The Imperial Soldiers

The smog was particularly thick tonight as we swooped through the dark and rubbish filled streets of the 'Burbs. Aboard the hovercraft, its blue ion engines casting cerulean upon nearby objects, I spoke to my squad of Imperial Militiamen.

"When we get out, fighting is gonna be thick. So stick to the plan and we'll crush these rebels," I said.

"A question, sir?" said the lanky Private Williams, recently assigned after Private Jones got a face full of rebel napalm.

"Yes Private?"

"I heard some rumors about the rebels massing for more terrorist strikes. Would that effect our mission plan?"

"Private, rumors are irrelevant. Only the Emperor's word matters, as voiced by those under him."

"Yes Lieutenant," said the private, retaking his seat and awaiting the order to strike.

"Coming up to the drop point," crackled the pilot's voice over the intercom.

"You heard him. To your places," I said. The militiamen crammed around the hatches in fours with their high caliber rifles ready and ebon armour strapped securely on.

As the craft drifted to the ancient, jagged pavement, I shouted the order to move out. The hatches swung open with a whoosh and my black clad soldiers leapt out and immediately ran for cover. I hopped out and rolled to my unit.

"Status?" I said.

"Looks like there's some jamming gear 'round here," said Private Wixton, a large former prisoner drafted to escape his death sentence for theft. From the cover of an overturned internal combustion vehicle, I glanced around, taking little note of the usual blood-red sky and black smog. Looking back down, I suddenly saw a brief flicker of light near a girder of a half-demolished building. To my left, Sergeant Scholz stumbled over and cursed loudly. He crawled further behind the chunk of fallen concrete.

Turning back to the building, I shouted, "We advance!" and began running toward it. The rest of the squad rose up and followed, our alloy boots making a menacing crunching noise with each step. As we neared, a multitude of flashes lit up the barren structure, gunshots echoing ringingly. I shoved down on the trigger and began swinging the weapon to each point of gunfire, caseless ammo screaming out. Screams and cries of pain seemed to come from both before and behind me. A round glanced off my side, clanking harmlessly off dura-alloy Imperial armour. Bullets flew back and forth and it seemed the rebels were dying off, but then, in what seemed slow motion to me, a ragged man in a torn American Army uniform leapt out before me from some rubble. I saw his wrist jerk back when the red-soaked bandaged index finger yanked on the trigger of his pistol. From the screeching noise, I knew immediately it was a scramjet round. The high velocity armour piercing slug flew right at my chest. Right as it struck me, I could see the frenzied determination in the man's eyes. After that brief moment though, a burst from an Imperial rifle shattered his head. That was my sole comfort as I felt the bullet slide through skin, then rib, then lung, then rib, then skin, and finally punch out my backplate. Things began to regain proper speed after this. I heard the din of battle, various shouts and cries, and even felt the tremors of a high-explosive detonating as I crumpled back. The force of the hit jarred my face mask off, exposing my nose to the noxious air. As I lay there on the rotted concrete, gunshots bursting about, my life's blood seeping out my back, my mind wandered.

Twenty forty, I pushed the scrawny boy down. Despite my youth and lankiness, I was stronger from my time at the New Imperial Youth Academy. I stepped a booted foot over his face and shoved down....

Twenty forty six, my father shouted, "Boy, get back here! You're not becoming no soldier!"

"I don't give a fuck what you think, "Father"!" I said and threw a knife sheathed on my wrist, hitting his leg. He screamed out and fell.

"I knew it was a mistake letting you go to the academy," my father said, sobbing softly.

"Next time, I hit the heart," I said and I stormed off to the recruitment center....

Twenty fifty, I clenched my fists as I watched the scans weaken. Susan was dying, her pallid flesh unmoving, like so many I'd seen before. The doctor tried to console me but I forced him away and left the medtech's office. I cried for days after that....

Twenty fifty one, I stood before the strong-jawed man with grey streaked hair. The Emperor smiled as he pinned my rank on my uniform. I kneeled and kissed his shiny black boots and gave my exaltations for the eternity of the Empire....

Twenty fifty three, a frenzied pace overtook the barracks as first word of the rebellion was heard. Eighty dead in a terrorist bombing....

Twenty fifty four, explosions rock the field as I directed my men to take the rebel fortification ahead, a detonation nearby and Billy's arm flies off....

Twenty fifty six, I stood in the briefing room listening to the general speak.

"You and your squad will suppress rebel activity in the 'Burbs," said the four-starred man. "Yes sir, we won't fail you," I said....

Dates, times, places and people all began to wiz past my vision all speaking, screaming and shouting at once, all with never-ending gunfire and explosions in the background.

"Seeehhhrrr! Waaaaake aaaahhp seeehhhrrr!" says a very slow voice. I see a dark mask and then it all becomes dark.