Spooks in Space part 9

Rasta Rick took a mighty hit of his magic blunt and let loose a thick, magic fog that covered the entire low-orbit battlefield.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” demanded the Alien Captain, “Where did they go?”

“We cannot find them! EEEEEEEK!” howled the Alien shipman, checking an array of scanners and other useless crap that’ll never hope to catch the king of kush, Rasta goddamn Rick.

McMann and his Space-Helicopter had safely retreated to beyond the Alien Ship’s scanning range and were preparing for the counter-attack to end all counter-attacks.

But Rob had other plans.

“We have to save Ray!” he cried, like a bitch.

“We can’t, child,” said McMann sympathetically, “There’s no way for us to board the Alien ship.”

Rob slammed his wimpy fist on the planning-table.

“There’s GOT to be a way!”

“There’s only one way on that ship,” a Marine spoke up, “Their tractor-beam. They have to WANT you to come on.”

“Yes, yes… the only way on that ship is being captured,” agreed McMann, “And the only one of us who they’d have any interest in capturing is me…

I can allow myself to be captured, in order to ensure Raymond’s safety.”

He turned to Rasta Rick.

“Rastamon, I’m not worried about myself. I can beat the crap out of anything in this galaxy. But my men… they’re strong, but they need a leader.”

“Yew don need worry mon, will keepem safe,” assured Rasta Rick, placing his hand firmly on the War God’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Rick. I know I can trust in you,” said McMann, “I’ll prepare an escape pod to launch into their range. Pilot, once they’ve brought me on board, I’ll do my best to disable their weapons systems. But you can’t wait for too long. You need to get on to that planet. Save the scientists. Save whoever you can.”

“Aye, sir,” replied the Pilot. Who was also Irish. So imagine him saying “aye” like an Irish man. lmao, I love Irish people. Best accents. The guys are funny, the women are sexy af. It doesn’t matter what their nipple-to-areola-to-breast ratio is, their tits always look amazing because they’re light. I’m Spanish- a Spanish girl with big areolas? Sorry, it’s no bueno. With an Irish girl, it works no matter what, because the color-difference isn’t nearly as prominent. Irish girls have the best tits on planet Earth. Light tits are so much better than dark tits. That’s not to say dark tits can’t be great, they just have more demanding criteria in order to be so. That’s just life. We all have different advantages and disadvantages, everyone has their own challenges. Here I am trying to write a story about Space Marines, and I just wrote a paragraph about breasts because god I love them so much. Big or small, as long as that ratio’s on point, man I tell you.

War God McMann loaded himself into an escape pod. Intended for mere humans, it barely could contain the ultra-muscular body gifted to him by his Space Marine augmentations. Still, there was enough room for him to access the controls, and he set a course directly in front of the Alien Ship. Once they scanned the pod’s contents and saw him, they’d pick him up. Then, there’d be hell to pay.

The rest of the Marines loaded up their guns and equipment. If they were lucky enough to dodge any potential fire from the Alien ship and make it planetside, they’d no-doubt be contending not only with ground-troops, but with roaring fires. Their helmets’ air-filtration system would protect them from smoke, but their body-armor wouldn’t save them from being cooked alive if they fell to the flames.

The took sledgehammers for taking down doors- a Space Marine was able to wield the heavy tool as easily as an average firefighter would an fire axe. They brought concussive rifles, with power settings ranging from knocking a man out against a wall, or shattering an alien’s entire skeletal system into the air.

Their were five Space Marines in all, not counting the Pilot who would remain at the landing zone to guard his baby. And not counting the uninitiated Robert, who was still at least capable of firing a rifle. And not counting Rasta Rick, whose extent of power was as of yet still a mystery. The rastamon did not bring a gun, nor a knife. He didn’t have any body armor or a helmet to protect him. But his presence both inspired courage and calmed the nerves, and no one felt was worried about his ability to take care of himself, as well as those around them.

McMann blasted off and near the Alien ship. Almost immediately, a red laser ran over his capsule, and within moments, the escape pod was being pulled into the ship.

“Okay, boys,” said the Pilot, “We’ll give him 10 minutes. After that, we’re rushing on to that planet. Use the bathroom now if you need to.”

[To be continued]


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