The Alrekur watches Montralla from up on high like an eagle with its prey in sight. It moves, ever so slowly, to reposition itself for the first drop into gravity, where agility and the weight of itself will allow the predator to move swiftly and catch its prey. On the bridge, Captain Horrant watches the HUD displayed over physical view. The numbers look steady, engineering had found no faults. The scientists swore that this could theoretically work, and the pilots were confident they could pull it off. Horrant, however, felt none of their confidence and his fingers could not help but tremble over the initiate button. He pulled his hand back sharply and walked to the First Mate's display where the data for the less critical components could be found. Theoretically, it still worked, no matter how many times he looked at it. The landing time was already past now and he still couldn't find the conviction to start the engines. He ran both his hands through his hair and muttered to himself over and over again, asking where this thing could go wrong. Why it would go wrong. Would they think it was his fault should it go wrong. He asked himself those questions so many times that the phrases itself began to sound wrong, and he knew he shouldn't press the button. Reinforcements were being gathered back home and the cavalry was being heading his way, but they would take possibly months to reach this system and should this go poorly, he and his crew would be hunted and shaved, layer by layer, by the Stellons. Should he not launch, he would not be allowed back home by the civilians watching him and he might lose a chance to take a critical planet in a nearby system to Django-1. He would be laughed at in the streets.

Captain Horrant pressed the button and watched as the ship began moving exponentially faster, and then suddenly started slowing down. It had been a successful jump, but it had put them out of range to contact those surrounding Montralla at this very moment.



"What did I say? I told you boys it was going to be a rocky ride," Monroe said as the G-forces crushed their hardest. The power armour really had come a long way since he trained in it back on Earth. One soldier vomited in his helmet and he watched as the forces rushed it up into his goggles. They couldn't flush it due to the low oxygen here but it was getting in his eyes, ears and nose. No-one could do anything though. If you struggled with standing, it was unlikely you could save that mans life. If he made it alive at the end of all this, it would be incredible. If he didn't, it would be a great highlight reel for the folks back home. The Sergeant Major looked up at the display on the wall to track their movements and the other shuttles. They were spiralling real fast and real wide. There were too many miracles to count to be able to land an effective fighting force on Montralla, David reckoned. The scientists in the ship came up with this ludicrous plan to try and divert the defences on the planet but all that happened was that now none of them would get to the surface instead of some of them. Flicking comm channels, he brought up the pilot. "Please tell me you're straightening this thing out?"

The pilot replied, "It's an ongoing job. We're lucky we got spun out in a generally correct direction. I see two of those shuttles that won't be making it to land." Permanently lost in space, there's a thought. "The other have less of a spin on them but are way more off-track. Sir, if this thing lands you're gonna be by yourselves for a while until the others can make it. I can do what I can from the air but I don't have much fuel left."

"Son, let me tell you right now you will not be saving any fuel. Mother Goose is taking the long way around the solar system. You sit in the bird and do what you can but we're gonna need you on the ground when this is out of juice." Monroe hated himself for having to say that but times are tough. There were going to be guns a-plenty when this thing crashed. He checked the display again. The other shuttles had managed to slow most of their spins and were making the arc towards the landing spot. As the pilot had said, two shuttles were already lost and another was heading for the same fate. Monroe gave a quick prayer to ask for a calm passing. "How is that spin coming?" he asked again. Red lights and alarms were the response. The pilot was silent still. The alarms could be in response too anything. Breached hull, cracked hydraulics lines, targeting call-out, who knew? None of that information was relayed to the passengers.

"Looks like I'll be out with you guys, Sarn't Major. We're out of ammo and they definitely know we're here now. Hold on, can't guarantee you'll appreciate the landing here!" The pilot repeated the last sentence, much more professionally, over the shuttle channel, and then crashed the ship into Montralla.

Montralla is a horrible place to attack the Stellons because it resembles half of their homeworld. Some of their race was born and bred on these tundras with the snow devils, wildlife, and temperature. Humans were not graced with such past. Trees sprouted in large, dull swathes of forest, bursting from the permafrost which ran over a thousand yards deep. The sound of a tree being born sounded like an old-school rifle crack as it rippled over the landscape. Monroe had known this information before launching and had hated every part of it. Stellons had used the Khan system for centuries to help themselves, so not only did they know how to live in such climates, they had already lived there for a long, long time. This was a sentiment shared by his commanding officer but top-brass back home did not want to hear anything about it. It became clear who was being broadcast and who was not in the coming days.

Monroe had no concept of time as he woke up. When he first opened his eyes, he closed them again and nuzzled into the floor, thinking ‘just five more minutes’. He woke up again and jerked awake. Stellons were outside, jabbering, scraping and pulling against the door. It seemed the chassis had jammed it shut on the impact, which means it was a rougher landing than anyone had expected. He thanked his God he was still alive. Those alien bastards outside were becoming a real problem though. Light broke through a small crack. He looked around and saw a lot of blood and body parts. To his left, someone hit him across the chest and his entire body seemed to flair. He needed medical attention soon. “Listen, be quiet and check everyone. If they’re alive, give them a gun and tell them to be quiet. Those fucks are nearly inside.”

The man scrambled around while he nudged the limbs and head to the side. An indescribable organ made him slip as he treaded carefully along, only to be saved by another soldier just waking up. At the front of the shuttle, he creaked open the cockpit door and checked inside. The pilot had been crushed to death, nearly a paste. Monroe shut the door and helped the men gather themselves.

As the first of the humanoids stepped in, they swung their own rifle wildly around only to find the humans scattered and destroyed, most in various pieces. He began searching the corpses closest to the door, and the others began filing in to do the same. Monroe’s heel raised and thunked onto the steel floor, and suddenly the Stellons laid eviscerated against the cockpit door, dead in less than a second. The remainder of the soldiers moved the cadaver camouflage off their bodies and Monroe moved first to the door and checked that they were only the scouts and not a small part of a large force. He was correct, and he gathered his men on the icy plains of Montralla. “Listen up troops. We’ve had a hell of a time getting here, but here we are. We are the first humans to step foot on Montralla, and if we take Montralla, we can take Khan. We will lead the way, and we will guarantee success for our brothers and sisters to land. Soldiers, we are the might of humankind at this very moment. Bring the motherfucking pain. Set up a perimeter and load your guns, the Stellons will not be far out.”

Pulling himself out the wreckage Jack began to look around the ship, he saw that the pilots met an untimely federal death. Such is the life for a soldier, Jack eventually through haze and fog understood the plan. Putting on his camouflage he laid hidden as the beastly stick bastards entered but it would all be over too soon. Monroe was a hard nut to crack, but he loved to crack nuts - those sticks soon became stumps as they were smoked by Monroe's door crushing skills. Non the less when the hypothetical smoke cleared Jack got up along with everyone else who survived the hell flight.

"Ain't that a bitch."

He said now checking that his gear was actually there and what have you. He quickly readied himself as the Sergeant started to give a speech - maybe it was for them, or the cameras. Yea... Cams were rolling that was for sure, he didn't want to get voted out. Besides that fuck fest... God damn visual orgy for any kids watching The Sarges cam. Regardless, Jack was ready he camhelmet was in order and was broadcasting. No one really cared about surviving, just getting that clip - that raw footage of a fucking mini-nuke ripping through a horde of stellons. Yea.. man.

"Ready sarge."