In your bunk with the alarm jarring everyone awake.

It's probably just a drill. You think to yourself as you pull on your combat gear and jog out to the main field with the rest of your company.

You've been in the Martian quarter of the Queen's armada for most of your time here. You're pretty familiar with the routine but something seems off.

You get your answer via the explosions when you make it to the field.

Oh poop.