A Song of Ice and Fire

The excavator's frozen,

Snow treads on our boots.

Half of our shovels shattered,

Right now nothing to shoot.

…

For that we count our blessings,

As we're all told to dig in.

Battlelines are drawn on Pluto,

For now free of battle's din.

…

No rising sun to count the days,

Just the frozen wastes of night.

We dare to hope it's over,

That Bugs aren't spoiling for a fight.

…

But then a screech across the gloom,

Arachnids, on the charge.

Hundreds of their warriors,

Along with tank bugs large.

…

Bullets, missiles hit the horde,

While bombers drop their fire.

The Arachnids are incinerated,

Screaming out their ire.

…

No man's land, it lies before us,

Of burnt flesh and sooted snow.

But then a shriek across the field,

The Bugs come for another go.

…

Hour by hour onwards,

The Bugs charge to the fore.

This has gone beyond mere pest control,

It's blossomed into war.

…

Sometimes Arachnids reach our lines,

Often just gunned down.

But sometimes a trooper falls as well,

Torn apart on the ground.

…

Hundreds of theirs for one of ours,

I fear it's a fair trade.

As the Bugs surge ever onwards,

As they march in Death's parade.

…

So day 4 it rolls around,

Least by standard Terran time.

Still the Bugs are charging,

Still holds the thin green line.

…

We get MI reinforcements,

The Bugs retreat, they yield.

But no time for celebration,

There's always another battlefield.