This one I wasn't really sure what to do with, so let's dump it here for now eh?
...
“I can't raise anyone, sir.” the junior officer states.
He and his senior are sheltering in a London shop front with hostiles ahead, their squad dispersed and the rest now presumably taken by the Reaper forces.
“We've got to keep pushing forward, you ready?”
“Yes, sir.” the younger man reluctantly answers, then looks beyond his commander. The commander looks to what has caught his junior's eye.
“Good. British troops.” the commander ascertains.
Running low out of a side street come dozens of human soldiers, then they take up lines against a bank of fallen debris. Once the full force of around one hundred has arrived, one steps up onto the debris in full sight of the enemy and cradles a cloth sack with dangling wooden pipes that he then flings onto his shoulder and one into his mouth.
“Oh we're in for a treat now, laddie.” the commander says.
“Sir?” the junior responds, quizzically looking at his commander's sudden change in accent.
“You're from Canada, aren't you?”
“Yes, sir. Nova Scotia, sir.”
“Ha! Then prepare to taste some of your heritage.”
“Fix bayonets!” one of the forces' commanders cries out.
A low whining tone and frantic melody emanate from the soldier's sack and pipes as he just begins slowly pacing towards the enemy as though protected by the wall of sound, followed by a war cry from his comrades as they rush ahead to face the throng of horrors awaiting beyond.
“Aye.” the commander says to his junior, “Say what you like about the asari, but the Brits invented the commando. Ye ready now, laddie?”
“Aye, that I am, sir!” he replies, now with more confidence and they run to join the troops.
Dedicated in the 100th year since to the brave men and women (and ****ing nutters) of the Great War.
Modifié par MrStoob, 14 janvier 2014 - 09:50 .





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