“Unit 753, entering the field,” came the voice over the communicator. It reverberated in the troopers helmets, drowning out the thump of artillery and the roar of the dropship’s backwash. The squad spread out, engaging targets as soon as their boots touched the ground.

Methodical. Precise. Each movement was calculated, no energy was wasted. 753 advanced as one entity, laying down fire in steady barrages. The wind rippled the flags on their backs, making a steady counterpoint to their fire. Sun glinted on the white armor, blindingly brilliant.

There was a metallic thump in front of the squad. One armored trooper threw himself forward, landing on the round object. The grenade shattered his torso; his armor caught the shrapnel. 753 stepped over the ruined corpse, moving resouloutly towards the redoubt, without sparing it a glance. Sacrafice was both honorable and expected.

753 never wavered. “Prepare for melee,” came the voice again. The troopers slung their guns and drew their spears from their backs.