Laser bolts flash between the trenches, detonating against sandbags and dirt. I'm standing on a box, las-rifle resting on a lip of heat-fused earth, when I see you. A whistle has pierced through the noise and a score of troopers are scrambling from your trench, you among them. You're all clad identically in white short-sleeved crop-tops and low-rise navy briefs, long legs covered by knee-high mud-brown boots.
One-by-one your fellow troopers fall, some not even making it out of the trench, but somehow you do. I can see the nervousness on your face through my las-rifle's scope as you're confronted by the reality of the battle though, see your gaze skittering back and forth.
A trooper to your left doubles over as she's shot, dropping to her knees and then onto her side in the mud. A trooper just climbing from the trench topples backward with a stupefied expression on her face. I can see you flinch as a laser bolt passes so close to you that your skin reddens slightly.
Return fire is light, your trench has largely been emptied and most of your fellow troopers are dying. Even so I have to glance away as a shower of sand drifts over me, watching a soldier a few paces away cry out as she's shot. When I look back towards your trench you're somehow still standing, a deer in the highlights, and I adjust my las-rifle's scope, taking aim at you.
Your crop-top is burnt away as my laser bolts strike you, exposing pert breasts that then receive their own punishment. I can see pain and pleasure warring on your face as you stagger and my aim dips, your stomach rippling as it too is struck. Your eyes glaze as a laser bolt hits the apex of your thighs, turning your briefs to ash and ruining your pussy, and you crumple, tipping backwards so that your erect nipples point skyward.
With your death the latest attack ends but I can see heads bobbing as reinforcements move to refill your trench, hear the throb of rotorcraft approaching. Maybe there'll be someone else who'll draw my eye like you did.
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