Second Earth's neighboring star hung overhead, basking whatever sat beneath in power hungry sunlight. The occasional cloud passed by, spawning bouncy shadows onto empty plains. From behind nearby mountains around fifty land carriers ride with dust on their undersides. Each craft was massive in size, bore numerous heavy artillery, and held 100 soldiers per carrier. Inside reinforced violet colored armor their field commander shouted his orders, "Attention all personnel we're approaching enemy territory, maintain current formation until contact is made. Victory in this battle is paramount as defeat will mean the Paint Confederacy's end! In spite of advanced enemy tech we still have strength in numbers! Forward!" Unlike past battles nobody unleashes a battlecry. Neither leader or soldier resounded even one cheer. Far above multiple shadows enlarge, until suddenly huge dents are formed on each vessel's upper deck.
Far behind a rather large hovercraft lay covered by multitudes of dense flora. Amidst healthy evergreens ten units lay stationery, evidently forming a circle around their radar vehicle. "Can't believe they put the fifteenth on rear guard duty!", said a pilot from inside his craft. His in particular was bipedal, wielded large missile pods on both shoulders, had silver and brown for colors, and whose arms consisted of a single large rifle.
"After your last stunt you should be happy we haven't been executed!", said another. Her craft was quadruped, presenting heavy batteries on either shoulder, camouflage green mixed with dark brown for colors, and stood at least fifteen meters in height. Every other Marksman was a variant of these two, armed with various assorted weaponry. All present units stand ready, vigilant for any suspicious movement.
Hours pass with no alarm, forcing everyone into a respiteful state. Natural scenery passed on by chirping and crunching through grass. Soon radio music even filled once empty air. Inside the communications hovercraft crew members scramble outside shouting how enemy forces were breaking through! Sure enough five simultaneous explosions make everyone jump to attention. Dirt goes flying when each shell hits land. Without any forewarning a Marksman tanks at least two rounds. Each character ducks for their foxhole. Bright orbs fly by occasionally leaving graze marks. Both sides nearly engulf neighboring forestry in an inferno.
In lead position of Paint Confederacy soldiers, a single quadruped Marksman rushes forward. Machine gun fire cuts him apart before any decent ground is made. Despite this he successfully destroys two enemy machines. Fortunately he somehow retreats into his trench, with help from an explosion. Cockpit seals fly open, causing the pilot inside to fall onto soft earth. Upon spitting said material out, he contacts their hovercraft via portable radio.
"Hey Synthia what happened to our advancing unit?!", he shouted.
"We'd have ended radio silence by now! Safe to assume we're alone in this fight.", she mentions the latter half rather melancholic. Despite not seeing her face, the soldier could tell she was regreting being here.
"Any spares below?"
"No we don't have-wha-no absolutely not it's broken remember?!", she yells at someone out of hearing range.
"I'll take whatever I can get!" Upon making that statement he runs from out underneath stray grenades. From there he doesn't stop even after reaching the huge satellite.
"...We have one, that broken mech we picked up awhile back." Both hangar doors opened, slowly revealing previously hidden equipment. There faded white armor no taller than fifteen meters lay still, it's skull broken in half. In spite of this detail he still initiates power flow. During his start up movements outer forces cause quakes within. The hangar doors remained open enough for a shell to detonate inside. More rounds are exchanged before observations are immediately made obvious.
"Where are you moving us?! Weren't our orders to hold position?!", he asks.
"As if we have anyone in charge anymore! Rest of our company is dead or missing, all we can do is retreat and hopefully reach HQ.", she responds. With each strike the environment is altered from crossfire. It looks as though only communication's escaped, as only it and two particular Marksmen remained. At some point in time firefights cease. Everybody that was still alive kept running, not wanting to risk it being a trick.
Light suddenly envelopes the entire scene. All survivors pick up their pace, back through a pass between numerous mountains. From behind an unknown force nearly lifts everyone into the air. With panic worn into their faces, every man and woman notices an ocean just beyond the forest. Perhaps forcefully over willingly they land into seawater. Up top a rumbling similar to how bombs sound when they detonate is heard. Whatever time was left before falling unconcious is spent wondering how things went so wrong.