Southern Frontline, Serenity Valley, Planet Hera

The world was ringing, a sharp squeaking that drilled nails into his skull. Everything had turned white, the color of the purest of the winter snow, with the occasional black specks that randomly popped in and out of existence. First Lieutenant Joseph Powers lay prone, trying to wait out the effects of a flash bang grenade that had gone off in front of his face. He could feel his M16 in his right hand, its well-worn handle and a series of notches, and was at least partially reassured. Soon enough, he was hearing a low baritone thumping not so far from him, and he knew Corporal Browne was still alive and kicking.

Slowly, his sight was returning, small pieces of color that pierced the veil of white and black. Powers experimentally moved his knee under him, pushing up while his free hand reached for the parapet. His hand found nothing but air, and he toppled forward, nearly face planting but managing to catch himself in time. More noise was filtering through the ringing, and he heard Booth yelling nonsensical curses punctuated by gunfire. Powers tried again to get up onto his feet, and this time a hand grabbed him under his armpit and helped him along. Hicks said something to him, but the ground spun and for a brief second he had lost all sense of direction. Hicks clapped Powers on his shoulder, the contact grounding him back to reality, to the scene of carnage in front of him.

The two Alliance companies had moved up the hill without any consideration for casualties or coordinated suppressive fire. Their sheer weight of numbers acted as a formidable equalizer in the face of Brown Coat’s overwhelming terrain advantage. While Powers’ 3rd platoon charged a heavy toll for the distance traveled, it was not enough to stop the Alliance assault. The enemy had been despairingly close to breaching their trenches, the last time Powers had been lucid.

A shape flashed by Powers’ returning peripheral vision, and he felt a splash of fluid against the side of his face.