He was wet and muddy and hungry and cold
and he was fifty thousand light-years from home. a strange blue sun gave light, and gravity,
twice what he was used to, made every
movement difficult.
but in tens of thousands of years this part of war hadn't changed. the flyboys were fine with their sleek spaceships and their fancy weapons.
when the chips are down, though, it was still
the foot soldier, the infantry, that had to take the ground and hold it, foot by bloody foot. like this cursed planet of a star he'd never heard of until they'd landed him there. and now it was sacred ground because the aliens
were there too. the aliens, the only other
intelligent race in the galaxy-cruel, hideous,
and repulsive monsters. contact had been made with them near the centre of the galaxy, after the slow.
difficult colonization of a dozen thousand
planets; and it had been war at sight; they'd shot without even trying to negotiate, or to
make peace. now, planet by bitter planet, it was beingfought out. he was wet and muddy and hungry and cold, and the day was raw with a high wind that hurt his eyes. but the aliens were trying to infiltrate and every sentry post was vital. he stayed alert, gun ready. fifty thousand light-years from home, fighting on a strange world, and wondering if he'd ever live to see home again. and then he saw one of them crawling toward him. he drew a bead and fired. the alien made that strange horrible sound they all make.
then lay still he shuddered at the sound and sight of the
alien lying there. one ought to be able to get used to them after a while, but he'd never been able to. such repulsive creatures they were, with
only two arms and two legs, ghastly white
skins, and no scales.

(how far away from home is main character in this story)