He was obviously a leader. Not a good thing to be on a day like today. He got a stream of bullets to the head.

The assault squad threw itself flat, obviously not wanting to attract any more attention. I decided to make one last attempt at getting them to see sense.

“Citizens, this is the mailed fist of your Federal Government oppressors speaking. Put down your weapons. Return to your homes now and we’ll call it a draw.”

Retranslation informed me that as a decorated veteran of the freedom-loving Federal Republic I felt honor was satisfied on both sides and we could all sheathe our weapons without shame.

I dropped out of sight to give the pulse cannon a chance to recharge and the local Nazis a chance to think about it. Hopefully, they were doing the math. I was just one stormtrooper. The rest of my squad could be arriving soon. They might even be armed.

There were a few more bursts of small arms fire, possibly aimed in my general direction. Just people wanting to show that they weren’t intimidated by a lackey of the Federal Government. I couldn’t blame them for that. I sometimes feel that way myself. When I looked up again the militia were carrying their dead out of the square. Good enough, I thought.

“Stormtrooper 13. Stormtrooper 13, what is your status?” Orbital definitely wanted to get this all recorded for posterity. Or possibly my upcoming court martial. I’d not done much toward establishing a peaceful and harmonious atmosphere in the town of Sternheim. I probably hadn’t engendered any great love of the Federal Government either.

Some days are just like that.

Chapter Three

The dropzone was just a cleared area in the rubble at the edge of the spaceport. A couple of military golems stood sentinel. Their reapers looked impressive, and they probably worked, unlike my own. Good to know the Arbitrators trusted them more than they trusted me. Probably sensible.

The perimeter fields shimmered in the morning light. It was the usual half-assed thing. They would stop the energy weapons that most of the locals didn’t have and interfere with the targeting systems of the smart missiles the locals couldn’t afford. They would not do too much against a good old-fashioned bullet. They would not stop a missile that was already precisely aimed by human hand either.

As I crossed the zone firewall, a medical drone darted over and settled on my wounded arm. The skin went numb and I heard the sucking, slicing, and clicking of scalpel probes as it treated my wound then buzzed away.

The ground crew waved to me cheerfully as I strode in. I wondered if they were up to date with my latest massacre stats. Somehow they always seemed to know what was going on even before Command.