Talen paused to grab Marn's arm as the corporal stumbled, his booted feet sinking into the loose sand of beach, the weighty pack on his back affecting his balance as he stumbled towards the dubious cover offered by the dunes in front of them.

"Come on, quickly, we're almost to cover," Talen shouted, the constant noise of the steampaddle landing craft almost drowning out their stilted conversation.

"Th... thanks," said Marn, panting heavily as the two threw themselves into the cover of an overhanging grassy bank.

Ignoring his colleague momentarily, Talen lifted his periscopic spyglass, cautiously poking one end above the dune they sheltered behind, the prisms positioned to allow him to keep his head below the crest of the dune whilst still showing him what was on the other side.

He adjusted the focus and then swore softly. Grabbing Marn, who lay on his back panting, he bodily flipped him over to get to the heavy radio strapped to his back. Ignoring the smaller man's protests, he operated the mechanism to power up the radio, the small internal kettle bubbling happily in contrast to his mood, occasionally emitting tiny vents of steam as the dynamos spun and the radio's display lit up.

Lifting the receiver, he looked skywards to the great floating city and his commanders and spoke urgently into the microphone.

"Blue leader to Pirate base, Blue leader to Pirates, come in please. Over."

"Receiving. Over."

"Urgent. Using my signal as a guide, aim three hundred yards past my current position. Immediate Skyfall required. Please acknowledge. Over."

"Roger that, over and out."

As Talen finished his transmission, a spluttering Marn realised the implication of the order and his eyes opened wide in terror.

"They're just over the dunes?" he whispered, dreading the answer.

Talen nodded mutely, and then looked back over his shoulder at the squadron of black planes that dropped from the sky city, rapidly descending on them from above in what the pilots called a skyfall. The planes were released vertically from clamps located around lower section of the outside of the steely city walls, dropping in free fall and only controlled when the planes built up enough speed for their ailerons to work properly: the 'Ravens of Death' as they styled themselves, screaming hell from above and delivering death on earth. He marveled at their grace and control, the ethereal white vapour trails contrasting starkly with the black paint and ominous skull and crossbones on their raven wings.

The city had drawn closer since the soldiers had established their beachhead to allow the observers with their powerful telescopes and binoculars to assess the battlegrounds and plan the initial movements, in this instance directing the planes to the target that they could see more clearly than Talen hidden behind his dune below. Several blimps had detached from the city and hung motionless high above the dunes and ice tipped rocks beyond, occasional exploratory tracer fire from Trog bunkers deep in the mountains arcing out toward them but falling short due to their altitude.

He bellowed back over his shoulder at the other troops who were struggling up the dunes from the landing craft that lay beached behind them.

"Incoming. Take cover!"

Hundreds of men hit the sand or tumbled into the sharp grass, ignoring the cuts and discomfort in anticipation of what was about to land close by.

"This is Raven leader." The radio crackled into life as Marn lay face down in the sand, his hands already covering his ears as the small speaker tinnily shouted to the uncaring sky, "skyfall in progress, take cover. Over."

Seconds later, explosions ripped apart the ground immediately north of their position, a blast of rank air and noise buffeting those who lay on the ground, their arms pressed tightly over their heads as sand, earth and worse pattered down around them.

As the last of the explosions ceased, screams and shouts took over. Talen lifted his head from the sand and looked back to the beach. Landing craft were still coming up onto the sand and shingle, their stacks billowing out steam from the funnels that drove the paddles, the gears changing to power the tracks that lay beneath the waterline as they bumped the shore. The landing ramps thudded into the ground, anchoring the craft, and he smiled and patted Marn on the shoulder.

"Look."

He gestured toward the landing craft as a ragged and relieved sounding cheer went up from the men huddled in the dunes.

The Wheels had arrived. As a squad of engineers swiftly spread rush matting on the looser sections of sand, a platoon of the wheeled warriors locked their wheels to step almost daintily off the craft onto the shore, then sped up the mats to the firmer ground inland, where the rock began to protrude through the sand, rising to the snow capped peaks beyond.

The cries of the injured and dying on the other side of the dune were quickly joined by the harsh sound of battle as the Wheels joined in. They were swift, powerful and brutal. Small reservoirs of water carried low on the legs aided their low centre of gravity; high pressure steam systems carrying the power to wheeled feet, saw edged limbs and other weaponry fixed to their arms. They were a shock weapon, one designed to quickly demoralise the enemy and from what Talen and Marn could hear, it was working all too well. Controlled from high above by radio signal, each was painted with a brightly visible number on the back to allow the distant controllers to maintain useful contact.

"Come in Blue team, Captain Talen, please respond. Over." The radio crackled into life, and Marn wordlessly passed Talen the receiver.

"Talen," he replied abruptly.

"Captain, your orders are as follows, allow the Wheels maximum time to deploy and decimate the enemy. Once they have run out of steam, take your men and secure the underground complex to your immediate west. Red team will go in before you. Once they are in place and have secured the entrance; your team will move in and capture the rest of the complex, reinforcements are available if required. We have intelligence that suggests a new weapon is being developed here, you will capture it and secure the area."

"Yessir," replied Talen automatically, mentally questioning the phrase 'we have intelligence' as he did so.

"You have your orders Captain, good luck. Command out."

"We seem to have a few minutes," he said to Marn. "Red team are up first."

"Oh, thank smeg for that," muttered Marn leaning back into the sand and breaking out some rations from his pack, offering a wafer to his friend and commander which was declined as Talen moved away to chat to the other men under his command.

As Talen walked around the others in the unit, speaking to a few men here and there and relaying the recent orders, Marn looked skywards, marveling as he always did at the clouds and then at the city of his birth. It hung unmoving at present, the vast hydrogen balloons supporting the city below. His favorite place as a child was sitting on top of the balloons after having climbed the metal ropes that formed the giant containment nets. Up there, he was king of the clouds, ruler of the fluffy white vapours that gave the pirate cities life. The cloud scoop was mostly hidden around the far side of the city at present, but he remembered it fondly from his childhood, always being chased away by the cloud techs for sliding down the scoop with his friends, and spending many hours from his balloon top eyrie, watching as it sucked in the water vapour, condensing the water that streamed onwards into the processing labs. It was used to make steam that powered the massive engines, but was also split into hydrogen for fuel and lift, and into oxygen to allow them to stay at massive altitude far away from the weapons and prying eyes of the Troglodytes below.

They had been fighting for far too long he thought to himself, both sides racing to make more efficient weapons and machines that could fight for them, the steam technology growing progressively more advanced and, in the case of the Wheels, far more terrifying. The distant sound of gunfire drifted across the beach, mournful cries of a few gulls reminding them that some life still existed in the blasted lands that surrounded them.

As the war progressed, the Trogs had retreated deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth and, up until recently, had controlled much of the land and majority of the seas. Finally though, the balance of power had shifted. Carpet bombing and lightening fast skyfalls had reduced the Trogs to their deep caverns and mountain fastnesses. More recently still, the Pirates had captured a port and now used the ships to transport their foot soldiers to the last bastion of the Trogs' defensive network, deep within the icy strongholds of ice and rock near the south pole. The end was in sight perhaps, but there was going to be the mother of all battles first.

As if to add credence to his recent mental observation, there was a grinding metallic crash and his head whipped around to seek out the source of the sound. Out in the sea beyond the landing craft the massive steam driven paddle steamer, that had ferried many of the soldiers to the godforsaken and frozen piece of coast where they now rested, was under attack from beneath the waves.

He and the other soldiers watched in awestruck horror as the metal Leviathan lifted itself from the sea. Its iron tentacles wrapping around the core of the ship before beginning to tighten, the huge steam engines inside the hull of the vast iron squid sending superheated steam venting into the chill morning air as it constricted fatally on the crippled ship. Smaller vessels quickly closed on the titan and bullets pinged and clattered on its hull until the heavy guns were brought to bear.

Mere moments later the ship was gone, foundered and lost: so much for the reinforcements.

Too late the pilot of the giant squid realised his peril, the smaller steam paddle cruisers closing in quickly to wreak their revenge, shells ripping into the massive body as tentacles thrashed at the churning wheels of the more agile steam cruisers. A muffled 'whump' sound, following by a wave of roiling flame presaged its doom as a well placed shell caught the magazine, and the giant metallic cephalopod disappeared beneath the waves once more with deathly finality.

Marn shuddered, chilled by the suddenness of the attack and the realisation that scant minutes before he had been on that ship waiting to storm the beach. He hadn't seen a Leviathan for years and had thought them all gone. Perhaps that was the final one, he mused to himself, a last ditch effort by the Trogs to fight back from beneath the waves.

Turning his attention back to the dunes, he lifted his commanding officer's periscope and peered over the top of the dune at the ongoing battle between the Trog warriors and the Wheels. The attack that had followed immediately on from the precision bombing run had decimated the remaining ranks of the Trogs who had been heading toward their position, even the presence of an occasional heavily armoured vehicle hadn't arrested the progress of the Wheels and he watched as the last Trog tank was blown apart by a bazooka toting Wheel, the last shell from the tank simultaneously blowing the Wheel apart in shards of red hot shrapnel, causing him to duck behind his silicate cover as the Wheel died with a sigh of venting steam.

As he raised his head again, the cries of pain from the few remaining fallen drifted toward them limply on the hesitant wind and the Red team swiftly deployed to continue the attack, mopping up the few remaining souls who resisted. Eventually, all was still and the Wheels lost power, ceasing all movement, unmoving sentinels to the bravery and futility of the Trog defence who had tried so desperately to resist their advance.

"We're almost there Corporal." Talen's soft voice made Marn jump, so focused had he been on the small window of view and the destruction that lay in bloody panoply before him.

"We can but hope, sir," he replied, his hammering heart calming from the shock as he passed the 'scope to his officer. Talen looked over the dune and, as he stowed the periscope in his pack, shook his head ruefully.

"Such a waste," he whispered.

As the Reds moved in, the Blue squad moved to the top of the dunes to offer covering support, watching as the other infantrymen swarmed toward the dark opening in the ground that Intelligence told them led to the greatest and last of the subterranean Trog cities.

"Rather them then us," muttered Marn darkly. "I hate fighting underground, it just ain't natural. Too many dark little corners filled with dark little surprises."

"Aye, but we'll have to go in soon; hopefully the Reds won't meet too much resistance."

They turned as one of the soldiers in the squad shouted, pointing up at the sky behind them. Another of the vast floating cities had moved into position just out of range of the Trog's ballistic weaponry, small planes appearing to buzz like wasps around a nest, their white vapour trails cocooning the city in a web of silk tracery.

"Looks like the Pirate Council want everyone to see the triumphal victory," said Marn bitterly.

"Let's hope they're right, then we can have a lot to drink tonight in the Sunset Bar and you can make another clumsy pass at that rather attractive barmaid."

Marn grinned, his mood lightening momentarily, and then froze as the order to advance came over the radio, the tinny voice from the small speaker ruining the moment.

"Okay gentlemen," Talen called, raising his voice to carry over the dunes to his men. "We're up. Fix bayonets, and on my mark, advance at a slow walk, we're to follow the Reds in."

He watched his men intently, and then when they appeared ready, he spoke anew.

"Move out!"

They walked toward the nearest of the timber framed openings, his two lieutenants and their squads leading the way, allowing him to linger behind briefly with Marn and note their last position and intent to Sky Command. Once he had relayed their position, he carefully shut down the radio and covered it before unholstering his pistol and withdrawing his bayonet from the sheath in his boot. It wasn't normal for an officer to carry a blade, but it had saved his life before and he wasn't about to stop carrying one now.

"Okay Marn, let's go," he said softly. "Let's hope this is the last time eh?"

They took only one step before halting abruptly as an eerie green glow lit the mouth of the tunnel ahead of them. A heartbeat later, screams were heard and then there was silence, stygian dark once more filling the timber framed maw that lay before them with liquid night.

Reacting to the light and sound, the advancing troops immediately went on the defense, the front rank sinking to one knee and presenting their rifles, the rear standing ready to offer a second volley should one be required.

The men waited, their ranks hushed with nervous expectation. As they watched, a shadow detached from the darkness, quickly gaining form and then clarity as a single shining figure stepped into the light of day. It strode purposefully on for a few more paces to clear the tunnel entrance and then halted, glistening metallically in the pale light, a gold pistol held in one gloved hand, a shining sword in the other. There was no movement as the attackers studied the metal form in front of them. Darkened glass hid its eyes, metal and chain protected its limbs. Unmoving, it looked at them with inky gaze, the sun reflecting from its polished form, a statue to the fallen that surrounded it.

A young rifleman broke the deadlock. Losing his private battle with nerves, his finger tightened on the trigger, the hammer fell and the gunpowder charge fired, propelling the bullet down the spiral grooved barrel of the gun to clang harmlessly off the metallic figure before ricocheting off with an angry buzz over their heads.

The reaction was almost instant.

The golden pistol swung round to bear on the terrified private and, as his colleagues watched in helpless fascination, another trigger was pulled. A short pulse of green light pulsed from the gun, passing through his opponent's open mouth, the body of the soldier who stood behind him, then on into the sands of the dunes, leaving only a glassy residue and a screaming soldier who writhed in agony next to his dead comrade.

"Oh smeg," whispered Marn, unable to move or tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of them.

A lieutenant commanding one half of the troops was the first to react.

"Fire!" he screamed, his voice cracking with fear and emotion.

A rippling roar of thunder moved along the kneeling ranks of soldiers, a sound that presaged doom to all that tried to stand in its way and, as the smoke cleared, there was a cheer as the prone form of the silver warrior was revealed at the tunnel entrance; a cheer that faded as quickly as the sound from the rifles, dying in faltering horror as the silvery warrior slowly and surely raised himself back to a standing position.

With deliberate slowness, the golden pistol was placed back in its holster and then, grasping the hilt of the sword in both hands, the metal warrior tilted back its head and emitted a shriek of blood curdling power to the skies above before launching itself towards the soldiers nearest to it at a dead run.

It seemed to almost glide across the sand, the speed at which it closed the distance belying the apparent weight of its armour, the sword lit with the same eerie green glow that had bathed the interior of the tunnel but moments before. A few sporadic shots clanged from the armour and then it was on them, hacking at limbs and torsos, ripping life from the retreating soldiers directly in front of it, causing a rout that turned to panicked flight as Talen grabbed for the radio on Marn's back.

"Oh smeg," whispered Marn again before lifting his own rifle to his shoulder and preparing to defend his Captain, who quickly shunted the radio back into life and barked a stream of information and invective into the microphone.

As the handset clattered back into the holder, Talen joined him, his gun back in his hand, his face bleak.

"Look," he whispered hoarsely, his arm pointing to the mouth of the tunnel.

Three abreast, the shining silver and gold Troglodyte infantry marched out into the morning sun, oblivious to the screams of the dying Pirates and few remaining Trogs around them. A unit of twenty‑one of them halted in perfect rank, turned as one and lifted their golden guns to the sky. Three ranks of identical green energy shot skywards, the nearest of the silver sky cities lurching fatally as the bolts struck, before exploding in a mushroom cloud of destruction as the massive steam engines were consumed by the hydrogen fireballs of the balloons that once supported them. They turned and shot again, and another thousand people were consigned to death, the twin cities plunging with almost balletic slow motion to the ground in a screaming torture of metallic doom.

"What the hell are they?" said Marn, tears streaming down his face.

"They are the future," Talen whispered as twenty-one guns turned to bear on them.

"A future that doesn't include us..."