Nathaniel Hayes tightened the straps of his sleek, unfamiliar armor. It hummed faintly, a second skin of composite plating and nanoweave designed to enhance his movements and shield him from the worst the battlefield could offer. The futuristic helmet in his hands glowed with data readouts, and its faceplate mirrored his expression—hard, unreadable.
Across from him, five soldiers sat on the benches of the dropship, their weapons cradled in their laps. They were young, too young, Hayes thought. Their chatter was punctuated by nervous laughter, a transparent attempt to mask their fear.
“Alright, listen up!” barked a broad-shouldered man in the corner. His armor bore the insignia of a lieutenant, and his voice carried the clipped authority Hayes knew all too well. “We hit the LZ in fifteen minutes. This isn’t your average insurgency. The OUC is dug in, and they’ll fight like hell to keep that colony. Stay sharp, and follow your squad leads.”
The soldiers nodded, though their eyes betrayed uncertainty. Hayes could feel their glances, the weight of their expectation. To them, he wasn’t just a sergeant—he was a living legend, the man who stood against impossible odds 2,000 years ago and sacrificed himself for his brothers-in-arms.
He hated it.
“Sergeant Hayes,” the lieutenant called, pulling Hayes out of his thoughts. “Anything to add?”
Hayes hesitated. These weren’t his men, and this wasn’t his war. But their fear was universal, the same fear he’d seen in countless young faces before a fight.
“Yeah,” Hayes said, standing. His voice, though unfamiliar to him, carried the same weight it always had in the field. “The enemy isn’t some faceless horde. They’re people. Desperate, angry, and convinced they’re right. Don’t underestimate them. Stick together, keep your heads, and remember your training. That’s what’ll get you home.”
The room went silent for a moment, the soldiers’ eyes locked on him. Then one of them—a wiry woman with a scar across her cheek—spoke up.
“Is it true, Sergeant? That you held off a hundred men in the Mirage War?”
Hayes’ lips tightened. “It’s true that I held a line. But not alone. You never fight alone.”
The lieutenant smirked. “That’s why you’re here, Hayes. Inspiration goes a long way.”
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The drop was fast and violent.
The roar of the engines shook the cabin as the dropship plunged through Titan’s thick, orange haze. Flashes of anti-air fire streaked past the windows, and the soldiers braced themselves as turbulence rattled the hull.
Hayes stared at the mission feed displayed on his helmet’s heads-up display. Their target was a sprawling mining colony, its towering drills and processing stations now fortified with makeshift barricades and automated turrets. Red blips marked enemy positions, clustered near a central power station.
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“Touchdown in sixty seconds!” the pilot called over the intercom.
Hayes gripped the handle above his seat. The motions felt familiar, muscle memory overriding his unease. But as the seconds ticked down, he couldn’t shake the gnawing sense that something was wrong.
The dropship hit the ground with a bone-rattling thud. The ramp dropped, and the soldiers spilled out into chaos.
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The battlefield was a nightmare.
The URT’s initial bombardment had turned the outskirts of the colony into a wasteland of craters and smoking debris. Hayes and his squad advanced under heavy fire, their energy shields flaring as plasma bolts rained down from the barricades ahead.
“Cover fire!” the lieutenant shouted, his voice barely audible over the cacophony.
Hayes dropped to a knee, raising his rifle. The weapon felt weightless, its targeting system syncing with his helmet to highlight enemies in glowing red. He fired, and the recoil was negligible, the precision unnerving. One by one, the glowing figures dropped.
The squad pushed forward, taking cover behind a collapsed pipeline. Hayes noticed the younger soldiers glancing at him as they moved, their confidence visibly bolstered by his presence.
But as they neared the barricades, Hayes caught sight of something that made his blood run cold.
A child.
No older than twelve, the boy clutched a rifle far too large for his frame, his face streaked with dirt. He was positioned behind the barricade, trembling as he aimed blindly at the advancing soldiers.
“Hold fire!” Hayes barked, but his voice was drowned out by the chaos.
Before he could act, one of the URT soldiers fired a burst. The boy crumpled, his weapon clattering to the ground.
Hayes froze, his grip tightening on his rifle. The battlefield seemed to blur, the screams and gunfire fading into the background.
He was back in the Pacific, watching the same thing unfold. Refugees mistaken for combatants. Innocents caught in the crossfire. The senseless waste of it all.
“Sergeant!” the lieutenant’s voice snapped him back. “We need to move!”
Hayes forced himself to nod, pushing forward with the squad. But the image of the boy stayed with him, burned into his mind.
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By the time they reached the power station, the fighting had intensified.
The rebels were well-organized, their tactics more advanced than Hayes had anticipated. They used drones to harass the URT forces, drawing them into traps and ambushes.
But Hayes’ squad pressed on, breaching the station’s outer defenses and storming the control room.
Inside, they found a handful of rebels—mostly civilians armed with scavenged weapons. They surrendered quickly, dropping to their knees with their hands raised.
“Secure them,” the lieutenant ordered, but Hayes stepped forward.
“Wait,” he said, his voice low but firm. He scanned the faces of the captives, his helmet feeding him data on their vitals and stress levels. These weren’t hardened soldiers. They were desperate people, just like Liora had said.
One of the captives, a middle-aged man with a gaunt face, glared at Hayes. “You don’t belong here, ghost. You’re a relic of a war we’ve already lost.”
Hayes crouched down, meeting the man’s gaze. “I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m not your enemy.”
The man spat at his feet. “You fight for the URT. That makes you my enemy.”
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As the squad regrouped outside, Hayes couldn’t shake his growing doubts.
The rebels weren’t the villains he’d been led to believe. They weren’t invaders or anarchists—they were survivors, fighting for the scraps the URT had left them.
And yet, he was expected to kill them.
“Good work, Sergeant,” the lieutenant said, clapping Hayes on the shoulder. “That’s one hell of a first mission back.”
Hayes nodded absently, staring out at the battlefield. Smoke rose from the colony, mingling with the haze of Titan’s atmosphere.
For the flag, for the future.
But whose future was he really fighting for?