Mo was exhausted from the prolonged campaign. Her left arm, supporting the rifle, was fatigued and shaking ever so slightly. The Grik kept flooding them and the Brumak was decimating soldiers left and right without so much as an effort. She and her companions were barely holding on. Fighting with salvaged rifles, sidearms, ammunition. At this point there were more weapons laying unused on the ground then there were soldiers to wield them.

	The air was thick with the banana bred scent and Mo was sure none who had survived an encounter with the Grik could ever walk in a pastry shop without heaving in disgust. Mo looked about the battlefield. Small pockets of soldiers were left alive here and there from the original numerous army stationed on Pluto. And now it seemed like it was all for naught. Mo kept shooting out of pure spite more then out of hope they would survive this. If her right arm was not bionic, her trigger finger would have cramped by now from fatigue. She began missing shots because of her left arm shaking more and more.

	[i]No, gods damn it! This can't be it![/i] Mo thought desperately, just as she squeezed the trigger to produce a shot and the rifle emitted a quiet and at the same time ominously loud 'click' announcing she'd expended her magazine. Mo looked angrily at her useless, shitty-ass rifle. "Skanky-ass piece of trash!" Mo exploded in a curse, throwing her feeble rifle on the ground and balling her hands into fists as if that would do her any good against the Grik.

	And when all hope seemed lost and every single soldier and officer was fighting for dear life, a hail of bullets from above the ground cut into the lines of Grik, shredding the pale aliens and saturating the air with more of their banana pastry scent. Mo looked up just in time to see squadrons of troop drop ships above them and four bulky figures jumping out to land with no effort what so ever among the huddled survivors of the plutonian forces.

	"What the bloody hell!" Mo muttered as she witnessed the newcomers finishing off the Grik without even working up a sweat. Their state of the art battle rigs and weapons no match for the cleave wielding pale foot soldiers of the Bulwark. And then the bulkiest of the foursome placed his fancy-ass electric weapon or something on the ground, aimed at the Brumak and fired. And splat went the behemoth without so much as a peep, when the five grenades she'd tossed at him hadn't managed to even scratch him.

	"What the bloody, actual, hell are those things!" Mo cursed. "Why send us here to die when you've got these motherfuckers that can decimate a Grik platoon with just a sneeze. What were we? Bait?!? Appetizers?!?" Mo heard similar expletives spilling from the mouth of her milky white giant partner. "I hear you, buddy." She answered grimly. The rest of the soldiers however cheered enthusiastically the arrival of their apparent saviors, not bothering to actually consider what it meant. The existence of these ubersoldiers and their late deployment.

	Just then, however, amongst the cheerers and excited shouts, the leader of the foursome got tapped by a mighty blast and went hurtling towards one of the landed transport ships. “Go tell the pilot that the Argon are here.” One of the foursome, a female, instructed a sniper wielding ubersoldier as she went to tend to their wounded companion.

	Mo hardly realized when the remaining plutonian forces were loaded onto the ships, but before she knew it they were flying away from the place of their utter and abysmal defeat.