On the outskirts of the Confederate base, the soldiers were busy making their rounds. They followed their protocols and their training, making sure that everything was good before moving along. While the soldiers of the Confederacy were often looked on as unfeeling and savage brutes, they weren't stupid. Their training ensured that nothing, not even the smallest detail, was overlooked when carrying out their duties.
It was because of this extensive training that the Confederacy had lasted as long as it had. If it hadn't been for the unflinching discipline of the Confederate military, the idea of a Human Confederacy would have died long ago. The men and women who served felt that they were doing humanity a service by preserving their way of life. Sadly, it was their xenophobic attitudes and policies which had kept humankind fractured to this day.
Of course, the Confederacy didn't think they were the ones to blame. No, they felt that the rest of humanity was to blame, as they incessantly mingled with aliens! Because of this, they produced many variants of half breeds, which to them, shouldn't be accepted by either side. As far as they were concerned, humans should be kept as pure as possible, without any additions to the gene pool.
A platoon of soldiers, led by one Captain Dalton, were in the middle of a discussion concerning the human race. It was getting more than a little heated, as some of the soldiers were arguing about the Confederacy's stance on the matter of interbreeding.
"I tell you, Johns, it shouldn't be a crime to breed with certain races out there! The ones that walk and talk like us and breathe the same atmosphere as we do at any rate," one of the soldiers argued.
"That sort of talk is heresy and I won't hear another word of it, Tarko!" Johns threatened, leveling his weapon at the man.
"Drop the religious hypocrisy, Johns! Was only several centuries ago, people like you murdered people like me just for talking like I am to you now!" the ebon skinned man stated.
"Humanity needed to evolve beyond the bullshit of skin color, agreed. But breeding with aliens goes against everything we stand for!" the lighter skinned man rebutted.
"Will the two of you give it a rest?!?" Captain Dalton demanded, whirling to face the pair of arguing men.
While they were good men as lieutenants, the pair of them talking was like mixing fire and gasoline. You only did so in controlled situations and even then, you had to be careful! How these two wound up on patrol with him was beyond the man, but he thought the major had something to do with it. The man was known for stirring up shit between soldiers and watching the fireworks go off.
"But sir--" Johns protested, thinking that this was a matter of staying true to the Confederate ideal.
"No buts! This is hardly the time or place to having such a heated discussion! Besides, if you'd paid attention to the way the Confederacy is going Johns, you'd understand that what Tarko is saying has a good deal of pull among the public. Even though there are crackdowns on people with such ideals, it's not stopping them. Why do you think things are such a mess back home?" the captain questioned.
"It's only because people are being filthy devian--" the man started, when they all received an alert via their comms devices.
"All patrols, we have an alert! Sensors picked up motion in sector twenty-seven! Dozens of contacts, all closing in fast!" came the voice of the sensory tech over the line.
"This is Captain Dalton leading patrol six! We are maybe a hundred meters away! Rerouting to investigate!" the captain bellowed over the line as he marshaled his squad to get moving.
"Copy that! Stay on the line and keep us updated on your findings!" the tech replied, sighing in relief.
"Contact in sector fourteen!" another tech cried out, and another team zipped over to find out what was there.
"Comms chatter is being heard in sector nineteen! Patrol nine rerouting to intercept!" came another voice over the comms.
"Sounds like these locals don't want us here," Tarko stated, wondering why they were even there in the first place.
"The locals don't know what the hell they want! That's why we're here, to show them!" Johns snapped, as he was a true adherent to the Confederate way of life. Tarko shook his head and shelved his thoughts and opinions, as they had a job to do. They humped it until they reached the area just before the location of the contacts.
"Hold position! Ready your weapons and then initiate a slow advance on my mark!" the captain whispered, his voice barely audible over their comms devices. The squad nodded, knowing that they needed to be quiet, if they were to catch the enemy unprepared. Once their weapons were powered up and loaded, Captain Dalton gave the signal and they all moved forward, weapons ready.
"Where in the hell are they?" Johns grumbled, eager to get himself some action and blood on his hands.
"Stay cool and keep your eyes open! They could be hiding in the rubble!" the captain said through clenched teeth, wishing the pompous idiot would just shut up. As they inched forward, they did a visual scan of the area and saw that there was nothing out there.
"Sir, I think we may have been duped!" Tarko breathed, thinking this whole thing might have been a fool's errand.
"There! Look! All soldiers, open fire!" Johns barked, as he spotted what appeared to be dozens of combat drones flying towards them.
Seeing the drones put the squad into panic mode and, on reflex, they fired at them. None of the drones were even returning fire, which was odd! The weirdest thing about this, though, was how none of them seemed to be going down! A few moments later, one of the drones was finally hit, and it dropped to the ground. Seconds afterwards, the remaining drones vanished, as though they were never there.
"What the... oh fuck!! This was a feint with a damned decoy!!" Captain Dalton griped as he quickly put two and two together.
"Command, come in!" Tarko called in, trying to reach the base. "I repeat, command, this is Lieutenant Tarko of patrol group six! Come in, please!"
"Jesus... fuck... SHIT!!" Dalton cursed as things just went from bad to worse.
"What is it, sir?" one of the grunts questioned.
"We just got played and our comms are being jammed! The base could already be under attack!" the captain guessed, figuring it was a reasonable assumption.
"What do we do?" the grunt asked.
"Hotfoot it back to the base, double time people!!" Captain Dalton ordered, hoping they would get back in time to turn the tide of whatever fight was going on.
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At the base, alarm claxons wailed as both soldiers and gunners scrambled to their positions. Automated and manned turrets were powered up and set to seek out targets as everyone rushed to their stations. Major Sawyer bolted out of his quarters, just finishing with getting dressed as he reached the command station.
"What's happened? What's going?" the man shouted, demanding a sitrep immediately.
"We're under attack, sir! Missiles have hit several of our key points in our defensive net! We can still defend ourselves, but our soldiers are scrambling to plug those gaps!" one of the sensor techs told him.
