The sky seemed endless up here. Stretching far beyond anything imaginable for the young trooper. His slick black armor glistened in the grey light of the Tundra. Everything was cold here.
Paal kneeled. The ground was cold and firm. Permafrost. He ran his gloved fingers through the scraggly grass. A tone blared in his ears. He looked up. The flickering symbols within his BattleMask told him the enemy was nearing.
Two miles away.
His brother stood next to him, carrying a Gauss Cannon like it was it was a rifle. Big bastard.
He was thankful his brother was with him.
More blips on the useless Heads-Up-Display warned Paal of the incoming army.
Everything was so flat and endless out here. Like shallow waves of a pond, the occasional rise and dip in the tundra, but mostly endless frozen wasteland.
A few dozen yards behind Paal and the rest of the vanguard were the Titans.
Their huge stomping steps as the pilots lined up in a phalanx of steel and armor. They carried Gauss cannons the shape of pistols and pikes the size of telephone poles. VoidShields hovered around the formation like bubbles around a garden. Layers of projected armor against the enemy’s poorer, but nonetheless deadly weaponry.
Paal stood up. The shakes started to course through his arms. He gripped his LasRifle tightly to keep from shaking.
He glanced back at the formation of Titans. At its head was a single young woman. Dark skinned with a mess of braids twisted into a bun. Her jade eyes narrowed and focused. Her left hand was a chrome bionic.
Paal had heard of her. A Pryomancer Aide of some Underground King.
The War had begun and Paal knew he had made a mistake to follow his brother into war.
His brother padded his shoulder. Paal couldn’t see his face behind the BattleMask. Paal wanted to puke, but he couldn’t.
He couldn’t let his brother down.
He couldn’t let his brother see his doubts.
They would both die if he gave into fear.