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Description
Tretchkan forces from the 18th National Militia Division encounter rebel insurgents in a youth re-education facility in the city of Newsburg, resulting in a massive firefight.
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"Shit, where's those fucking H5s?", the squad leader hissed loudly at his estranged radioman, as bullets whizzed around them.
"Still five minutes off, sir!", the radioman, a youngster, barely out of high school, squeaked, pressing the radio against his ear.
A rocket shell flew by, smashing into a nearby building. The rebel fire seemed to intensify.
"Sir, Armored Group Five has radioed in, they're sending a small force of Grenadiers and APCs to assist, callsign Bravo Bravo Charlie."
As the teen spoke, a massive BMP-9C smashed through the front gates, scattering a group of militia men. Several BTRs followed, ramps already descending as they screeched to a stop. Autocannons and mortars barked, smashing through rebel machinegun nests and sniper posts with the delicacy of a sledgehammer through a china shop. As the Grenadiers disembarked, several large shadows flew overhead, raining down rockets and shells. Within a few minutes, the entire facility had been leveled, and surrounding buildings had been severely damaged. As soldiers picked through the rubble for survivors, the militia were in charge of "processing" the captured. The order came down through the Grenadiers to the militia. Shoot them. A collection of ragged children and teenage girls stood, facing a wall, hands above their heads. Their sobbing and crying were as clear as day. Blood and dirty bandages covered all of the lot, and their clothes were in shambles, some were even naked. The militiamen stood in a line, about 5 feet behind, rifles against shoulders. Some looked away, some stared right through the children, some grimaced. An officer from the Grenadiers walked over with a bored expression, and with a sigh, raised his pistol to the air.
Ready!
Rifles were extended out, hands chambering the rounds.
Present!
Rifles were aimed, safeties being clicked off, and fire selectors being moved to "single".
Fire!
The pistol waved down, like the descending motion of a guillotine. Yet, nobody shot. The officer, confused, raised his pistol again with a flustered, annoyed look.
Fire!
The pistol dropped again, but nobody fired. The children flinched. The officer waved over a group of Grenadiers, hardened veterans who would obey without question. With a wave of a hand, the militiamen were executed, as the Grenadiers hosed them down with automatic fire. And, with that, the Grenadiers and all related assets were pulled out, leaving the children alone. They simply weren't worth the bullets. The executions would be labeled as accidents, the deaths of the militiamen, "friendly fire". The children would grow up and join the Democratic Republic, unaware of the militiamen. Such was life in Mariis. Such was life in hell.
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More shit for the Colonists, 's setting. yeah. Nothing more to say about that.

Description
Tretchkan forces from the 18th National Militia Division encounter rebel insurgents in a youth re-education facility in the city of Newsburg, resulting in a massive firefight.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Shit, where's those fucking H5s?", the squad leader hissed loudly at his estranged radioman, as bullets whizzed around them.
"Still five minutes off, sir!", the radioman, a youngster, barely out of high school, squeaked, pressing the radio against his ear.
A rocket shell flew by, smashing into a nearby building. The rebel fire seemed to intensify.
"Sir, Armored Group Five has radioed in, they're sending a small force of Grenadiers and APCs to assist, callsign Bravo Bravo Charlie."
As the teen spoke, a massive BMP-9C smashed through the front gates, scattering a group of militia men. Several BTRs followed, ramps already descending as they screeched to a stop. Autocannons and mortars barked, smashing through rebel machinegun nests and sniper posts with the delicacy of a sledgehammer through a china shop. As the Grenadiers disembarked, several large shadows flew overhead, raining down rockets and shells. Within a few minutes, the entire facility had been leveled, and surrounding buildings had been severely damaged. As soldiers picked through the rubble for survivors, the militia were in charge of "processing" the captured. The order came down through the Grenadiers to the militia. Shoot them. A collection of ragged children and teenage girls stood, facing a wall, hands above their heads. Their sobbing and crying were as clear as day. Blood and dirty bandages covered all of the lot, and their clothes were in shambles, some were even naked. The militiamen stood in a line, about 5 feet behind, rifles against shoulders. Some looked away, some stared right through the children, some grimaced. An officer from the Grenadiers walked over with a bored expression, and with a sigh, raised his pistol to the air.
Ready!
Rifles were extended out, hands chambering the rounds.
Present!
Rifles were aimed, safeties being clicked off, and fire selectors being moved to "single".
Fire!
The pistol waved down, like the descending motion of a guillotine. Yet, nobody shot. The officer, confused, raised his pistol again with a flustered, annoyed look.
Fire!
The pistol dropped again, but nobody fired. The children flinched. The officer waved over a group of Grenadiers, hardened veterans who would obey without question. With a wave of a hand, the militiamen were executed, as the Grenadiers hosed them down with automatic fire. And, with that, the Grenadiers and all related assets were pulled out, leaving the children alone. They simply weren't worth the bullets. The executions would be labeled as accidents, the deaths of the militiamen, "friendly fire". The children would grow up and join the Democratic Republic, unaware of the militiamen. Such was life in Mariis. Such was life in hell.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
More shit for the Colonists, 's setting. yeah. Nothing more to say about that.