• Ryan struggled to stay on his feet as the ground shook beneath him. Another Regulate shell whistled past him and threw him off his feet. By now, the rebel trenches were destroyed and there was little cover for the rebels. Finally, the Regulate bombing stopped. As Ryan pulled himself up off the ground and wiped the dirt off his face, his Long Range Communications Device beeped. Putting it to his ear, Ryan was informed that the rebel leader, John Macintosh, had called a meeting of the captains. Wearily weaving his way through the masses of wounded men, Ryan made his way to the small shelter.

    “Gentlemen, when you joined us, you agreed to put your life on the line for the freedom of the world. Here, we are of every different color, size, and personality. But if we do not win this war, the world will be a place of robotic sameness. Even those we fight now are all alike, and we are the last thing in between the Regulate and a place of brain-dead, robot clones. You pledged yourselves to service, but now some of you beg to be allowed to surrender. No. We will either win or die. If any of you tries to surrender, we will turn our guns on you.” A murmur of surprise and anger went through the crowd as Macintosh continued his speech. “Lancing, your squad will stay back to protect the guns. Johnson, Roberts, and Schmidt, you will spearhead through the center. Davis,” Ryan looked up as his name was called. “You and Hanson will support the spearhead on either side.” Ryan nodded and walked over to his new partner, an Irishman who had joined up about the same time as Ryan. He had fiery red hair and was known for his discipline. His squad was the most disciplined in the army and had a good reputation. Hanson nodded and the two captains shook hands. The Irishman’s uniform was the same as Ryan’s and the rest of the rebels, but they had come from opposite sides of the world. When the Regulate UN, now the rulers of the “civilized” world, had declared that any differences would not be tolerated, Macintosh had gathered his friends and started a rebellion. From all across the world, rebels had come and met in Britain, where they overthrew the Regulate’s hand in London and created a “different” country. But the Regulate army was too strong and the rebels had been forced to retreat time after time. But here in Wales, Macintosh had decided to make a stand. It had been three days since the Regulate army had arrived, but they had had no close hand fighting yet. But not for long. As Ryan turned back to face the general, Macintosh wrapped up his speech and dismissed the captains. As if on cue, the bombing restarted. It would be a long day. Many would not survive.

    “Let’s go, go, go!” Ryan yelled as he followed 20 yards behind Schmidt’s men. Ryan’s squad reluctantly picked up the pace as, to Ryan’s left, Hanson’s squad pulled ahead. As the infantry reached a small ridge, the enemy army came into view. Rows and rows of men, too many to count, all with the same blank stare and undistinguishable features. Then, the armies met. Gunfire deafened Ryan, as he waved to his men. A man to Ryan’s right fell with a bullet in the leg, and another, torn apart by a machinegun. Ryan flopped on the ground as the spray of bullets passed over him. As Ryan jumped up, he collided with an enemy soldier and they fell in a tangle of arms and legs. Ripping his gun away from the man, Ryan pulled the trigger and destroyed the man’s chest. Glancing at the man’s face, Ryan saw the same expressionless countenance. A bullet thudded into the ground next to Ryan, and he looked up to see a man running at him. And so the battle continued.

    It was hours later before Ryan paused to breathe. He, Hanson, and a score or so of their men were in a tight knot surrounded by the endless Regulate infantry. The firing ceased for a few moments as a group of Regulate officers walked into the middle of the battlefield, surrounded by Microjoule (most developed energy able to be manipulated) shields. The officers slowly separated, leaving two figures in the middle. The Regulate general, or Regulator stood, gun pointed toward the kneeling figure next to him. With disheveled hair, and blood streaming down his face, Macintosh defiantly glared at his captors. Then a single gun fired, and the rebel toppled.

    The next day, the battlefield was strewn with corpses and shell holes. The Regulate army marched through. There were still a few remnants of rebellions to wipe out. So they marched. Same shiny armor. The same steady tramping. And the same blinking eyes and expressionless faces. The same.