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the sandbag barricades that shielded the leader from a front assault.
    Let's dominate, Bellrock thought.
    That's how it was supposed to be, like back in the Separatist War. 
    The Newtype leader, still wincing behind his sandbagged castle of defense, whined.
    It was the only thing he could do at this point. He sounded like a teenage girl stuck in an endless loop of her periods. 
    "Hey man, did you just listen to what I say? I give up."
    He doubled his volume and sounded twice as pathetic. 
    "I. Give. Up."
    22.3 meters away from the freak, Bellrock shook his head in disgust. 
    No honor, no will to fight.
    Pathetic to the P.
    "Don't care."
    Never did.
    Bellrock watched his team on the left and the one on the right flanking the leader with precise shots. 
    Volleys for the loser.
    Too bad Bellrock wasn't the one who unleashed the goodness.
    With the leader taken down, Bellrock's team cheered and stretched their arms up high. The defenders of Earth roared like lions in shiny armor. They carried boundless energy to take on the universe, and then some. 
    Just like in the old days.
    Oh, those terrible and exciting old days. 
    Even today's win wasn't going to bring them back.
    Nothing could.
    Shame, but hey, the war moved on.
    Just on different fronts.
    Bellrock marched toward the sandbag barricades and bent over them. Saw the leader cringing on the ground, throwing him a stare full of hurt. 
    "Sucks to be you," Bellrock said with the deepest voice imaginable.
    The guy on the ground winced more, if that was even possible.
    "Next time, you're playing Newtype."

13
     
    Bellrock helped the 'dead' Newtype leader back up.
    The victim's real name: Todd K. Philips. 
    Every single killed soldier, both on the Newtype and the Earth Defense front, arose from their graveyard and joined Bellrock standing next to the sandbags. The Earth-Team grinned, the Newtype looked a bit...beaten.
    Shame and perma-losses tanked morale. 
    One of them said,
    "How do you do it, Bellrock? Coming in like Rambo and mowing us down like puppets."
    "I just picture your mother and get into it."
    Most of the men laughed, except for the offended one. 
    "Very funny. But Todd is right, next time we're going to be Team Earth. Always playing the Newtards hurts our morale, heck, it's probably the reason why we keep losing."
    Bellrock spat next to his boots.
    "Complaining, loser boy, is not a strategy. Work on your team communication, spend more time on urban tactics and for God's sake, go to the gym once in a while. You look like a bulimic skeleton."
    More laughter from the group, which made poor Kim slump his shoulders even more.
    Bellrock felt sorry and gave him a bro-hug.
    "It's all good. There's no shame in losing against the best. Tell you what—first round at Beer Valley's goes on me."
    The men cheered.
    Frustration vaporized in a snap.
    "Now take a shower. Y'all smell like rat burgers."
    The men nodded and spread out, talked about today's match and high-fived each other. No matter how hardcore every shooting session got, they still remained team mates afterwards. 
    The bond from the Separatist War days still glued them together. Like chains made of titanium steel, oiled by loyalty and patriotism.
    Bellrock watched his mates hit the lockers when the hall owner's scratchy voice sounded from behind.
    "Bellrock, someone wants to speak to you."
    "Not now, man. I'm sweaty and tired. Tell the person to wait, unless she's a sex goddess from Venus. Then I’ll be there in a sec.”
    The owner tilted his head and smiled. 
    "It's the Secretary of Space Defense."

14
     
    Bellrock thought the owner cracked another one of his lame-ass jokes. But walking up to the window-framed doors, he saw the big guy standing outside, dressed in fancy pants and jacket, grinning his winning smile. It was unbelievable to say the least, but miracles did happen.
    Even in Dallas.
    Bellrock opened the door and stepped outside with his arms stretched. The hot Texan sun blinded his eyes, so he