User:Rozh/Main/Scraps

The massive, hulking body slammed into the polycrete ground tiles as the killer, a soldier reminiscent of the ancient SPARTAN supersoldiers, holstered a large weapon on his back. In his state-of-the-art green armor, the warmonger stood at almost ninety inches.

"Enemy presence down," he said into a microphone within his helmet.

"Roger, Anaconda. We have a battalion of Mike Romeos spread out all along the southern perimeter," a woman with a raspy, middle-aged voice responded.

"Aye, ma'am."

"Oh, and by the way, we're dropping reinforcements on your position. Good luck, Anaconda."

"Thank you, over and out."

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Before long, a trio of dropships, each clad in gleaming drab armor arrived at the roadside fuel station where the soldier waited. Each carried a pair of Weasel reconnaissance vehicles and half a dozen soldiers.

"Glad to see you here," a man called out as he exited the rear hatch of the dropship nearest the supersoldier, "Master Sergeant Orre, First Platoon." The man proceeded to hold his hand out.

"Petty Officer, First Class 0151," the supersoldier responded. He was a member of Project VACUNA, a program that bettered the SPARTANs in every way. He was one of fifteen hundred that had been trained for a decade to become the best of the best, no matter the circumstances. "We should get going, sir."

"Good idea, let's get rolling."

"Aye, sir."

"Son, there's no ayes here. Just say yes Sergeant next time, understood?"

This time the VACUNA only nodded and hustled his way over to the passenger seat of one of the Weasels. Tough cookie, the Sergeant thought.