--Please view at full size for best effect-- I'm not sure what the Imperial Consortium called them, but we got to calling them Surts, after the Norse myth about the giant with the flaming sword. For a long time, we thought the Impies created them, and that was damn depressing. But later we heard that they were actually created millions of years ago by some long-gone race. The Impies just found them and their empaths figured out how to control them. I don't think I've ever faced anything that frightening. Over two stories tall, armed with a pulse laser cannon and a tri-barrelled rail gun that fires shells the size of tank rounds...in bursts. Armor so thick that you could forget small arms, they'd only make them mad. And in the other hand...that sword. We still don't know how it works, but the blade itself stays about the same temperature as lava under pressure with no apparent working parts. Well...the "real" ones anyway. The Impies started making knockoffs once they figured out enough of the technology to get it right, but you could tell those from the real deal. They weren't as cunning or devious...and they didn't have that rage that the real Surts had. But the dead giveaway was the horns. Whatever the Surts used to be, I think they had big organic racks of horns, and their creators left them on. The ones the Impies make have metal horns and don't look as random. Also, their swords are covered in plasma fields, nothing like the real Surt weapons. I guess they don't know how they work either. You know, even to this day, people still find those things, buried in ancient ruins on dead worlds. Some are even stupid enough to turn them on. Then the Colonial Marines have to come in and save their asses. So where was I? Oh yeah. The battle for Getter Avenue. Well, it wasn't so much of a battle really, though it was hell. The Imps had pushed us all the way back into the southeast quadrant of the city. We had called in air support, but there was a whole platoon of Surts moving through the buildings, and they can lay down anti-aircraft fire that could cut through any air support while using the buildings as cover. Those things are wicked urban combat units; way more useful than a tank. But we figured that if we took out the leader, we could disorganize the rest of them. The sarge and I hid up on a balcony on Getter, just as the leader came by, pursuing some poor platoon that walked right into the thing in Seward Square. Man, they got cut to ribbons. We only had two rockets left for the sarge's launcher, but she figured that if she could get a clean shot into that gun arm, we'd be home free. Mostly. It came into view and, I swear, the sarge stands right up against the rail, sights and takes a deep breath as the thing stopped and turned towards her. I'd have never been so calm. I couldn't help but look up and check. Real horns. Damn. She never looked at it, though, even as that sword went up. She simply let out that breath, took aim, and fired. And then all hell broke loose..." -- Cpl. Jesse Westenhouse, B Company, Dagda Third Dragoons. Enjoy, and let me know what you think.