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Aliens/Star Trek Fanfiction
Chapter 1
Ankthor, Northern Continent, Hin plains, Horde Territory
February 19, 2542, Standard Earth Calendar
The ramp of the dropship opened with a pneumatic whine, as the pilot struggled to keep the ship from crashing. Marines rushed out quickly, with the first couple falling dead from enemy fire. One Marine in particular, though, stood out from the rest. He shouted orders to the rest of the group, who obeyed without hesitation. They knew that this Marine was in charge, and that he knew what he was doing.
A blinding flash of light illuminated his sky-blue eyes, as the reverberating thunderous blast of sound battered his ears. His slightly dented body armor was caked with the dried, silver-colored blood of the Horde Scout-bugs and the thick, strange mud of this alien world. A cross hung next to his dog tags, which read:
Dogtag pic here
In his hands, an M41-a Pulse Rifle spat forth a hail of bullets that decimated the Horde multitudes.
All of a sudden, he heard shouting off to his left. It was Sgt. Allen Bergeron.
“Lieutenant! Sir, they just cancelled our air support, most of the armor is scrap, and we just lost the only other Marine left!”
“Is there any good news?”
Allen smiled a dark, twisted smile. “Their air support is also gone, their reinforcements are cut off, and we’ve almost killed every last one.”
“Then this is a good day!” Mike replied, turning just in time to see a Soldier-bug poised to swipe at his face with its super sharp, super hard claws. As he stepped back to avoid the blow, he fired three quick bursts, blowing off the creature’s arm, a piece of its chest armor, and half of the thing’s head.
As the dead bug fell backwards to the ground, Mike stepped over its corpse and looked to the horizon, where the planet’s two brilliantly blue suns rose majestically in the sky. He turned his head as he heard the familiar, comforting, high-pitched whine of a UD-4L Cheyenne dropship’s engines, as it descended to carry them away from the battle-ravaged landscape, littered with bomb craters and bodies. As the Marines ran to the dropship, Mike took one last look around and paused for a moment to ponder how many of those bodies belonged to the brave men and women of the US Colonial Marines.
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Squad Leader, 58th Regt., 2nd Batt., "Morse's Marauders" - U.S.S. Azuera
Primary MOS: Rifleman
Secondary MOS: Combat Demolitions
"When the going gets tough, the tough call on the Colonial Marines."