I do not sleep anymore. I no longer have the luxury. I have looked on the face of every man in our team, and each tells the same story.
There are four night cycles on this planet. Two for every rotaa. They taunt us as the pass, each one of the five moons glaring down at us, almost as if we don't belong. "This is not your world," I hear them scream in my head. "This is not your right." At first I didn't believe them. When the Terrans came, we heard their cries, "Heretic! Suffer the wrath of the Emporer!" But they too heard the voices of the moons. It wore down on them day after day just as it did to us. We both refused to see.
I do not remember how long ago they rose, like chrome plated corpses from the soil. It was still light when they came. Shas'Vre Elohi ordered them to halt. When they did not, we fired, but to no avail.
Once, they came in droves. Crowds moving slowly along the parched lands, dragging their metal carcasses and ominous weaponry behind them. Many of the neighboring squads were overwhelmed in their holes, but with Elohi we remained strong until reinforcements arrived. At least that's what he told us. For all I know, we are the last, Gue'Vesa and Commander alone on enemy terrain.
Now, we only see them in the dead of night. It is why we do not sleep. Sometimes we see the approaching glow in the distance, reflecting off their skulls. Sometimes we only hear the shifting blades from the darkness. They could be anywhere and everywhere, waiting to rend our flesh from our bones or turn us into molecules with a single blast.
The only sure thing are the screams.