“Shit! Get down!”

“GET DOWN!”

Sergeant Powell screamed before pulling down with him a cadet to the ground as an enormous tree gracefully flew horizontally above his and his company’s heads. The speed at which it was thrown made Powell breathe deeply and quickly before shortening in frequency as he rapidly stood up and backhanded the fallen cadet who was attempting to sit up, forcing him back to the damp earth once more.

“WHEN I SAY TO DUCK, YOU FUCKING DUCK, YOU FUCKING DUCK.”

Raw fury taking over, Powell grabbed the stunned cadet by his head and made him face where he was now frantically pointing; across the make-shift fortification in which they had just taken shelter in were small-statured forest-green creatures and mobile amalgamations of flora.

“You see that? That, that is trying to kill you. Me? Well, I’m trying to keep our shits together so we survive, you got that? Huh? Listen next time, yeah!? YOU GOT THAT, YOU LITTLE SHIT?!”

The sergeant didn’t bother listening to the cadet’s sputtering word-vomit of excuses and tossed him back into the freshly-made concrete bunker like he would with a sack of manure into a composter - gently.

Picking up his favorite semi-auto that was dropped in due haste, Powell ignored the mud coating the rifle’s exterior, fired a shot into the ground to see if the interior was also affected by any of nature’s gunk, and, seeing a bullet lodged deep into the soft and loamy dirt, he grinned. It’s showtime.

“Alright boys, we’re clear to fire! Fire in the hole! HOO HA!”

Powell roared with delight as a barrage of bullets pelted the misshapen entities from nearly every angle. Snipers carefully hidden within the upper limbs of gigantic White Cedars rained down 7.62 mm hail, completely drowning out the screeches of their victims. Flashbangs further debilitated the peculiar creatures and plants alike in tandem with standard M16s from grounded infantry in ghillie suits. After putting down a dozen of the invaders with well-placed shots, Powell placed his emptied rifle down not before easily hefting a bazooka and aiming at the sole monstrosity left - the two-storied, tree-throwing, hash-slinging-slasher of a monstrosity: the treant.

But before he released the beast, Powell resolutely promised in his heart,

I don’t know where you fuckers come from but if any of you get close to my family or my men...

He pressed the trigger with absolute confidence and unwavering focus.

Die.