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And when our cubs grow / We'll show you what war is good for

Posts Tagged ‘challenge’

Idiosyncratica October Post

Posted by That Other Mike on 01/10/2008

OK, I know this is total schlock, but I kind of enjoyed it…

The dropship booms into the sand of the planet, shaking everyone of us from toe to tailbone, up our spines and through our skulls.

A moment of whiteness. We compensate. Civilians wouldn’t cope, their brains would spray from their ears, but we’re not civilians. We were changed into soldiers.

Doors open. Dropships resemble housebricks, with doors on all sides. You can exit from any side. Our mothership waits for us in orbit.

No injuries, no casualties, and the platoon leaves the ship.

We’re dealing with an infestation. Xenomorphs. That’s aliens to you. They’ve been munching colonists, so they called us in. This is the time that Ripley or someone starts with prophecies of doom. Whatever. No civilians on this mission. They can’t take the landings.

We exit. The implants kick in, scrolling information on atmospheric conditions. Target software sleeps in the corner of my vision, waiting to wake up and kick ass.

Light shines off the brick behind us. Nothing like Aliens here, it’s day, we’re not flexing muscles or bonding with gay jokes. We’re soldiers, not actors.

We head towards the colony through sand that shifts underfoot. Nobody shouts or hails us, there’s no gunfire or explosions. We hear nothing.

And then they rise. My target program kicks in with a grin, and I find myself shooting at xeno after xeno. We enter the colony building and swarms appear. We retreat to a corridor and regroup.

I give orders through the implant network, and we take the fight to them again. My implant keys up music inside my skull. I Walk The Line. Chicka-chicka-chicka, railway lines, blending with the sound of guns.

And then it ends. I see the dead on all sides, and the music changes to a dirge. I unclip my radio and signal the Sulaco.

We move.


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