[Capt Jack]

the sharpened point of his bayonet dug another pellet from the chestplate of his well worn body armor. his seventh set of armor in as many years. under normal conditions it should have lasted a lifetime. not here. this god forsaken place had taken its toll on as many bodies as it had suits of armor.

as he finished patching the hole in his suit, his eyes finally returned to the field where the last of the smoke was beginning to clear and the sounds of battle were subsiding. deep craters and smoking ruins peppered the landscape for as far as his eyes could see. little was left standing. even less left alive. the scout troops would clear out the rest easy enough.

another successful raid against an increasingly resistant group of indigenous creatures inhabiting this great rock in the middle of nowhere. what was it they were called? 'poorly equipped, disorganized rabble' by his superiors. superiors he'd not seen since he was put into stasis for the long journey to defend the first off-world colony in this sector.

such a noble cause. such a miserable waste.

as he sat, waiting for the patch in his armor to harden, he recalled what fierce fighters these odd creatures were. determined and unafraid, they seemed to practically fly in the thick atmosphere that was stifeling at its best and downright unbearable once the nearby star stood high in the oddly tinted sky. almost blinding in its light, nightfall was the only mercy the soldiers would find in this hell. the only time the light and temperature was low enough to raise his face shield and catch a breath of unfiltered air cool enough not to burn flesh

a call of 'sniper' rang out as a pellet burst its way through the burnt foliage surrounding the encampment. it spat and bounced its way through the camp as troops rushed for cover. it was a nightly occurence. the slightest glint of light seemed enough to call down fire from the hillsides.

it seemed never ending. no matter how many were killed, there were always more nearby awaiting a chance to strike.

as he lay on his back in a crater left by one of the primitives weapons, he thought about home. about how different this all was compared to the home he remembered...the home he ached to see again. the days were so short here. flowing past as if the planet were spinning out of control and ready to fling itself into deep space. it left him with no sense of how long he'd been there. it was just as well. he really preferred not to dwell on it.

as he lay there, from the corner of his eye, he caught the flash of a weapon near the wooded area just beyond the edge of the valley. he raised his weapon and emptied the magazine in his rifle into the area he'd spotted the flash. a blood curdling screech spilled from the hillside where his weapon had sent its deadly cargo.

he hated that sound. he knew it was a kill, but still. the sound these things made when hit wasnt something he'd ever been able to stomach. an 'all clear' was heard in and about the camp as soldiers raised themselves from their cover and returned to their duties.

as he raised himself up out of the crater he'd been hiding in he patrolled out to where the sniper had been to be sure there wouldnt be any more trouble from this particular source.

yup. a clean kill. the snipers weapon lay nearby and the body of the combatant lay still and cold. he never got used to these bizzare looking creatures. more like animals than crafty fighters, with only two arms, no scales and that freakish pink skin.

(concept stolen from a short story I read decades ago)