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This is something i thought up, tell me if you think i should persue it or not...




Alex held on tighter to his rifle as the Mass Unit Transport dropped through the atmosphere of the heretic planet Tarrak Nine. He peered out of the troop bay and into the armored division hangar: Tanks and Titan mechas were waiting, immaculately clean (that wouldn't last long), their pilots and crews most likely hanging on for dear life during the less-than-luxurious drop.
"Why couldn't I ever learn to drive one of those dang things?" He thought to himself "At least they don't die like dogs... there's some pride in being a Titan pilot..." He said, perhaps too loudly. The men around him were beginning to stare.
But there's no pride in being a grunt... He thought miserably.
The fall through the atmosphere wasn't much of a comforter on Alex's first day into the service. It never was.
----
Up in The Capitol Punishment, the flagship of the Conclave of Zion's fleet, Commander Marcus Andraeus watched the 30,000 "mut's" (as they were known by the men) descend as though they were so many meteors, crashing towards the planet...
"...Beautiful..." he murmered. He brought up again the specs for this little operation. "Let's see... 180 million men, 15 million tanks, and 3 million Titans, plus the 300 carriers, 400 frigates, 20 command ships, and... us! Ha, that puts the cost at... 120 billion dollars! I do love these prices..."
He slicked back his hair, and tightened his uniform (decorated entirely on the left side with innumerable honors). Flicking off the monitor, he went to his cabinet (a lovely vintage piece, some 700 years old... the year 1990, was it?) and pulled out a bottle of Scotch...
----
They hit the ground hard.
"GET UP SOLDIER!! YOU WANNA DIE LIKE THE DOG YOU ARE?!" the Seargent screamed into Alex's ear (which didn't help much from all the pounding of the guns, the engines of the MUT's, and the cries from the other men.
"Not particularly, Sir!" Alex searched for his rifle, didn't find it, so he found another one... except that this one was still being held by another hand (but only a hand, and a smoldering bit of arm). he pried the burnt flesh from the still-good gun, got up and ran.
The smoke was thick from the crashed MUT, (it blocked out half of his view with its gargantuan bulk) and only about half of the men had made it out before it had been hit. the few remaining Tanks rolled out into the din, and the fewer-still Titans, twin Decemator Machineguns in hands, were thundering their way between the ranks.
Alex had always been in awe of those machines; only 30 feet tall, but weighing in at a remarkable 50 tons, they were essentially large walking guns (and rockets, mortars, and spikes). one of those bad boys could clear a batallion of enemies (either from fear or weapons it didn't matter).
They were also loud as hell, and when they flipped on their jumper-jets, they could hopscotch over a mile in leaps and bounds, with deafening results. It was definately on his christmas list.
He was thrown out of his reverie by the large airhorn on one of the Titans, and he startled to the realization that it was coming striaght for him. he leapt out of the way as it blundered on near-blindly through the ranks towards the enemies. he gave out an unheard "Horray!" as it passed him.

.... (Ill do more later... ^^)