Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer

Packed into the ship’s tight squad bay were twenty five lockers and twenty five cryo-beds. Inside their frozen coffins rested men and women engineered for their speed, agility and overall physical prowess. Perfection incarnate. These individuals represented the finest combatants culled from the Army Rangers, Marine Force Recon and Navy S.E.A.L.s. The Air Force had lobbied unsuccessfully to have their Glee Club included.

Woken from their frozen slumber, the men stared unseeing from their open beds. Communication bugs crawled from their housings and burrowed into the neural jacks of each soldier. Twenty five bodies jerked spasmodically. They quickly quieted as realization of place settled over them.

Lieutenant Bova’s voice was the first heard. “Drop your cocks and grab your socks people. SUIT UP!”

“What about those of us fortunate enough not to have cocks,” Chief Petty Officer Rand cooed.

“SHUT UP,” he snapped at the buxom red head. He rode her hard in front of the others, but they knew that in actuality, in-body, he was riding her hard. Out-body though, he repulsed her.

Without another word, the troopers suited up in plasteele augmentation armour. While adjusting and flexing the form fitting reactive armour, they felt more than heard the change in pitch of the drop ship’s engines as they bit atmosphere.

“I hate enefs,” somebody muttered. Enefs, Nasty Fuckers. Two metres of six limbed insect-like humanoid. Primitive, but tough to kill.

“Nobody asked you to like ’em, just kill ’em,” Bova grinned, “besides, just think of all the overtime you’ll get.” As one, they groaned at the worn joke.

“Hey Rand, how about a kiss for luck,” Sergeant Valek sung out.

“In your dreams,” she replied, playfully punching him in the face, bloodying his nose.

“Knock it off. Be profess…” Lt. Bovas words were cut short as a massive explosion rocked the drop ship sending the soldiers sprawling across the bay.

“What the fuck? Enefs don’t have weapons that can penetrate a T-field.” Cpl. Bernes comments were cut short as a plasma blast penetrated the deck, vapourizing CPO Rand.

“They don’t. They didn’t… they…,” Lt. Bovas words trailed off. “It’s a trap.” he said, the stunned disbelief visible on his face. A well placed shot struck the tiny ship’s reactor. They died instantly.

Deep within the aircraft carrier Robert E. Lee, safe in geosynch above the planet, twenty five figures lay in boost couches, waldo strips firmly attached to their shaven pates. Lt. Bova was the first to awaken. With great effort, he manoeuvred his corpulent form over the edge of the couch and stood on incongruously scrawny legs.

Next to stir was a skinny red head. Not one to give in to the vanity of surgery, not that it would have improved matters, she reached up and retrieved a pair of thick framed black plastic glasses and settled them on a blackhead encrusted nose. “Shit,” was all she said.

“What the hell was that,” a hook nosed, chinless Cpl. Bernes of the CSMC squeaked in a trilling falsetto that would make even the most butch choirmaster swoon, “we’re the best of the best. We’re Delta damnit.”

Lt. Bova, Army Ranger, shrugged his shoulders, his massive man boobs jiggling gently. “You win some, you lose some. Hey Rand, care to join me in a donut?”

“Screw you fatty,” said former S.E.A.L. team six member, CPO Rand.

The twenty five members of the elite Delta Force, the best of the best of the best, with honours, slowly shuffled out of the combat centre for their feeding and a well earned nap.


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