A/N: 'single quotation marks' are used to denote thoughts. "double quotation marks" are for speech. The dates used in the codex are from the firefly wikia database.

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Western Flank, Serenity Valley, Planet Hera

A single blade of grass wavered in the light breeze, bravely withstanding the assault of brown grit that covered much of the landscape. All around it, small craters and dark smudges pockmarked the once fertile and loose soil. Now, track marks and footprints covered the land, alongside the scattered piles of ejected bullet shells and blackened shrapnel. There were bodies, hundreds of them, and an even greater number of body parts, unclaimed and rotting in the warm Hera sun.

Down from the heavens a shadow was cast upon the blade of grass, stealing from it the vital warmth of the sun, and buffeting it with the force of a tempest. The grass endured, its roots dug deep within the earth of Hera, clinging with frantic desperation to ride out this storm. There was a shake, a tremor that loosened nearby soil and sent a storm of debris into the air. The lonely blade, its back bent low, endured.

There was a second tremor, weaker by magnitudes, but closer by several inches. There was a third, a fourth, a fifth, and then an overlapping avalanche of quakes that came rumbling towards the collapsed grass. A solid object landed a mere inch to the left of the plant, sending a shockwave that knocked over the recovering blade, and then an earthquake was upon it, threatening to shake the earth out from underneath its roots.

The avalanche passed, leaving the grass battered and crushed, its weak form flittering at the whim of the wind that continued to descend upon it. There was a sharp whine, followed by loud clanking and croaking before a sudden displacement of air, and the dark shadow became all-encompassing. There was a soft crunch, not that anyone would have heard, and the spine of the grass was finally broken. It had become just another casualty of war, another dead body on a battlefield that was littered with nameless John and Jane Doe’s.

The hatch of the new Alliance L108 Talos heavy assault tank opened, and a man bearing a chestful of shining decorations appeared from within the heavily armored machine of war. Sitting square over his heart, a small silver leaf shined brighter than all the surrounding medals, its significance clear to anyone in the battalion: the man was a Lieutenant Colonel for the United Alliance Forces, and he was clearly someone who was also on the fast track to Brigadier General and beyond. He looked about him, and there was a sharp snap to attention.

“A-Ten-Shun!” A captain cried out.

One thousand iron-plated boots smashed into the ground, followed by one thousand softer thumps as rifle butts contributed to the effort to flatten the dusty ground.

“At ease, soldier.” The decorated Lt. Colonel called out, his voice carrying over the loud humming of the departing transport aircrafts. “We are here to fight a war, not parade around. The UAF commanded us to come to this frontline battlefield because of our expertise, and that is exactly what we will show those brown coats. Other battalions have failed to show the Independents our righteous fury, but not us! Not the 42nd mechanized battalion that is so well known for our superior training and conditioning! Form up, soldiers, and let us knock the teeth out of those gorram reb—”

His chest caved inward, blood and gore splashing over the pristine sheen of the tank armor. His body fell forward, no movement is discernable.

A second shot sounded, the captain that had called the troops to attention crumpled to the ground, half of his head was missing.

Pandemonium ensued.

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Western Flank, Serenity Valley, Planet Hera

Corporal Zoe Alleyne stared down the scope of her sniper rifle, her body lying prone on a cliff overlooking the Alliance airdrop landing zone. The stock of her rifle pressed tightly against her right shoulder, and her left index finger rested just below the trigger. The newly disgorged troops were forming up, standing directly over the site of the previous artillery barrage.

'If only we still had artillery support,' a quick thought passed through Alleyne’s mind, 'this battle would be over before it even began.'

Next to her, Private First Class Jacob Weston looked down his spotting scope, scanning over the large sea of bodies for a high priority target. The PFC was young, in his early 20s, but he had already accumulated his fair share of battle experiences and scars. Almost mechanically, he listed a string of weather conditions even as his right hand snaked down to grab his radio to report in the exact location of the Alliance LZ and the force composition to the west front HQ.

Corporal Alleyne shifted slightly, and looked away from the scope to let her eyes rest for a brief moment. She checked her ammo, 'still full,' and the round already in the chamber, 'resting ready,' and refocused her eyes on the scope. A loud captain cried out, and the soldiers were ordered into parade rest.

“The big dog is going to show his face soon.” Weston commented in his slight British accent. Some of the outer rim colonies were founded by descendents from the nation of Great Britain, and all the females of the Bravo Company 3rd Battalion were infatuated with Weston’s ‘silky voice.’ Alleyne excluded, of course.

“What did the HQ say about a possible artillery barrage?” She knew the answer, but asked anyways. One never knew what miracles Sergeant Reynolds could pull out of his helmet at any given time.

“No can do. HQ said we are alone out here. SB has tasked all their long range assets to digging a deeper valley to the north. Says they got nothing to spare for us.” SB stood for Serenity Base, an army depot/air field/surface-to-orbit missile launching site all stuffed on top of a nearby mountain range. Next to it, half buried into the side of a mountain, was the Liberty Space Center, a glorified large slab of concrete with the equipment and scaffolding necessary to launch spacecrafts.

“A pity, just keep your eyes open. Folks back at HQ are counting on us to sow some chaos.”

“Roger tha—contact, middle of the tank formation, hatch is opening.” Alleyne pushed the butt of her rifle even more tightly against her shoulder, her arm already shifting the crosshair to hover over the opening hatch.

“Found it.” A quick, concise reply from the Corporal, practiced and perfected over hundreds of sniping operations.

“Distance, 500 meters. Wind, 5 knots south-west. You got a clear shot.”

“Roger that.” Alleyne continued to stare down her scope until a figure rose from within the new tank. Weston let out a small cheer, and Alleyne allowed herself a small smile as she took in a deep breath in preparation for the shot.

'A gorram Lieutanent Colonel, let’s see you wear your stars after this.' Keeping the crosshair of her rifle over the right shoulder of the enemy officer to adjust for the wind, Alleyne waited, holding her breath as her heart finished its pumping cycle, and then she pulled the trigger.

Her M21 sniper rifle kicked back, and her shoulder absorbed the recoil fluidly as her hands forcefully brought the barrel of the rifle back down. The spent cartridge went flying past her, and a fresh bullet was already in the chamber. 9 bullets left.

“Clean kill. 10 meters to the south, officer with the waving arm, holding no weapons.” Weston reported, both of his hands clutching the spotting scope, his eyes shifting from enemy to enemy while his brain automatically assigned a priority level to each spotted foe.

Her finger hovering above the trigger, her arm moving the rifle slightly, and Alleyne squeezed off another round. “Got it.”

“Headshot, nice kill.” Weston moved to replace his spotting scope back into his backpack, and took up his M16 assault rifle as random returning fire started to sound from the Alliance battalion. “There is another cliff edge further up, more cover.”

Corporal Alleyne crawled back from the cliff edge, and stood up from her prune position. “No, let’s head back to HQ. We did our job. They are not moving out anytime soon, and we are not going to get any other officers if we stick around.”

Weston nodded, and the pair moved off away from the cliff edge, heading towards the line of trenches that laid five klicks to the west of the Alliance LZ.

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Academy Codex, Entry 1, the Exodus

It was 2097, and Earth was dead. The ecosystem that had once saw to the creation and continuation of life had become hopelessly polluted and deathly toxic to all organic life. Dark thunder clouds hung low in the sky, and the sharp jolts of lightning briefly accented the devastated landscape. Some of the buildings still stood, those that were constructed from steel and concrete, but their residents had long ago fled to safer havens.

The governments of Earth had long ago been dissolved, their authority and resources taken by the Global Exodus Alliance in a massive mobilization effort to evacuate what remained of the human population and culture to the closest hospitable star system. There were riots when grocery stores closed, gas stations shut down, and public water supplies shunted off in a conservation effort that undoubtedly crossed the line into crimes against humanity, but those rioters didn’t have military-grade weapons, and crossing 40 light years was going to require an immense cache of supplies.

Under the effect of global martial law, the Alliance maintained a façade of peace while they further bled the Earth dry of natural resources. The toxicity of the oceans rose sharply, and the atmosphere was formally declared as unsuited for life. Still the Alliance persevered, for despite their heavy handed approaches, they were making significant progress, and a percentage of humanity will live to see the sun rise again, albeit on a different planet, facing a different sun.

In hundreds of isolated locations around the world, colossal arks stood stalwart against the onslaught of an angry nature. Hordes of survivors shuffled on the ground, some waiting to embark the ship, others were still hurrying to load supplies and resources salvaged from the civilizations that had so disgracefully collapsed. One such ark, designated Artemis, was smaller than the rest of the generation ships built. Filled beyond safety capacity with passengers and supplies, its trace compression block engines were already warmed up for ascent when its gates to salvation finally sealed.

With a blinding flash and a monstrous roar, Artemis spewed white plasma onto its landing pad, instantly vaporizing the debris and flash heating any living organism within a three kilometer radius. This sterility was serene as compared to the raging storm that ravaged the surface of the planet, but it did not last. Even before Artemis enter low orbit, nature reclaimed what was taken from it. Wild typhoon raged, and the ashes of those left behind were scattered to the four winds.

In the days to come, hundreds more joined Artemis in orbit around the Moon, waiting for the flagship Ark, Prometheus, to depart from Earth. Born from the desperation of a selfish people and built from the polluted life blood of a mother planet so deplorably scorned, this veritable fleet of Arks also represented the apex of human ingenuity and the untold strength of a will to survive. When the signal from Prometheus reached the Arks, the fleet activated their engines and blasted compressed plasma as each Ark accelerated to a fraction of the speed of light. No one looked back, if only because there were no windows, only the cold sterile walls of their Ark.

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Author’s Note: Hello everyone! I hope you have enjoyed this rather short introduction to what I hope will be a unique and fulfilling retelling of the famed Battle for Serenity Valley. I will be using the Academy Codex to tell side stories, which will eventually explain certain characters/technology/political structures of the Verse.

As this is the first story that I am writing, definitely do offer criticisms so I can improve! I have read millions of words of fanfiction for years by now, but reading is not writing, and I know I am definitely pruned to novice mistakes.

The next few chapters have been written, but I do want time to edit/revise/change them, so no promises on an update timeline, but know that they have been written, so what I hope to be the most time consuming part has been completed.

Chris