Lopesti:

  The conflict at the border had been effortlessly sculpted. The justification for war was obvious to any onlooker. Capt. Lopesti didn’t know exactly how it was done, but he could presume the “civilian” craft had been significantly altered so the dunks saw mass and electro-mag readings in all the right places that would indicate the vessel was carrying some kind of sufficiently deadly weapon system. The kind that would make turning it into an asteroid field logical and justifiable enough for the panicked turmaks who were flipping through their target identification sheets trying to compare the ship to known military vessels and civilian craft. Of course you cant prove the ship was modified to look like much of anything after you turn it to blobs of refrozen metal flying through space at many times the speed of sound. However what you (conveniently) could prove, is that there were no energy discharges or secondary explosions consistent with any weaponry from readings taken by various satellites and what-have-you so far (the energy would continue traveling and would be picked up by more and more assorted knicknaks over time). Even thinking this was treason. That being said the captain knew that if he just knew it and never said it, he would be a better officer because of it.

  Lopesti let out a contented sigh, thinking of how victory would be executed, going over his part and musing over how the other parts would be conducted. Many officers hated facing aliens, the term “no plan survives first contact with the enemy“ almost never applied to aliens. We thought we had rigid command structures ourselves but aliens never even seemed to follow a command, instead they follow the plan ( one usually a group or committee decided on.) They had their reasons, but the purpose of a machine isnt what its supposed to do, its what it does. The result of their methods while fighting them was it always seemed to be more of an organized slaughter than combat. See what they are doing, counter, win. Lopesti detested officers who thought like this, who thought fighting aliens was simplistic and boring. Lopesti on the other hand took great mirth in fighting aliens, its not so much he looked down on them, well, he most certainly did do that. But he would like to have you believe he viewed it as an art, the efficient annihilation of alien military, or any alien organization that resisted his troops in any way shape or form. Civilian is an odd word in practice, he knew there were far more ways to resist an occupying force outside of a uniformed fighting force than in one. We can dwell on the ugly once the ugly has finished, war is ugly” he would say to subordinates. It seemed odd that such a prideful man could view any of his actions as ugly but, so he said. Lopesti sank back into his office chair, which was of a lightweight and sleek build despite never being moved from his office in which it worked so tirelessly, and he moved his arm up to check his watch. It was about the time he thought it would be. He eased out of his chair and happily proceeded to his quarters. It would take a few minutes to walk there but thoughts of if he would, of what type and for how long he would drink alcohol and mayhaps even smoke kept his movements free from lethargy.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Scottst:

  His unit had been on red phase for about a month, maybe a handful of days too. The unit didn’t matter though, only his squad mattered, at least to him. He cautiously relished command over his meager three subordinates. Treating them as well as he knew how and making sure they had positions that they both wanted and played to their strength. He had tried to get his guys the best equipment he could but they weren’t exactly special forces. Well, they were, just not special enough forces he guessed. Many forces were special, not many of those were elite. They weren’t that elite, or at least they weren’t cultivated to be. He did however as any good leader would, thought very highly of his men. If he didn’t, he would do something about it, after all.

  He encouraged his men to buy their own equipment that they wanted but after getting chewed out on a training exercise, the complaint being of non standard equipment. He told his men behind closed doors to use their own equipment as much as they pleased when doing squad training, on their own time and fully prepare to run live missions with their own prepared kit. That being said, they were to avoid taking it to company or Lord forbid brigade training exercises. It irked him to no end that the only reason they had been discovered having non standard gear was due to their shocking effectiveness. They had fuzzed up the balance of the war game. Like a good squad leader however, he kept his contempt with command over the incident to himself. When he turned on the news to see the AOS Spoonload, a civilian freighter had been reduced to interstellar shrapnel by the “dunks”, he had conflicted feelings. He felt nervous, felt excited, notably he didn’t feel angry. The aliens would get put in line, that was certain. He did feel afraid though. A little for himself but mostly for fear of letting down his men, or worse, all their friends and loved ones by bringing them home in chunks. Is it really coming home if you do it in chunks? He never thought so.

  Chitn:

  Everyone was talking about the border skirmish like he was supposed to know what was going on. He just played along and tried to piece it together as he went. Now watching the latest video from the guy who’s news videos he prefers, there was zero doubt the humans relished this opportunity to justify whatever exercise in insanity they have no doubt been planning. I expect to get called up on high alert soon since I am a reserve firefighter. Im mad, nothings even really happened yet either. Sitting there on his finely crafted chair in his dark, yet if he was permitted some bragging, rather tastefully lit ponderers room, he felt numb. No fear or sadness, just knowledge the bastards would be doing the devils work closer than ideal to his post. Brushing up on nitrogen mask training would be best done soon. Before he was called up though, he couldn’t imagine how a good nights sleep couldn’t be his priority. Something to clear his head. Maybe he wouldn’t be called up. Maybe there would be a treaty or trade organizing agreements. But he knew. It was more than likely, especially with this human faction, that they needed little more than an invitation to set their hounds loose.