The sun was almost starting to rise. The predawn twilight was a thing of beauty to behold, unseen by human eyes since the dawn of time. Crystalline peaks sparkled in iridescent hues of unimaginable brilliance. The lowland valleys began to emit an eerie and relaxing resonance once the sunlight warmed them up. The atmosphere glowed a tranquil purple fading to inky indigo and finally a verdant green before reversing itself when the sun began it's descent.
All of this alien beauty awed the rookies their first weeks based here. It had awed him too, for a time. But no longer. Now it only filled him with disgust. The sparkling iridescent towers of crystal hurt his eyes, even through his filtered visor. The haunting melody of the valleys grated on his nerves like some ghostly baby's cry. The glow of the green sky made his stomach upend and threaten to spill its contents into his helmet whenever he looked up.
Four consecutive tours of duty had brought these feelings up in him. He was sick of this place. Sick of the war. Sick of the military. He had tried to request reassignment, but he was unlucky enough to not have been majorally injured and to pass all the psych tests. The upper brass had a shortage of men and he was fit and able enough that they saw no need to honor his requests.
“You're a soldier, son. Your job is to go where you're told and do what you're told. You signed up for this shit and your ass is mine until you die or this war ends. Now, get outta my office and shut up about this reassignment crap.”
That last rebuke from his commander stayed under his skin. He had signed up, but that was years ago. Before the war began. He was just tired of wandering and wanted three hot meals a day. He wasn't the type of man to linger on his mistakes or regrets but drawing a month of solitary night watch was enough. It was time he got off this rock one way or another.
He brought up the internal HUD of his powersuit. Ten minutes until the rendezvous.
The rest of the base was asleep. No one complained when he left his post. No one even knew. The dull heavy thuds of his armored boots where the only sound in the entire world as he walked to the far end of the base.
Contacting the other side had been surprisingly easy. The comm techs were all green, had only been out of basic a few weeks at most. Enough time to grow complacent and bored by the lack of action on this moon. Enough time for them to grow sloppy.
A stalemate had blanketed the war. Neither side could gain an advantage without serious injury to themselves. And so both sides had grown quiet. The only fighting was in border skirmishers and isolated small firefights. Months of boredom only made his job at contacting the enemy easier. Everyone's guard was down. They did not expect an open attack from the enemy, let alone an attack from the inside.
Convincing the other side that his offer was legit was more difficult than finding them. At first his messages where ignored as a hoax or some perverse grunt's attempt at humor. But after a time they came around. His offer was just too good. He had given them transmission codes, sensor frequencies. He had given them everything they needed to avoid detection and to spy unhindered on the outpost.
He stopped momentarily as he passed the barracks. Once he would have called those sleeping inside his comrades. Now, it was better to not think of them at all he told himself. He was committed. Freedom was calling and he was determined to pay any price. He had tried everything he could think of and had failed. He was still here, still guarding an outpost, fighting in a war for reasons he did not even understand.
The blast doors were barred. They always were at this time. They only ever opened for patrols and scouts and even those were growing rarer.
He punched in a code on a nearby console. The sound was jarring, but only for an instant. He did not allow the doors to fully open, just enough so that he and the bulk of his suit could squeeze through.
His suit was the one thing he still found some semblance of enjoyment and pride in. It was 200lbs of hardened armor, life support, sensor, and weapon systems wrapped around him like a second skin. An intricate system of hydraulics and servos responded to the slightest movements of his body allowing him to move the extra burden with ease.
Power armor was seen as basic equipment for all infantry and was one of the main recruitment tools used by the Defense Force. Join up and become as strong as a Titan! the slogan and ads shouted back home. The bullied and the weak rolled in the recruitment offices at the thought of instantly being able to get in a power suit and spin cars above their heads. Everyone was a superhero in the Defense Force.
The truth of the matter was that only those on the frontlines or in hostile atmospheres incapable of supporting human life were issued suits. Even then it took weeks of disorienting and demanding training before you could walk, let alone fight, in the suits. As they always did, the ads never told the whole truth.
Leaving the blast doors still partially open he walked the short distance to the meeting place. With the enemy transmitting the sensor codes he had given them they were only visible to the naked eye. This spot had been intentionally picked for the crystalline outcroppings to block line of sight from all observers in the base. Not that there would be any. The watchman had left his post.
He stopped walking, flipped on his external speaker and spoke the code word. Soundlessly eight of the enemy materialized out of the surroundings.
He couldn't see their faces through their tinted visors but somehow he knew they were all sneering at him. Laughing almost.
“It's done. The base is open and defenseless. My part is over.”
The enemy just stared at him blankly. The silence lengthen to the point of being uncomfortable. Sweat began to bead and dot his forehead. A sickening fear began to constrict his throat. For the first time since he had started wearing the thing he felt trapped and restrained by his armor.
The enemy all moved in closer around him. No words, only expressionless bodies of moving metal amassing around him.
“I don't care what you do to the base, but my part is done.” The fear was tighter now. He mustered what courage he could, “I want what was offered me. Safe passage to a transport of my own and an escort to the jump gate out of this system.”
No reply, only more stares from expressionless suits of armor.
Sighing, he said at length, “Let's not make this harder than it needs to be.” This was not going as he envisioned it would. What had he really expected though? What had he done?
The impact of the blow brought him to his knees and severed the hydraulics of his suit. He had not be paying attention and his defenses were nonexistent. He reeled around to see one of the enemy behind him. His helmet bobbed in what could only be laughter.
The blow had been precise. Designed to keep the user of the suit alive but to cut all power to the motors and servos that controlled the suit. Without those the armor would soon lock up and become a solid mass of dead weight. He tried to stand but his leg muscles would not respond, could not move the entire mass of the suit to straighten themselves. He turned his head to look at what he thought was the commander of the enemy squad. Trying to plead with him.
“Traitors are not to be trusted. Who is to say you won’t turn on us when you get the chance? No, your reward will be watching what you helped create.” The commander shook his head. “You have my thanks, though.”
He heard the sneer in the voice and thought he could see a wicked grin through the tinted viewing port of the commander's helmet.
The enemy left their speakers on while they called in the orbital strike. He had given them all they needed to target and destroy the outpost from the air. The base would only now be waking up and realizing their defensive grid was offline and they were completely exposed. It was too late for them to do anything. The strike was already launched.
Crimson streaked the sky and pierced through the purple dawn. Cheers went up from the enemy but they were soon drown out by the screeching sounds of metal being torn from it's foundations and falling back to the ground. Another volley left only a smoking ruin where the outpost had once been.
The weight of the suit was immense and he was finding it difficult to breath. He was trapped and confined in what he once thought of as an extension of himself.
Forgetting the immobilized traitor the enemy turned to go inspect the ruin of the outpost, perhaps they might find something useful in the wreck. They would leave him there to be crushed or to starve in his own armor. It did not matter which. Either way the traitor would die an agonizing death.
It wasn't supposed to be this way, he thought. Not like this.
Blind fury surged through him. He did not care that all his comrades were dead or dieing. He did not care that he was trapped and would die himself. He only wanted revenge on those that betrayed him.
With a massive surge of strength he forced the arm of his suit to bend enough so that he could grab his pistol and aimed with all his might at the backs of those that were walking away from him, toward what little remained of his old home.
He fired blindly mostly. He fired until his weapon was drained of power alternating between angry shouts and fits of hysterical laughter.
When at last he did not have the strength to move anymore, he collapsed in his suit but the suit held solid. Holding him a position on his knees with his gun drawn. The motors had finally locked into place. The man too weak to move it. The armor holding the last position it had been in. Statue-like and stoic. Majestic, even, in the rising sun.
Unable to move and with the weight of the suit crushing in on him, he gave up and accepted his fate. A queer smile was on his face when he finally died. The irony of it all was not lost on him. He had won his freedom after all, he thought. It wasn't what he imagined but, after long last, he was out. No more lonely night watches.

======================================================================

The destruction of the outpost marked a turning point in the war. The enemy had made the first move and the Defense Force responded in kind. The ice was shattered and both groups attacked with renewed vigor and force.
It was bloody and hard fought, but in the end the Defense Force was able to grab the upper hand. Morale was high and the troops fought hard, crying for vengeance on the outpost that was so thoroughly and suddenly destroyed. After many battles and many more deaths the enemy surrendered and the war ended.
Soon after, the Defense force went back to rebuild and pick up what pieces they could. The first place they started was the outpost on that obscure crystalline moon where they had suffered their first major loss. A loss that sparked the determination to finally win the war.
The ruin still smoked after all this time and no matter how much they looked in the crater, nothing was left worth salvaging or remembering. The enemy had been thorough. There was nothing to even hint that their had been an outpost here at all. Save for one single, curious thing. A lone man, in a broken down powersuit kneeling with his gun arm locked into place a short distance away from the crater. In front of him lay eight of the enemy, dead. All shot by this single soldier.
No one thought to ask what this lone man was doing out here. None thought to question why he was not at his post. All they saw was desolation wrought by the enemy's sneak attack and cowardice all around. All they saw was the anger this place brought up in their hearts. All they saw was eight dead enemies and the one man who had killed them all.
Everyone agreed that this must be a heroic figure. To engage and take out eight of the enemy in a malfunctioning powersuit was a marvel. Worthy of honor and remembrance.
The monument was constructed around the kneeling warrior. All who looked on it remembered the deadly surprise attack that obliterated this lonely outpost. The beginning of the end of the brutal war. All who looked on the kneeling hero saw nothing but virtue and a fierce determination that allowed one to kill eight in what must have been the defense of his comrades. A man fighting to save his brothers in arms. A man who died defending his post.
All who looked on him from there after, saw only a hero.