Sparta was at war, and they were holding the line millimeter by bloody millimeter. Their laser batteries (to someone at 6ft, they'd just be really powerful laser pointers) blinked nonstop at their enemies positions across the yard. Above the defensive line, the brave Spartans flag fluttered in the breeze (you know, that Greek symbol) and they waited for command to send in their next batch of orders, each spartan with the symbol painted on the pair chest and on their forehead, for protection and bravery.
Corporal Mikal was afraid, of course he had the training and had seen his friends killed by the enemy, but he just couldn't shake his fears. He wasn't born the perfect spartan, he was thin, not too strong, the only thing that made his people accept him was his unwavering determination to follow his orders or die trying. So far it'd worked out quite well.
But now they'd gotten word from the Vanguard that the Microzons (tiny amazons) had managed to get help from some much, much larger women, and there was no way any of the spartan allies could arrive in time to help. And Spartans never retreat, or surrender.
He looked over the defensive wall, watching as their laser batteries caused a microzon to fall over screaming as she burst into flame from the concentrated power of the laser. They'd have to cross that field, those deadly 34 inches of open ground to the microzon line and fight hand to hand. He double checked his spear, really it was just a particularly long thorn from a native plant, but to them, it was a spear. Soon, they'd have to fight, and hope to win the war before their enemies allies arrived.
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