"My daddy went to go fight the bad people....he said he'd come back for me..." the little girl said naively as the Trooper tried to coax her onto the last remaining vessels.

Over the shouts of confusion and misdirection the Trooper could hear reports of the enemy breaking through the defensive line sooner and more effectively than the leaders had expected.

"If we leave then how is he gonna find me. . ." she asked softly.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2931720&forum_id=2#28298586)

The little girl grasped the Trooper's hand, balled fear, shouting over the din: "WHAT'S THAT! I'M SCARED!" The Trooper's eyes stayed to the sky as he replied:

"Little girl, that's your daddy ...

That's hope."

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2931720&forum_id=2#28298663)

"DAMNIT! GO AGAIN, YOU ARE BREAKING UP!" He shouted into his comm panel.

{static}..Valiant Star....estroyed...enemy forces attempting to fla...{static}

"No....God no..." he whispered hoarsely. The Valiant Star was he Prime Admrial's flagship. It was one of the most powerful ships in the fleet.

It was the HOPE of the Home Fleet. Without the Prime Admiral the chain of command was disintegrating. They were to hold the line against the invasion force to give the civilians the time they needed to evacuate.

The civilians...his daughter....

He immediately activated his retro-thrusters and headed to the launching tower. He pushed his Mecha Unit to its full capacity and preyed to squeeze out even more. The Seldon Metallic armor screamed as it cut against the forces of gravity and time to maneuver past the escaping life vessels.

{static}....ging Thunder...repeat, return to the front li...{static}

He slammed his fist into the comm panel, deactivating it. He knew that the enemy would immediately target the civilians the second they broke through the Keflon Artillery lines.

He had to save them....he had to save...his daughter.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2931720&forum_id=2#28298738)

Kneeling, he brought his face to within inches of the bird, saw the panicked gape of its miniature beak, watched the tremors move through its body as it continued to circle, straining against the ground. And in the vital instinct of man, honed over eons of humanity's rise through the natural world, already present in him despite his child years, he knew that, if nothing were done, this creature was soon to die.

And so, without hesitation, he scooped up the lark and bolted toward the working barn near the side of the house, his small feet pounding out the distance. As he ran, he could feel its fearful press against his clasped hands as it sought a deadly freedom. He gripped tighter, rounded the corner, approached the red-white crisscross door.

His grandfather was within, as he always was in the late morning. The man hulked over his working table set near the barn's entrance. A necked lamp shone over its wooden surface, throwing light on his labor. An admired country surgeon for more than forty years, now retired, he sat at his bench, an image of denim coveralls in dust and grease, tinkerer's tools hanging from the nooks and crannies of the garb, a just-picked peach peeking out from his left trouser pocket. From his mouth hung a pipe, ever-present; white wisps of smoke encircled his head as he bent over the table in toil prayer.

He approached him cautiously, holding the bird--now grown worryingly still--out before him, a sacred bearer of this fading vitality. Tears welled in his eyes; his lips trembled as the words came forth: "Papa ... Papa, can you save him?" His grandfather lifted from his work, a harrumph of annoyance at the interruption echoing through the barn. The old man turned to him and regarded the bloodied battered thing in his upturned hands without comment. Then, ever so gently, he lifted the lark out of his opened palms. "We shall see. Go and fetch my bag inside."

From a corner of the barn, sitting on a milking stool, he watched his grandfather work until the sun hung low in the sky, its edges scraping against the far fields of the farm. Mysterious objects moved with swift ease into the man's hands from his black case, set on the edge of the workbench now made makeshift surgical suite. Despite the distance, he could see the furrow of his great brow, deep in concentration, and he watched the trace of sweat sliding across his forehead, down his thick jowls. Eventually, without ceremony, his grandfather raised his head and commanded: "Come here."

Hesitatingly, he crossed the dirt distance of the barn, approaching the old man. As he arrived, he strained on the tips of his toes, trying to peer over the top of the table. Fearing the answer to the question, he still asked: "Papa, is it okay?" With a swift motion, his grandfather scooped him up and set him on his lap. Pointing to the workbench, he whispered his reply: "Look and see."

The bird sat perched on the table, taking water from a small dish. Its wing, terribly torn in the morning, was mended whole. The blood on its feathers had been washed away. And, in the black dart of its eyes, he saw the vigor of life. He craned his neck upward toward the man, tears again besetting him though he did not know why, the question emerging softly spoken: "I thought it was going to die. Why did you work so long to save it?"

Without replying, his grandfather grasped him by the shoulders, turning him in his lap until they faced each other. The barn was quiet save the gentle intake and exhalation of their breath. In the distance, he heard the twilight chorus of a mockingbird, greeting the arrival of night. The old man set his craggy hands on either side of his cheeks and raised his head so that their faces met. He could see the tears in his grandfather's own eyes as he began to speak:

"Because, my child, the life of this world is precious. And so we must fight for it."

....

The thud of the landing brought him back to the present. The cool feminine intonation of his TELEMERIS sounded through the cabin, announcing the arrival: "Drop zone achieved. Mech Sequence Transformation One ... complete. Weapons, online. Sensors, online. Shields, online. All systems nominal."

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2931720&forum_id=2#28321335)

The whole beginning of this sequence was making me think, "wow, kinda like Ray Bradbury," and then you pull that line out, and for a brief second it was just like I was reading a Bradbury story I'd never read before.

That's not something I say very lightly at all.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2931720&forum_id=2#28322721)

*standing ovation*

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2931720&forum_id=2#28322415)

HOpe to read MOAR

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2931720&forum_id=2#28300245)

Sent from my Iridium

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2931720&forum_id=2#28331523)

He had sworn to give everything, his life if necessary, to save the lives and the very existence of other Terran Commonwealth and he would not simply turn and run away. He would stand his ground to the end and make the Kal'Mel pay for each inch that it sought to claim.

"Fire!" Kurtis said forcefully to the TELEMERIS as the primary missile batteries opened to deliver a concentrated spread of NATGUR concussive torpedoes towards the advancing fighters.

Kurtis was not deluded enough to believe that the Combat Figthers were without shields, but even the Mobile Platform's considerable shield could not prevent the extensive damage that was sure to be inflicted.

"Contact confirmed," The TELEMERIS said in its neutrally effeminate tone as the missiles found their designated targets and made impact, causing severe damage that resulted in numerous enemy soldiers being ejected into the cold vacuum of space.

"Death will come slowly and very painful to you bastards..." he said bitterly.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2931720&forum_id=2#28343592)

Was that eloquent enough for you?

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2931720&forum_id=2#28396683)