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.