skraeling. You will have four hours from landing to do this before further forces are dropped into the region.

Sarge tapped the display and images of imposing concrete fortifications built into a craggy cliff-top displayed. Large turrets protruded from dark grooves cut into the side of the fortifications.

"We'll be landing in the thick of it. As soon as we touchdown, we need to be on the ball and keep moving until this is done."

Robinson nodded, accepting the plan.

"Yes. Sir." Westcott said enthusiastically. He enunciated every word. The kid was trying a little too hard, in my opinion.

Kuwta was more relaxed and grunted an acknowledgment of the plan. Sarge looked her up and down and then passed a satchel to her. She opened, and her face cracked a smile as she removed the weapons we'd confiscated earlier.

"We're all in this together." Sarge rumbled. "Do what you're told and when you're told, and we'll be good."

I remained quiet and offered no opinion on our mission. I had nothing constructive to say. My thoughts were dark and gloomy. This liberation was going to come at a cost, and something told me it was us grunts who would be left holding the check.

I was fairly certain that I wasn't cut out to be a hero, and I was damned sure that I didn't want to be a martyr.

The floor beneath us rumbled as the shuttle's engines kicked in, and an intercom crackled to life. "Strap yourselves in, boys. This might be a bumpy ride." Said an unseen pilot.

That was all the warning we had before the lumbering craft lurched from the deck and exited the hanger.

Once my stomach had settled from the initial acceleration, the view from the small porthole was mesmerizing. The swirling inks of space were speckled with glittering stars, and everywhere I looked, I could see similar shuttles to ours. All of them jockeying for position as the vast flock stalked down towards Skraeling.

Worrying creaks and groans echoed from the metal as the fleet entered the planet's atmosphere. So far, however, our craft held together. We descended through candy floss clouds, and I could see other shuttles alongside us.

The fleet performed an intricate dance in the air like mosquitos. Driven haphazardly along by the wind. So many shuttles filled the sky I worried that we’d collide.

How could anyone stop such a vast force. Surely we were destined for victory?

There was a huge boom, then another. Huge plumes of grey smoke appeared where explosions had detonated. Like mosquitos, we were apparently uninvited guests who weren't welcome.

Every passing second more explosions echoed out as the bombardment continued. I watched in horror as one of our sister shuttles was caught in an explosion. It simply came apart and I watched as falling troopers spilled out. They flailed desperately, clutching the air around them, then dropped out of view.

Our little shuttle shook, hurled sideways as one of the explosions came too close for comfort. Westcott gasped in horror as a crack appeared in the window beside him. With a screech, it spread across the glass like a spider web.

Then with a sharp crack, the glass simply came apart, and the wind howled through the hole. It echoed through the tiny shuttle like an angry ghost pulling us towards our doom.

All the while we continued to plummet towards the ground.