Charlie fired off another round at the heavily sheilded droids. His blaster took out three. "Yeehah!" Charlie whooped. "Come on men, let's show em'!" A fresh wave of droids advanced. "You-must-surrender-to-the-forces-of-liberation-pagans!" A marine droid buzzed. "I'll show you what I think about surrender!" pyow pyow pyow! "Sir!" A scout stumbled next to Charlie, half dead. "The sixteenth and nineteenth are falling back! You have orders to-" Then he fainted. "Dang it. Guess we make our own order now. I'll go scout out bythe sixteenth." Looked like it was time to warm up his chaingun. Baxon grabbed Charlies shoulder. "Chaingun," He said, "You're not thinking straight. You can't 'scout out'. One, you are not a scout. You have no stealth and you are a commanding officer. Second, that'd mean going through a quarter-kilomenter of heavy crossfire, a littl emuch for anybody. The nineteenth has heavy fortification lines. They'll be fine. But if the droids break through the shoreedge defense, they'll flank us perfect and cause some real damage." "Fine than. Men! Fight to the shoreline to reinforce the sixteenth!" Charlie yelled into his radio. He was still warming up his chaingun today.
"The beauty and genius of a work of film
may be reconceived, though its first material expression be destroyed; a vanished fiction
may yet again inspire the screenplay-writer
; but when the last individual of a race of living directors, of artists,
breathes no more, another heaven and another earth must pass before such a one can be again." -William Beebe, modified in memorial of the twentieth century
Su'cuy, vod, kar'laylirdarasuum me'suum!
Star Wars: The Plastic Director's Cut!