To those who lived in the Koprulu, war was nothing new. Psychologists argued it was human nature, leaders argued for new world policies, and the comman man was getting sick of war. This particular civil matter happened to take place on the planet Braxis, a cold fringe world on the galactic rim. It involved the Confederate forces and the Union forces, two separate clans with two completely separate doctrines.

Union forces huddled together in the trenches on one side of the ice fields. The cold had become so unbearable that even their suits began to freeze. Often times small gunfights would ensue with enemy forces, only to find that the triggers to their rifles were frozen. It is safe to say that the party with the most working guns usually won the battle. Though casualties skyrocketed because of Medieval tactics, both parties ordered soldiers to try to knock the enemy out. Needless to say, this did not really work out for either side.

To the north of where the Union forces held their position, was a huge ice field. Some parts of the ice were weaker than other parts and often times marines would fall through. Of course, because their armor was so heavy, they'd just sink like boulders.

On the other side of the fields is where the Confederates made their camps. Things were not so much better off for the Confederates. In addition to the crap weather, their camps were situated directly underneath a mountain range. A mountain range that, as bad luck goes, was prone to constant avalanches. For the first couple of days, marines were frequently buried alive under snow. The others would try to dig them out, but no one wanted cold hands. They needed warm hands to push the triggers on their guns, even though it was apparent that there was only a fifty percent chance that gun would actually fire. On a happier note, rarely marines that had been buried were saved through methods involving urine.

Both sides had sieged tanks in order to try to shell the enemy. This worked badly for both groups. It seemed the genius who had designed the Union tank forgot to install a heating system and eventually the tanks froze up. The tanks couldn't operate frozen so the captains hatched an ingenius idea. They decided to use body heat to their advantage. By huddling together around the siege tank, it was enough to keep the siege tank warm enough to operate. Soldiers eventually grew sick of this and told the captains to 'fuck themselves'. Now it just so happened that the captains did not want to fuck themselves and eventually scrapped the use of siege tanks. For the Confederates the use of siege tanks was a whole other story. The deafening sound of the blast would cause avalanches. The soldiers did not want to get buried under snow, so they told the captains to go 'fuck themselves'. Now it just so happened that the captains did not want to fuck themselves and eventually scrapped the use of tanks.

A battle that should have involved a lot of technological units soon became a battle of who had the most marines (or who had the most working guns). Why is that? Using flamethrowers was suicide. Ghosts did not particular come in handy either. Unless they were sniping at a long range, reconaissance was not good. Although the ghosts had the inept ability to cloak, they often left prints in the snow. Goliath combat walkers were too heavy and vulture hover bikes either froze in the cold or were blown completely off course. Or sunk. Neither side had any useful air support so this soon became a battle of man versus man.

Both sides were refused backup, probably because the battle on the ice field was costing so much, when it should have been over already. So it became almost like a World War 1.5. Mostly all they did was huddle in trenches and sometimes they would make an attack.

"I can see those bastards from here, sir," said a ghost over the radio from his position on a hillside.

"What are they doing?" came the captain's reply. "Are they gearing up?"

"No... They're... dancing?"

"What? Is this some sort of joke?"

"No, no, I swear it, sir. They're dancing to keep warm. My God. Sir, if you could see this, you'd probably shit your pants laughing."

The captain sighed, "Just shut up and report back to me when you see something worthwhile--"

"Wait captain! I've spotted their leaders, they've just stepped inside a tent."

"You know, Rob," the captain said in an obvious sort of tone, "you COULD try to snipe them."

"The gun's frozen sir."

"I see," the captain said, shortly.

"I've sat on it for hours and it's making my ass cold. I've even rubbed it up and down hoping to warm it up, like I do to my--"

"Enough!" the captain didn't have to yell, but he nearly did. "I don't want to hear about it, soldier. I only want to hear the good stuff. What else do you see?"

"Sir, if we could shell the right spots, we could cause a major avalanche."

"I'm not prepared to have my soldiers huddle around siege tanks like little gay men again just to fire off a couple of shells. There'll be anarchy."

"I understand, sir. I'll get back to you when I see something important."

Captain Jack logged off the radio and sat down in the trench. He slowly put a cigarette into his mouth and lit it up. It seemed to warm up his entire body, but the feeling was gone in a second. His radio buzzed again.

"Yes, Rob? What is it?" he answered, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, like he was some sort of gangster.

"They've moved some men to the front. They could be attacking."

The cigarette fell out of Jack's mouth as he stood up. "Are you positive?"

"One of their captains has come out. Good thing I'm an expert lip reader. I know exactly what they'll be saying. Aaaand... Oh fucking hell, he's got his back turned on me. Wait, he's turning around, and... Well ain't that funny, he's looking exactly in my direction."

"Did he spot you?" asked the captain, almost worriedly.

"No, sir, I got myself well camoflauged."

The ghost kept on spying through the highpowered lenses. "He's pointing at something in my direction... I'd turn around and try to see what he's pointing at, sir, but I'd miss what he's saying."

"Well what's happening now?"

"He's saying, 'Kill that fucking bastard ghost up there now'," Rob said. "I wonder what bastard ghost he's talking about. There ain't no one here but me..."

The radio suddenly went dead. All the captain heard was the sound of popping flesh and a groan. It meant one thing... Rob was dead, a literal Ghost.

"See fellas, that's NOT what a proper ghost operative does, y'understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now I've assembled you here as the twenty-first assault squad. You're going to be attacking across ice field here and kill as many of them Union bastards as y'can, y'understand?"

"Sir?"

"Yes Private Lenny?"

"Isn't this suicide?"

"No, Lenny, it's dying for a good cause."

"Well I think it's suicide sir. Don't you learn from your mistakes sir?"

"Mistakes, I ain't make no mistakes!" the captain yelled, the big ego.

"You sent in twenty groups of soldiers in before us and they've all died. I doubt any of them made it past the ice field anyway. If it didn't work the first twenty times, what makes you think it's going to work the twenty first time?"

The optimistic captain replied, "If at first y'don't succeed, try, try, try again."

"Yes, captain, try to succeed! Not fail!"

"Private, are you going to go against your captain's wishes?"

"I sure as hell will if the captain's wishes is for me to die for nothing!"

"Then I have no choice. Those who go against the captain's orders, must be annihilated."

He grabbed his gun and aimed it at Lenny. He held down the trigger and... Nothing.

"What the fucking hell?" the captain exclaimed. "Why ain't this shit working? Oh god dammit, Lenny, just forget about the whole killing you thing! Now attack!"

None of them moved.

"I said attack! Are all of you going against your captain's orders?"

There was no reply. "God dammit! Get me a working gun! Get me a working gun!" And the captain stormed off to find a gun that worked.

"Well you knew the time would come to this," Jack said, pacing in front of the marines, "if you didn't know you wouldn't have signed up for the army in the first place, would you have?"

"Sir, a comment to make, sir!"

"Permission granted."

"None of us signed up for this, sir. It was conscription, sir."

There was an awkward silence before captain spoke, "Forget about that private. Right now it is time to remember what our purpose here is. We know our purpose. To better the ideals of our fellow man. To find a pursuit of happiness. To fight to ensure that one day we will be sitting in our homes with no enemies sipping tea..." He paused for a moment.

"Scratch that... We fight to ensure that one day we will be sitting in hospitals being fed through tubes..." He paused again.

"Scratch that too... We fight to ensure that one day we will be remembered as people who effortlessly and needlessly gave their lives for a war that had no purpose. Some of you will die... Many of you will die... Fuck, all of you are going to get fucked over in the ass pretty badly, but you have to remember that you died without a cause, you died to protect nothing, you died because you were forced here and you forced to fight. But most importantly, you died because most of you thought we were going for ice cream and did not mean it this literally. Well let me tell you something, you were all screwed, and now you will all die. Do not blame me, it is not my doing, it is the fault of those higher up. You could lodge a complaint but I doubt there's any time to do so. Any last requests may kindly be ignored. You may go and may you all rest in peace or pieces or both... And one other thing... I would say good luck to you all but there's really no point. You're going to get your nails plucked out, and your ears fucked, and your nostrils stretched, and your feet decapitated and your hands twisted and your penis cut and your ass raped..."

Ten seconds later...

"So Jack, what happened to Brigade 1? Did they make it?"

"No, they all committed suicide after being faced with the impossible task of fighting a battle. Fuck, I didn't even tell them the bad part about how they probably weren't even going to get to the other side of the fields."

"Well you know what they say, if at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again."

"Maybe we should try to plan a successful offensive this time Jack?"

"You're right Jeremy..."

"Sir," a ghost by the name of Buzz said over the radio in urgency. "There's a horde of infantry approaching our location."

"How the fuck did they get past the fields in such large numbers!"

"Dunno Captain Zader, but they're closing in quite fast. My guess is that they'll be here in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes? What the fuck were you doing that you didn't spot them earlier?"

"I thought I saw a naked lady, but I was dreaming."

"You fucking dumbass, how are we going to fight these bastards back?"

"Tsk, tsk, captain, wasting time yelling at a lower ranking officer when you should gear up. Bad form, bad form, you know?"

The captain threw down his radio and began to alert his marines. The Confederates needed all the time they had to get ready for this skirmish. He still couldn't believe they had managed to cross the fields. It looked like this might be the first successful attack in the battle.

"Sir what exactly is there to setup?"

"What?" the captain asked, almost dumbfounded.

"I mean, we have no tech units, all we have are marine standard issue Gauss Rifles, seventy percent of which don't work. I don't really understand how we can get ready for this battle. I think we ought to just charge them and fight, medieval style."

"No time to speak!" said another marine running past them. "They're here!"

A couple of guns began firing, as the rest of the marines quickly began the grueling task of trying to knock the opponents out.

Captain Heiman, of the Confederate forces, clicked the trigger to his gun, only to find it frozen. He cursed that he was a captain without a gun and quickly joined the fray. It was times like this it was best the marines knew decent kung fu. And some of them did. For over ten minutes there was constant jabbing, eye gouging, shin cracking, leg breaking, skull fucking, joint plucking, rib crushing, heart stopping, lung decapitating, etc, kung fu action. Of course, even these so called 'masters' had no chance against the bullets of a gun and were soon quickly mowed down.

The first successful attack had ultimately failed. Union forces were slaughtered, even though they left maby Confederates wounded. On a better note for the Union, and a not so good note for the Confederates, an avalanche struck just after the assault had taken place, burying many survivors of the battle.

And the war would continue...