With This Herring
By Kent Steichman
So, in case you haven't been out in awhile, it seems we're being invaded by aliens. Again. So, naturally, heroes of all shapes and sizes will be out and about fighting our would-be insectoid overlords, but why, I find myself wondering, do half of them seem to be heading into battle with nothing more than pistols and knives?
Granted, it's pretty reasonable for this to be the case with quite a few heroes, like your standard "brash youth who's rescuing his sister from the aliens" or the run-of-the-mill "cowboy cop that just got taken off the case."
But when the world's top marines and soldiers are being sent to fight a 20 foot scaled monstrosity that just stomped its way through France armed only with their sidearms and a Swiss army knife, I think there's something wrong there.
So, with this question in mind, I snuck across Ravenholm to the nearest resistance station, and asked one of the older guys who used to be in the military.
Why, I asked, were the world's soldiers always being sent into battle so ill equipped?
He just smiled and shook his head. "Well," he said as his radio crackled with status reports intermixed with frantic screaming, "We did used to send them out with the top of the line equipment, state of the art armor, and full fire support. Problem was, everyone we sent out like that just got slaughtered anyway."
That didn't make any sense, I protested, and he just shrugged. "Check the old intro sequences some time. It never fails, soldiers go out decked out in power armor and get creamed, but one lone soldier heading out with just a pistol and the shirt on his back wins every time."
He added, "Besides, they usually find some sort of alien weapon or vehicle that's miles ahead of what we would've given them anyway. It's just cheaper to send'em out with nothing and let them figure things out on their own. That way, if they do get pasted, at least you're not losing some million dollar power armor."
He sat up and adjusted the radio, listening to it for a moment before he continued. "Hell, I remember one guy, forget the name, he was stationed up on Mars. Whole installation gets taken over by demons or something, and he kicked their asses." He thought for a moment, "The chainsaw and the BFG probably helped, though."
I wanted to ask him a few more questions, but some explosions outside interrupted us. "Damn," he said, picking up a rocket launcher. "One of those damn walkers again. Where's that guy with the goatee when you need him?" he muttered as he ran out the door. I took the opportunity to get myself out of there, and maybe once these guys are dealt with, I'll see if I can get an interview with whatever space marine fought them off.