I am lost in my thoughts as I auto-pilot back to the South gate. Humans can potentially see the metaphysical. I have never considered such a thing before.

Our soon-to-be new members in our compounds are cannibals. Hopefully, not too many of them. And we have somehow missed survivors on our sweep of this continent. And let's not even bring up the puzzle that is Tomthas. Creepy fucking wrinkle he is.

Couldn't anything just be cut and dry?

I stop mid-stride and find myself looking up into the late afternoon sky, head leaning back as far as it can, hands on my hips, feet braced apart, letting the strange warm air kiss my skin.

Timing is everything because suddenly, something explodes in the space just above the planet's atmosphere, almost directly above the compounds.

Well, as far as I can tell from my position, it is directly above the compounds. But the exact location of the explosion isn't what makes my heart speed up.

I watch as a bright ball of smoke with fire billowing out behind it streaks towards the ground. Small fireballs spew out in all directions. It won't be long before we get rained on.

For stars sake. Nothing for it. We don't have any kind of shelter or shield to protect us. Hopefully, most of it burns itself up on the way down. I wonder if anyone else has noticed.

I am reaching for my communicator when the ground starts to rumble.

What the fuck is this now?

My communicator beeps at me from its location on my left shoulder with my hand still hovering above it, indicating an incoming call. I smack the button as I start to sprint the rest of the way to the gate.

"Yes."

"We have incoming Marshal!"

No? Really? I keep my snide comment to myself, instead choosing to say, "Yes."

"Looks like an Armada military transport ship. Its current trajectory should place it 100 meters North of our borders."

Wait, what?

I am glad our new visitors can't see me as a fresh burst of speed punches through my limbs. I am used to far larger planets with stronger gravity. On my world, the one I was raised on, the gravity easily equals eighteen-point-four meters per second squared. Here on this planet, it is a measly nine-point-eight meters per second squared.

Simply put, it means that a falling object will accelerate towards the surface at a speed of about 9.8 meters for every second of free fall. So I am used to a lot more resistance when I move.

Compared to the Humans, my soldiers and I are insanely fast and strong. We can jump over their trees and run faster than they can blink. Well sometimes. Either way, it usually freaks the Humans right out when they see us in action.

My breathing comes easy, years of training and conditioning making my run effortless, for now.

"How come we didn't have any warning, Captain?"

Stupid question, I know. I am not expecting an answer. If I wasn't notified, why the hell should I think he had been?

So I don't wait for an answer and instead ask, "Where is General Tallik? And don't say you don't know, just tell me when you find out, Captain!"

I fly through the gate, and the guards posted there are ready for me. They had seen my blurred figure flying towards them, thankfully having the skill and the smarts to know it is me, opening the gate just seconds before I run through it. I don't stop; just keep going.

I see the Armada Armed Forces transport carrier in the distance exactly where the Captain said it would be. It is getting ready to touch down.

It's hovering about a hundred feet above the ground, but just as I start to head towards it, I feel the distinct shudder of the earth signalling another ship—two more, to be exact. One landing on the West, one on the East, and without looking behind me, I am willing to bet one is touching down in the South.

What the?

We are surrounded. Don't get me wrong, I am ready to move on from this dead planet, but this isn't protocol.

I feel a twinge of regret for Nadia and her people. An image of her giggling offspring flashes in my head. Tomthas' people are probably shitting their pants.

I have picked up a lot of Human sayings. They have a strange obsession with feces. Their own and others. It has a way of rubbing off on you.

"Marshal, General Tallik is waiting for you in the Pavilion." My communicator crackles a little with all the interference from the landing ships. Thankfully I am still able to hear the Captain.

"Good. And Captain, be prepared for anything. My guts are screaming shit storm."

I need my people to be prepared. He will understand. If Armada has decided to change their directive, they won't spend time worrying about Human casualties or, us, their disposable minions.

The Pavilion is in the centre of Compound One, which is in the centre of all the other compounds. It works out in a defensive circle. Compound One is the centre. Two to six surrounding it, the rest surrounding them as the ring gets bigger.

The Pavilion is where we make general announcements to the masses or our soldiers. It is a vast central location for meetings and events. Tallik must be preparing for our "company."

Just when you start to get used to your situation Armada has a knack for screwing with you. I should have seen this coming.

Just as I run into the Pavilion, I hear over my head a small land rover. I reach Tallik just as it comes down to settle outside the Pavilion. As I said, timing is everything.

Who steps out of the shuttle blows my mind. I have never met these people in all of my military career. I can't understand why the hell they are here.

The United Galactic Secretary of Defence steps out, followed by Armada's Commander-in-chief and, last but not least, the Chief of the United Galactic Shield for Endangered Species.

These are some big fucking titles to be coming to this shit hole. I feel something akin to fear creep up over my skin. Goosebumps break out everywhere, followed by a thin layer of sweat.

As I watch the security detail flank these three important figureheads striding purposely towards us, like the impending doom of this planet, I know something is wrong.

Absentmindedly I notice almost all my generals are with me. I am only missing one, but I know they will be here any moment. This is good. We don't look overly incompetent, I hope.

I should have known there was more to this mission when the original Marshal himself had come.

Fuck. Ya, I swear a lot. Pretty sure it is my first language. It makes me feel better.

"Captain! Or should I say, Acting Marshal?"

I have to stop myself from snickering. If the Commander-in-chief thinks I will be offended by his condescending tone and obvious hint to my most likely inevitable demotion, he is wrong. I will gladly go back to being a Major, or even a Captain, for that matter.

Probably. I try to imagine my generals bossing me around. I am not sure it would work out anymore for them or me.

"Sir!"

I stand at attention like a good soldier. I know my place. He doesn't need to worry that being in charge has gone to my head.

"Her rank is a discussion for later Izka. We don't have much time."

The Secretary of Defense is a female from Femka Galaxy. She is old, even for a Nefiram. They live longer than even Zukrogs. They are a lesser humanoid species, covered in fur, maybe four feet tall, with long claws on their hands and feet (and no, they don't wear shoes) and a face crossed between animal and person. They have freaky eyes with vertical irises and two sets of eyelids. Yet, no other species matches them in cunning and military tactics.

They are borderline creepy geniuses when it comes to the art of war. They also are highly fickle and impatient, which is showing now.

"Marshal, we are evacuating the survivors as we speak. We thank you for the fine job you have done at keeping everyone alive and the Zu'Lar at bay. All in all, it seems like a successful mission. However, things have changed."

I turn to regard the male who just spoke. Chief Nekkal, being a Zukrog like the Commander-in-chief, is tall and slender, with glowing alabaster skin and dark hair, but he is the opposite of both his companions in temperament.

Where they are all about war and dominance, he radiates peace and understanding, almost like a misplaced angel of some kind. I guess they need a good guy? Or perhaps he is the reasonable one?

Nonetheless, "evacuating" seems like the wrong word. All around me, I hear cries of pain, weeping, cursing and pleading. Some humans comply willingly, following orders, lining up single file to shuffle onto the transport pods that will load them into the larger ships.

The level-headed ones see no point in fighting, knowing our superior strength and recognizing that we are armed and they aren't. However, many more don't seem to understand what is going on, becoming overwhelmed with their fear as their fight or flight instincts are triggered.

I see a lone child, maybe eight or ten Earth years in age, standing with her baby brother in her arms screaming for her mother. Snot runs from her nose, and tears are washing clean lines down her dirty red face.

I turn my head away only to see a couple of men from the hunter's group in Compound One being shot with tranqs as they try to pry offspring from a soldier's arms.

I can't watch the chaos without knots forming in my gut, so I bring my eyes back to Chief Nekkal, careful to keep my face devoid of any emotion, closing my ears to the scary sounds of the confused and defeated.