WW

I looked up at the star-streaked midnight sky from my trench bunk that I shared with a few other men and gazed at it in pleasant wonder while I had a T6-X17 assault firearm resting on my right shoulder. It was a moment of peace, a temporal cease-fire from the alien monstrosities that threatened to suppress and conquer our homeland. Due to our rich resources of water, minerals, and oxygen, we were unfortunately an ideal target for our interplanetary assailants.

I've only seen the warships the aliens brought with them - never themselves in flesh. But the warships are enough to send a chill down my spine. They're nothing like I've ever seen in my 37 years of life: cold, hard monsters of steel and gears, nuts and bolts, shaped like fat writing utensils with golden satellite panels lining the exterior in an aesthetic way. There are round, cylindrical bomber crafts bigger than the other ships which deliver a bullet hell of black capsules that flatten everything in its path with otherworldly explosions and sear all else with glowing, flickering flames. A double combo.

It seemed quite peaceful at the time I was on night shift, which was why I had the liberty to watch the stars and notice the fascinating science behind them for the first time when my pant pocket started vibrating madly. I plucked out the small communication device and quickly flipped the screen open to answer my wife's call.

"Hey, hon.  How's the kids?" I spoke casually.

"Good and well.  They're sleeping.  They don't seem to know much about the invasion, you know?  Seem pretty oblivious, they're just glad they don't have to go to school again.  They are worried about you, though." My wife paused before saying, "As am I."

"I'll be fine.  Don't worry.  Today's calm, none of us will have to worry about those alien shits until at least-" a giant explosion rattled the bunker and I was flung to the opposite wall. My half-burnt communication device lay sizzling on the middle of the charred ground, with my wife's frantic voice barely audible and breaking up with static: "Hello?  Hello?  Are you okay?"

I took a brief glance at the soldier to the right of me and immediately regretted it: he was slumped over on the same wall I was flung against and every exposed part of his body was burnt and torn beyond recognition. Frightened but determined not to succumb as well, I got up and narrowly escape an oncoming blast from a hulking warship from above, its glaring lights flaring in a flamboyant way. I sneaked a shot at the opposite end to make it seem like someone there fired it. The ship swerved its turret around and fired a beam - it disintegrated most of the structures on that plot of land. By then I was running like my legs would burn off - I disappeared into the murky outlines of thick vegetation to avoid the warship.

I soon heard the ship suddenly land on top of the wreckage that was our trench bunker, and all signs of activation stopped - the lights and the constant, roaring noise of the engine ceased to be seen and heard.

Perhaps it's a ruse, I thought to myself. I lay crouched in the midst of the vegetations, my rifle poised at the defunct spacecraft. I stayed that way for thirty minutes straight, and my legs were almost numb by the time I deemed it was safe and strode out of my hiding place. Nothing happened.

I inspected the warship; my hand slid over its shiny steel frame made of some unknown substance similar to metallic minerals, and smoke was billowing out of the exhaust engines. I peeked inside the open door that led to the inside of the ship and fired three rounds. Nothing happened; the ammo simply bounced around the interior walls and a resonating sound echoed throughout.

Carefully, I walked into the inside of the warship. It was very elegant, refined, and organized for a battle craft, and I was surprised, never taking into consideration that the brutes that have been invading our home had any sense of artistic talent. The area was elongated and the seats were outstretched on the sides of the ship, with first-aid kits and gas masks in the roof cabinets and a