“It’s either us or them this time. We lose, and we all end up bratwurst on the grill of some ungodly mechanized carnivore. We win, and the terran Coalition of Man start rebuilding the cities on Mars, Olympus, even Earth. Who knows – they might even get the old interplanetary football league going again. God, I miss Monday night football.”
“Grotesque images of Stroggs have been filling my sleep at night. Their metallic spines jutting awkwardly through muscle, skin and connective tissue, masks of human facial skin smeared and bonded to their cyber-alloy heads, crude but powerful weapons jammed into oozing, gaping sockets. Thank God the endless sleep ahead is dreamless.”
“You learn the hard way in the outer sector… Like never get into a drinking match with a three-headed Bukan. Never assume a Strogg is dead even when he’s nothing but bloody scraps of shrapnel. And never go to bed with a Rabaul no matter how many breasts she has.”
“ALIEN SCUM CAN KISS THE BUTT OF MY RAILGUN. Orders come in from the brass this morning. Tonight, I’ll be on the C-30K Marine Carrier with the rest of 101st Spaceborne. A little hypersleep, a couple thousand gallons of rationed I.V. Nourishment, a few hundred light years, and we’ll be knee-deep in Strogg blood.”
Donde Quake 2? 