Napalm Riot

Assualt on Precinct Zero

“Traitorous separatists!” shouted Roy at the small screen above his bed, kicking the wall as he did so.
“Heathens” hissed Rasheed in agreement. Such indignance at the hourly news (Or since all the media is run by the New United Earth Government, propaganda) was a regular for the men onboard the United Earth Space Core transport ship #3289. This time it was news of Separatist bombing of a preschool on the moon, a tragic event surely. The newsreader read with grim determination “34 children dead in the worst Separatist attack in 4 years”. The story went on ending in a “heroic police shootout that left all but one terrorist dead”. Contented with the outcome, the men went back to discussing guns, interrupted half an hour later by a klaxon signalling arrival.

Alphonse was sitting at a table sipping coffee, reading over the day’s news. Apparently the Earth government had staged another attack today, this time on a preschool. No-one actually believed that it was them behind the attacks, they rarely even left the station and when they did it was only to restock their supplies. He looked at his watch, 10 minutes to the start of his shift. Alphonse worked surveillance at the Separatist colony, a decrepit world war 3-era orbiting station abandoned after the economic collapse that followed. Often his thoughts wandered back to those days, the fighting, the panic, the election of the new “government”, the dissolution and assimilation of all the countries on earth. Dark days. His watch bleeped, signalling work time. He got out of his chair and wandered over to the console looking to it’s multiple screens.

Roy walked briskly down the corridor to the armoury, grabbed an assault rifle, two grenades and started putting on his EVA suit. He and the twelve other men following him rode the elevator down to the airlock. “Alright you bastards” he barked at his squad, our orders came from the chancellor himself, so we better not screw up”
“What’s the plan?” asked one of the men.
“Well, as you know, the recent attack on the moon means we need to assert our dominance over theses traitorous cowards.”
“So that means…”
“Yes. We’re going to go in there, and we’re gonna fuck them up. He loaded his weapon menacingly and led the men into the boarding craft.

Alphonse turned up the music on the stereo next to him. Nothing had happened so far, nothing ever happened. He turned to his partner, Denise. “Do you ever wonder if we’re doing the right thing?”
“Huh?” replied Denise. “That came out of the blue”
“Well, I mean, we broke away from earth after the war we just abandoned our birthplace”
“You’ve been watching too many United Earth TV shows haven’t you”
“No it’s just that…”
“It’s just what? It’s called progress Al, we moved on. They didn’t”
“Yeah, isn’t it just abandoning our humanity?”
“I guess it is in a way” Denise mused, “But if we went back, they’d kill us for what we believed in, and then we’ll see how human we are then”
Alphonse got up and went over to the synth-coffee machine (The separatists hadn’t tasted real food in years since the supply blockade was set up) and filled his cup again. He looked at his watch again; he still had an hour to go before he finished.

Roy tore open a red sealed envelope with his orders inside. He’d been briefed beforehand, but the secrecy of this mission necessitated extra measures. A small letter with “Earth Prevails” written on the top was pulled out. He scanned the page. Immeditely words like “crush the dissenters” “teach them a lesson” “erase this sin” and “have no mercy” popped out. Roy licked his lips, missions like this don’t come along every day. The ship slowed down and the engines rumbled as the boarding craft approached the entry port on the side of the station. The entry tube extended, as if to greet them, a somewhat ironic notion considering what they were about to do. The men picked up their weapons and glided silently down the tube into the station. The radio hissed chillingly; “Live ammunition authorised, shoot to kill. Leave no evidence.”

Alphonse was about to take a big slurp of his coffee when the whole station was rocked by an explosion. Now wearing it, he sprinted over to the status console.

>>Multiple hull breach detected
>>Sealing bulkheads

“What is going on!?” Alphonse yelled, panicking.
“I don’t know! Check the cameras!” replied Denise. She had bashed her head badly in the shock and there was blood all over her face.
On the screens there were figures running around in formation. He looked to the monitor displaying the mess hall, there were figures were opening fire on all of the people inside.

Gas mask on, assault rifle out, Roy and his men looked intensely frightening. They fanned out, aiming for the head. Bursts of controlled gunfire echoed through the station. Smoke and bullet casings floated around in the low gravity. Roy had never enjoyed himself more, the screams of the people as they ran in fear, fearing him, the sound a bullet makes when it cuts through the air and then the soft dull puncture of it hitting it’s target. These weren’t people, they were heretics. They abandoned their planet, their god and their rulers to live in this decaying hulk floating in the ether. They didn’t deserve the life given to them.

Alphonse could hear gunfire coming through the walls. The screams of people cut down fought their way into his ears. Denise was crying. He could hear shouting down the hall, they were getting close. He double locked the doors and walked over to the desk. Opening the drawer he pulled out a gun, a 21st century Glock semi-automatic pistol. He held in his trembling hands, drawing in deep breaths. He overturned the table and pushed it sideways so it was facing the door. He sat down and comforted Denise, flicked off the safety and waited for the inevitable.

The team moved down the corridors, sweeping each room, killing everything inside indiscriminately. They were looking for the stations security office; they needed to wipe all the records before they left. A flight of stairs and a left turn later they found it, or at least the fortified iron door leading to it. They moved quickly, explosives were placed at the bolts of the doors and the team took cover around the corner. Roy addressed the squad “You, get back to the boarding pod and warm up the engines. Set some erasers as you leave, remember, we were never here”. “Rasheed, come with me”.

Alphonse heard the four explosions of the door locks being destroyed and shut his eyes. Crouched behind the makeshift shield he tightened his grip on the gun in his hands.

Roy breached the room, Rasheed waiting outside having traded his assault rifle for a computer. In he went, gun up and scanning the room. He saw a man crouching behind a desk, aiming an antiquated pistol at him.

Both men fired.