A shiver took hold of Commander Chenkovs' body as he stepped out of the officers' mess and into the inhospitable climate of the Callisto surface. The winds raced in from the north lifting the dust from the surface, and swirling it around in an endless blinding vortex. He lowered the peak of his cap, and tightened his long leather coat around his body before leaving the relative safety of the doorway. A gust of dust and wind forced his face to one side revealing a long jagged scar, which scored his left cheek. It was a testament to his long career. The collective military had been his life for nearly twenty years, and his place in it was reassured by his quick thinking and proven courage under fire. He was a respected officer and men looked up to him, but he was always the reluctant hero and accepted his commendations with a great deal of modesty. It was modesty though, which always earned its possessors their fair share of enemies. Chenkov had little time for other people however and remained a man unto himself, withdrawn and lonely.
The silent man walked carefully into the storm, his demeanour less than courageous and his stoop betrayed the old soldiers weariness. He tugged his sleeve back and strained to make out the time on his wristwatch. The luminous green numbers eventually betrayed the small hour of 4:15 Thursday morning, but no matter how many times he saw this hour of the morning it always left him feeling depressed.
The visibility was almost zero but Chenkov knew exactly where he was going, but he was fifteen minutes late and his pace increased once he glanced at his watch. Eventually the claming winds, and settling dust began to unveil various building in the vicinity as well as a number of large idle tanks. He found that all around him tank crews were defying the hostile and freezing weather to inspect and repair their vehicles, and the beams from their fog lamps pierced the darkness illuminating Chenkovs path. The entire might of the collective armoured cavalry (colonial division) was arrayed in all its' glory before him for miles around, but his vision was restricted to less than one hundred yards. Chenkovs feelings on the matter were well noted by his superiors, and he felt strongly that the collective military had no place on this barren hostile Jovian moon. Its' inhabitants were harmless colonials trying to scratch out a living from the arid landscape, a landscape the collective military wanted to take from them. Unbeknownst to the colonists, beneath the surface lay priceless metal ores found nowhere else in the solar system. The collective military however had no intention of buying the land, and the colonists fearing conflict hired the mercenary might of the Europan partisan forces, and relied on the UNI-Tech corporations' interests to deter the collective military. Neither of which had any idea how important this moon was to the red flag, but both knew it meant a lot to them, and were under no circumstances willing to give even an inch their hated enemies.
No one cared what Chenkov had to say on the matter, his job was to follow orders and win battles, which he did and they humoured him for it. They allowed him to give his opinion to the campaign commander, and chief commissioner so that it would be out of his system before the campaign. They had little to no intention of even remembering what he had said to them. Colonial rights, he had mentioned over and over again. The truth of it was, they had none. There were no colonial rights, and it looked set to stay this way for the foreseeable future.
The rest of the story can be found here. (File lost, PM Garacaius on the freeinfantry.org forums if you have information)