He lead the resistance to the point of no return. It was his destiny; his fate. Born to superior genes, his senses had always been razor sharp. His sight was incredible, equaled only by his athletic coordination, speed, and agility. These things combined made him an excellent soldier, but his mind made him a ferocious leader.
He was wrapped in a worn leather jacket, worn blue jeans, and gloves whose fingers had been ripped off over the years they had been in use. As he knelt to observe his enemy the 9mm sitting in the leg holster provided the subconscious knowledge of constant protection.
His face was unshaven, but his hair only grew to a short stubble. He peered through night-vision binoculars, then gave the order.
His men surrounded a large enemy encampment inside a tree-lined caldera. The geography was similar to that of a large mouth; it protected the enemy from the elements and from an attack from the front, but it held them in as much as it kept others out.