Francis Miller could barely hear his commander over the sound of his breathing. He gripped the handles of his drop pod as he was reminded of the mission. It was a simple one really. His team, Bravo Team, would take out the enemy air defenses in the southern sector. Charlie Team would take out the one in the west and Alpha Team would target their comms station. Simple.
“Careful boys,” his commander, Lieutenant Rogers, warned, “These guys managed to take over the whole of Messis. They ain’t pushovers…”
“Yeah, well clearly our boys stationed here were,” Private Samuels said.
“Have some freakin’ respect, Samuels!” Corporal Smithers rebuked Samuels, “They were slaughtered!”
“My point exactly,” Samuels remarked.
“Cut the chit-chat,” Rogers ordered, “Drop in five, four, three, two, one, drop!”
Francis felt the thump of the pod shooting forth from the belly of the ship. He risked a glance out of the view screen of his pod and saw that the cold, hard, metal interior of the transport ship was replaced with the endless black of space. He glanced down slightly and saw the planet of Messis slowly rise to view. Its bright yellow sun was just about to crest the horizon.
“Warning!” the monotone voice of the pod’s computer said, “Incoming ground fire. Initiating evasive procedures.”
Francis felt the pod lurch to the left and then to the right. His stomach couldn’t handle it as the pod dodged the anti aircraft fire. He nearly threw up but caught it in his mouth and swallowed it, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. I’d rather swallow my vomit then have a helmet full of it, he thought bitterly.
Soon, the view of space was quickly replaced with that of clouds, which slowly disappeared to reveal the surface. It was night and asides from the nearby city of New Hope, all was dark. Francis’ HUD however highlighted all the enemy units in red, seemingly filing his whole visor with red. 
“Hot d---!” Samuels whistled, “Lookit all them targets down there! Oh man, I’m gonna have fun TO-NIGHT!”
Francis didn’t share his teammate’s enthusiasm and squeezed shut his eyes until the pod crashed into the surface. In no time, the pod’s hatch flew open and Francis hopped out with his assault rifle in hand, as if by instinct. His fears forgotten, he dashed over to his objective nearly half a kilometer away. A few red highlights appeared in front of him and he leapt right over them, dropping a plasma grenade in their midst. He heard some shouting followed by an explosion that quickly silenced them. He kept running forward, his powered combat suit having him going at incredible speeds. He aimed his rifle at a few opponents, pulled the trigger, and watched as they were torn apart by the metal hail storm. He didn’t slow and proceeded forward.
He gunned down a few more rebels before he skidded to a halt. Before him was the huge AAA cannon. He stared up at it in awe. It was an Alliance cannon, taken over by the rebels when they overthrew the men stationed on Messis. It was meant to protect the colony from the Alliance’s enemies, and now it was being used against the Alliance.
“Sickening, ain’t it?”  Samuels remarked as he skidded to a halt beside Francis, “We put this here to protect these morons n’ lookit how they repay us. By trying to kill us! Ain’t that messed up?”
“Yeah,” Francis said, staring up at the huge piece.
Suddenly, it fired into the sky, rocking the earth. Francis and Samuels stumbled as a bright green beam shot forth. They watched as the round left a tell-tail green trail before it slowly dissipated into nothing.
“This is the Jackson,” a voice crackled in the men’s helmets, “We have been hit! Repeat, we’ve been hit! Catastrophic hull breach! We can’t keep her up! We’re goin’ down!”
As if on cue, a dim fireball started to descend from the heavens. It was the Jackson, their transport ship. Through the fire and smoke, Francis could just make out the damage done to the old, reliable bucket. Before it could even touch the surface, the cannon slowly swiveled around to face its doomed target and fired. The two men watched in shock as the Jackson was blown into smithereens.
“By God,” Sergeant Campbell said.
“This is the Roswell to all ground forces,” a voice crackled, “Take out those d--- cannons and comms! We’re getting torn apart up here!”
“Don’t worry Roswell,” Lieutenant Rogers said, “At least one of those cannons won’t be bothering you no more.”
With that, Rogers suddenly appeared on their left with Smithers and Private Winter. Campbell arrived just a few seconds later, along with the rest of the team.
“Where’s Rodriguez?” Rogers asked Campbell.
Campbell shook his head, “Didn’t make it. One of the rebs iced him.”
“Son of a…” Samuels growled, “Let’s hurry this up! I wanna kill those b-------!”
“Don’t worry, private,” Rogers reassured him, “You’ll get your wish soon enough.”
With that Rogers signaled to his men and took position outside one the doors at the base of the cannon with Samuels and Francis. Campbell and three other marines took position outside one of the other doors while Smithers and another four used their jump packs to hop atop the base, entering via the top. With a simple hand signal, Rogers ordered his men to breach. Samuels was more than happy to place the charge and detonate it. Rogers followed up by throwing a flashbang into the room.
“Go, go, go!” Rogers commanded as he lead the way into the cannon’s controls.
Rebels were everywhere. Some stumbled about, disoriented by the flashbangs. They didn’t last long. Others were more well prepared and were firing at them. Francis quickly dove into cover, taking out a couple of the rebels. Samuels stood out in the open, shouting curses and firing his weapon at any foolish enough to get caught in his field of vision. A couple of bullet and shouting filled minutes later, Bravo team was standing victorious over the fallen corpses of their enemies and were planting the charges. One of them didn’t survive the assault. A rookie, one who Francis didn’t even learn the guy’s name.
“Can’t leave him here,” Smithers said, “Kid deserves a proper burial back home. Help me carry him out.”
Francis and one other marine picked up their fallen comrade and carried him outside. The rest of their team followed soon after, the charges prepped. They got to a safe distance before Rogers detonated the charges. There was a bright flash followed by a low roar that rumbled the earth. All that was left of the AAA cannon was a flaming pile of twisted metal.
“This is Bravo Team to Roswell,” Rogers said into his comms, “The anti air in the southern sector has been neutralized. Requesting shuttle pick-up at our location, over.”
“Wilco, Bravo,” the Roswell responded, “A transport shuttle has been dispatched to your location. Nice work boys. You did the Alliance proud today.”
Francis sighed and plopped down on a rock. He stared off to the horizon as the sun rose above the fire and carnage, giving light to a new day. The battle was won. The rebels were falling back to New Hope with the Alliance in full pursuit. It won’t be long before Francis and his team would be called down to assist with the attack. He tried to put these thoughts of war in the back of his mind as the shuttle touched down. For now he would mourn the loss of his comrades, get a hot meal on the ship, and take a well deserved nap, knowing he would need all his strength in the days ahead.