"We did it, men. With the capture of this starbase, the Aghast System is once again under imperial rule. Glory to humanity!" The sergeant's words put the situation lightly. The Aghast System had switched hands nearly a hundred times in the past ten years. PFC Scruples had watched the news feeds. It was the same thing over and over.

The Empire of Humanity had gotten itself into a war with the Qasvalyvia Federation over a cluster of systems it claimed rightfully belonged to humanity. The Empire held two key choke points near Federation space, but wasn't yet satisfied with itself, and desired yet another choke point. The initial assault had gone well. The Empire seized most of the territory it claimed, but en route to the choke point system of Armageddon, the Federation finally bared its fangs. A conglomeration of three grotesque alien empires, the Qasvalyvia Federation outnumbered imperial warships three to one. But they had one key weakness: brains. As the Qasvalyvia reclaimed their lost systems, a second imperial fleet located opposite the war-torn cluster of systems made incursions into another quadrant of Federation space. Instead of dividing their forces to defeat humanity, the Qasvalyvia sent all their powerful fleets back across the galaxy to reclaim their other systems, allowing the main imperial fleet to retake the once conquered Federation systems.

Though neither side seemed interested in a pitched battle due to the high chance of catastrophic casualties, the Empire in particular could not afford to lose its expensive warships. The Empire's economy was miles behind the Federation, and it could not so easily replace its losses. The war was painfully obvious to PFC Scruples as a foolish endeavor, but what he could do? He was a private, the spec of a cog in the machine that was the Imperial Human Armed Forces. He could no more change the war than he could tell his sergeant the man was an idiot. Well, technically he could if he wanted to be thrown out an airlock.

"With this victory," his sergeant went on, "we are one step closer to Armageddon, and total victory over the xeno scum." Sergeant Haggard lived the Empire's values to a tee. Hard-working, brave, and resentful of anything not made in the image of God. The man was middle-aged, with a thick, graying beard, and several scars on his face Scruples wasn't so sure the sergeant hadn't just carved on himself to pretend he was some great war hero.

The sergeant was interrupted by Private Flowers, the platoon medic, who cried, "Stay with us, Tony. Don't die on me!"

A soldier raised a hand and asked, "How many casualties did we sustain, Sergeant?"

"Few," Sergeant Haggard snapped. He flared his nostrils. The sergeant hated being interrupted. But above all, he despised being corrected.

The platoon specialist chimed in with a number. "304 troopers injured or killed taking the starbase. So far the Empire has sustained roughly one million casualties over the course of the war." The specialist was so focused on his datapad he didn't notice the sergeant staring daggers at him. But Scruples noticed.

"A small price to pay for doing the emperor's work," Sergeant Haggard declared before smacking the specialist on the back of the head so hard the specialist lost his glasses.

Scruples rolled his eyes. When he signed on to the military, he'd hoped the bureaucratic system he'd submitted himself to would be more competent than sending millions of soldiers to fight and die for a few barren star systems.

Sergeant Haggard dismissed the platoon, and Scruples stepped to the medic's side. "How's Tony?"

Flowers sobbed. "He's gone." Flowers was one of the oldest there at the age of nineteen. Scruples considered it a godsend he'd made it to his mid-twenties fighting for the Empire. Most of the soldiers around him were between sixteen and seventeen, some even fifteen. The military liked to get them young. In fact, it was Tony's birthday. The kid had just turned eighteen. Scruples found it odd to not be crying. He wasn't sad like he should have been. Staring into the empty gaze of Tony, images of a hundred more faces flashed before Scruples' eyes. He'd watched many people die during the ten years of war with the Federation. It was hard to get attached anymore. The same could not be said for Flowers.

The young medic brushed golden locks of hair from his eyes as he tried to shake Tony alive. It was no use. The boy soldier was gone.

The station's alarm rang. Scruples put on his helmet. Past him rushed a hundred troopers. The fleet made ready to disembark. Several more systems needed to be captured in the cluster before the final push on Armageddon could be made. Scruples had grown bored of system hopping, but at least it was better than staying behind to work starbase detail. Someone had to keep the starbase up and running while the fleet was gone, but it wouldn't be him. Though his platoon was Limitanei, the lowest rung of infantry, his unit had always been considered too valuable to leave behind.

Scruples turned to the boarding tubes when Sergeant Haggard's voice rose up behind him. "Hold on there, Private. I've got good news for you."

#

"Staying?" Scruples blurted without thinking.

"Darn right, son," Sergeant Haggard said with the biggest smile on his face. "Our platoon was selected to hold this starbase from any Qasval-dur-ivian-lock-ness-monster that looks to reclaim their forsaken territory."

"That's not how you pronounce their name."

The sergeant waved his hand about. "What matter does pronunciation make? They're filthy xenos. Not to be trusted or cared for in the slightest, like thieves and liberals."

"You can't be serious. I thought our platoon was too valuable to stay behind," Scruples said.

"Looks like we're the only Limitanei left in the fleet. Lucky us."

"With all due respect, Sergeant, can't you just shoot me?"

"Son, you know I'm not authorized to expend valuable ammunition on you that could be saved for the enemy."

"Staying here is a death sentence. This station isn't some powerful star fortress. It's a glorified science ship with pee shooters for guns that can't fly."

"You mean it's a vital tool for defense that offers a decisive delaying action against the filthy xenos should they try to retake the system."

Scruples did everything in his power to keep from screaming. "You can see the scorch marks and bullet holes from a hundred battles that were fought here. Every time, the invading side won. It was never close."

"You're correct, Private, but you're forgetting one thing."

"What's that, Sergeant?"

"The Empire never had us to defend these halls before."

"When the Federation comes for this station, they'll attack with hundreds of ships. That equates to a hundred thousand soldiers aboard each of their fleets. How many soldiers are in this platoon?"

"Private, I'm disappointed in you. Military doctrine dictates every soldier know their unit sizes."

"Right." Scruples stifled a smirk. He wanted to know how many soldiers were still alive in the platoon, not what the platoon's full size was meant to be. The sergeant really was an idiot. "There are forty-two soldiers assigned to a Limitanei Platoon."

"Correct, but you're forgetting all the wounded and dead," Sergeant Haggard said with a laugh. He turned his head to where Private Flowers sat sobbing over Tony's body. "How many did we lose today, Private?"

"I think ten," Flowers said between sobs.

"Ah, we actually have thirty-two soldiers in this fine platoon, Private Scruples. It wouldn't kill you to use that big brain of yours from time to time."

Scruples hated the man. "You're right, Sergeant. How silly of me," he said through clenched teeth. "And we have no support from other units?"

"That's correct, Private," the sergeant said with a grin. "Just thirty-two heroes of the Empire against the galaxy."

"In other words, suicide."

"Enough!" the sergeant snapped. Scruples jumped to parade rest out of instinct. "Get squared away in your quarters with Private Flowers, then report to me on the command deck. You got ten minutes."

Scruples nodded and snatched Flowers. Any moment away from the sergeant was a good one.

#

The soldiers of the Empire were broken into several categories. At the top were the Templars and their war machines. The Templars were super-soldiers commissioned by the emperor to destroy any trace of xeno life with extreme prejudice. They had the best weapons, armor, and vehicles, but were few in number. Below the Templars were the battle-hardened Legionaries, who made up a good chunk of the imperial infantry. Then, scraping the bottom of the barrel were the Limitanei. The Limitanei of Medieval Rome garrisoned the borders of the empire as little more than a pinprick to any middle eastern power seeking the riches of the Christian nation. Much like their ancestors, the Limitanei Scruples had got himself stuck with were given the cheapest weapons and armor, and expected to slaughter xenos as effectively as their better equipped brethren.

Scruples sat cleaning his rifle on a bed far too large and rounded to have ever been constructed for human use. He still had seven minutes.

Private Flowers stood near the sink washing muck off his face. Flowers was lucky to have gone unharmed during the fighting. Even Scruples who'd been relatively safe still got a scorch mark on his cheek from where a laser bolt flew past. Aside from some dirt, Flowers' pale face was unblemished. His hazel eyes were wide, empty, unblinking.

"You did your best, Flowers," Scruples said as he snapped the upper receiver back onto his weapon. "Can't save them all."

"I didn't save anyone." Flowers stood unmoving. "Those lasers shredded them too quick. Cell degradation's almost instant. Just once, I'd like to beat the devil to someone."

"Maybe we just aren't meant to do anything right. Can't do anything right. Not our fault. The Empire sees us as expendable."

"I don't think we're expendable," Flowers said. "Wouldn't be a medic if I thought otherwise."

Satisfied with his clean weapon, Scruples stood. "We're on this station just so we can die. You know that, don't you?"

With a scoff, Flowers shrugged off his words. "The Empire wouldn't charge us with the station's defense unless they intended to hold it."

"What do you think happened to the last hundred Limitanei teams charged with holding this station?" Scruples snapped. "They died. Thousands killed in a pointless tug-of-war for this station, as well as a million others across the galaxy, and the Empire doesn't care. They'd sacrifice a million more for a bloody pebble if it belonged to the enemy." Someone banged on the door. Scruples opened up to find the scarred face of Lieutenant Betsy glaring at him.

A glass ball sat in the woman's left eye socket. Betsy wore her raven hair short for simplicity's sake, and never smiled by force of habit. Her arms were crossed tight as a tourniquet over her chest. "Private Scruples, you best get your rump up to the command deck before I start kicking it."

Scruples checked his watch. "I still got three minutes."

The old hag scowled. Well, she wasn't truly that old, but old enough to be Scruples' mom. A young mom, but a mom nonetheless. "Private, don't you understand three minutes early is ten minutes late?"

"That doesn't even make sense, LT."

Betsy took off her shoe.

Scruples darted past her and up to the command deck before she could strike him with that dart of a weapon. He hated Betsy more than he hated the sergeant. While Haggard was technically subordinate to her, his experience and take-no-crap attitude always put him ahead of Betsy when decisions had to be made. Betsy was an up-tight butter bar with little experience commanding anything, and enjoyed taking her frustrations out on privates like Scruples.

The command deck lay in disarray. Situated at the heart of the starbase, the command deck relied on external cameras to display what was happening outside the station. Most of the cameras didn't work. A vast majority of the screens on the command deck were either cracked or reading errors with the external cameras. The only thing that seemed to be working was the central holodisplay which projected heat signatures across the system.

Scruples stepped to the sergeant, who was busy shouting at the two fifteen-year-olds of the platoon said to be computer experts.

"Get these cameras working!" Sergeant Haggard barked.

"We would have to repair the external cameras, which is an engineer's responsibility." The young soldier's voice rattled as he spoke.

"Then get me the engineers." Sergeant Haggard continued to yell.

"Private Flowers reported them KIA during the battle," the other boy soldier squeaked out.

Sergeant Haggard raised his pistol and fired into the ceiling. The tech boys dove for cover. After a moment, the sergeant took a deep breath and holstered his weapon. "Sorry chaps. Had to pop off and let the steam out." He exhaled. "I want something fixed in this place in the next hour. I don't care if it's the external cameras or the empty fish tank in my new bedroom. Get something working or I'll have LT light the both of you up."

The boy soldiers nodded and bolted from the room.

With a huff, the sergeant finally turned to Scruples. "Late as always, Private."

"I've been waiting here for—"

"No matter." The sergeant waved off Scruples' words. "I've got good news, Private. You're being promoted to corporal. Take it in. This is a big moment for you. I know."

Scruples simply cocked his head. "I don't understand. Realistically, shouldn't I be promoted to a specialist? And why am I being promoted? Can you really just do that?"

"Son, I'm the only NCO you got on this station. You sure you want to dispute this?"

Scruples thought a moment. "No, Sergeant."

"Good man," Haggard said with a grin. Then he pointed to the central holodisplay and pressed a button. The display showed the starbase along with a series of red and green dots located at various positions around the station. "You're good with equipment, aren't you? Mind telling me what these symbols mean?"

Scruples leaned close to the display. All it took was reading the icons to know what was being shown. "It says that of the twelve laser turrets on the starbase, only three are working."

"Oh …" The sergeant fell silent for a moment. "Of course."

"Can … can you not read?" The sergeant smacked him upside the head.

"Of course I can read, Corporal," Sergeant Haggard stammered. "So what if it's only fourth grade level? I can spell my name and read the menu at Curator's Burgers, and that's all you really need." He slammed his hand against the display, looking proud and triumphant as he broke eye contact with Scruples. "Change those red-blinking things to green-blinking things on the double, Corporal."

"Yes, Sergeant," Scruples said. Before leaving, a question poked at his mind. "Actually, Sergeant, since I'm a corporal now, that means I can tell the privates what to do, right?"

"Absolutely," Haggard proclaimed. "If you see any screwballs in need of a proper imperial straightening, embrace your God-given right and smoke them into shape." The sergeant chuckled, as if reminiscing on past times throwing his weight around with the junior enlisted.

"Perfect." Scruples grinned. He could finally get things working around there.

#

With the help of the two tech kids, the now Corporal Scruples had the laser turrets up and running within the hour. It hadn't been easy. Spare parts were scarce on the starbase, but Scruples brought some all-powerful duct tape with him and used it liberally where necessary. He was finishing up his work when the sergeant's voice blared through his earpiece.

"Corporal Scruples, I need you on the bridge immediately."

"Yes, Sergeant," Scruples said. The sergeant sounded rather agitated. One problem fixed, a new one to go.

A cacophony of lights and sounds rattled Scruples' head when he stepped foot on the command deck. Some of the external cameras were working again, as shown by the visual feeds. The central holodisplay projected the Aghast System in its entirety, with a whole host of objects moving about. Lieutenant Betsy stood close by Sergeant Haggard. Her hands were in their traditional place covering her chest while Haggard placed his hands confidently on his hips.

"The map, Corporal. Translate," the sergeant ordered.

One group of signals had the tag of the Empire. It was the fleet that left them on the starbase. There was another, larger fleet on the edge of the system. Scruples' eyes went wide.

"The map shows Battlefleet Terra leaving the system."

"Excellent," Haggard said. "Our boys in green are off to conquer more territory, and bring us closer to Armageddon."

"They're not headed for Armageddon, Sergeant," Scruples said. "They're retreating."

"What? Why?" Haggard's voice took a dark tone.

Scruples pointed to the map. "Because the Federation's here." He gulped down a scream that longed to burst from his throat. They were going to die.