All was quiet along the front lines. The troops moved about with a quiet confidence and sense of purpose. Just below them, in the valley of Lansing, lay their prey - the Spartans. Known in lore for their toughness in battle, their greatest moment is a moment of defeat at the hands of a greater opponent.
The Irish hordes waiting to descend upon the morrow are a young and rowdy lot, full of youth and vigor. Some pace nervously, while others ready their arms for tomorrow's fight. While General Weis holes up in his tent drafting battle plans with his advisors, the field general Clausen wanders through the troops, an air of confidence about him that belies his relative youth.
In fact, there are precious few veterans among the troops marching into battle. There's grizzled old Crum, staunch defender and hard hitting warrior. There's Bruton, the quick and agile ranger that can outflank any opponent. Crazy old codger Kuntz, who scares his teammates as much as the opponent, and stalwart Turkovich, man beast who stands like a rock against all comers.
All of the members of this ragtag know the challenge set before them. The mighty Ringer, he of the stomping of mighty Florida Atlantic and Eastern Michigan and the wily Hoyer, he of the fair to middling pass attack, will be difficult foes.
But they are ready for the task at hand.
They know this battleground, and have emerged victorious before. They have vanquished this enemy before on their home turf. They are not the same army of old, slow and plodding, with weak defenses and archaic offensive firepower.
Equipped with the latest weapons of battle, a faster force with quick strike capabilities prepares to unleash a campaign of shock and awe on the unsuspecting Spartans in the valey down below.
Sleep well tonight, Sparta, and enjoy your dinner and wine.
For tomorrow you dine in hell.
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