Third in line, sometimes second, that was where he liked to walk in the squad order. When it was really bad, backs to the wall, seemingly endless numbers of Orks to the fore he would step out in front, but luckily this wasn't one of those times and he nervously toyed with the activation stud of his chainsword while he waited for the Captain's orders. He glanced over at Fozaker, the zealot was busy muttering prayers and fingering his Aquila, he looked the other way to see his squad-mates. Doc had the kid sitting on an overturned food crate, he was giving him some sodium tabs to keep Emil from puking anymore. "That's the trouble with ya young welps, all ya mama's milk curdles in ya belly when the fight gets rough."
Doc tried not to laugh at Krabich's jibe, but he could see the grin on the usually dour medic, impossibly Emil's face seemed to sour even more. "If ya was anymore green, I'd think you was one of them Ork runts." The young Fusilier stood quickly before swaying a little and being grabbed by Doc. "Eh, ya know Krabich don't mean it kid. Sit, drink some water." Emil glared at the two older men before complying, he grudgingly took the offered canteen of water from the medic.
He shifted his attentions to the barely audible conversation between the Captain and the Pioneer squad leader. He didn't like the way things had turned out, he had nose for staying alive, his record read like a list of the Ork's greatest hits, through it all he'd stayed in one piece. He wasn't heroic, he wasn't pious, even now he could remember the beatings his gran had given him when he would skip sermons, or steal from the offering box in the local chapel, but despite having a knack for getting himself into scrapes he was even better at coming out of the other side intact. He was handy with a chainsword and he hated the Orks, that combo had earned him a prestigious position in the Fusiliers, standard bearer, there were young men who looked at him with awe when he stood the line with them, unflinching, his pennant flapping in the breeze.
He knew the truth of it though, chance, not a man in this building, not a man in the Fusiliers was a master of his own fate, nor were they as the Ministorum insisted, instruments in the Emperor's divine plan for humanity. He'd seen too many of his comrades cut down unexpectedly, men who were more able soldiers than himself had died in ugly horrible ways inches from him and he'd walked away. No God-Emperor would allow that, the truth was too terrifying for most and so they accepted that all of this suffering and death must be preordained, every action and consequence had purpose. "Grox-shit."
"Krabich!" He looked up startled, they were all looking at him, the Captain stared at him in a way that only a man who'd clawed his way through the hell of this war and still held true faith could. "Care to explain exactly why you think the plan is grox-shit?" He was caught flatfooted, he hadn't realized he'd said that last bit out loud, he hadn't realized the Captain had started a field-briefing while his thoughts had wandered. "Uh... sorry sah, I meant to keep that gem to me self, guess it slipped out."
Captain Zitzkazan scowled at him, then grimmaced, before chuckilng, "You are right, the plan is grox-shit. Unfortunately it is all we have to go on. We have been blessed thus far to suffer no casualties against the seemingly endless numbers of Ork runts, but now we have reached the end of these hab-blocks and once the Tauroxes navigate the roadblocks we will have to move at speed over open ground towards the last known location of Sergeant Valrak's Sentinel." He nodded, "Guess it's like my gran used to say, out of the pan and into the fire."
Saturday, December 30, 2017
Friday, December 22, 2017
Close Quarters
He locked his wrists and leaned forward, the motor of his chainsword whined as the whirring teeth bit deeper into the tiny xenos flinging bits of rancid gore and viscera across his storm coat. Another fiendish runt chose that moment to launch its attack, it lunged through the spray of its alien comrade and swung a heavy metal rod. With a short sidestep Fozaker dodged the clumsy strike and twisted his wrists causing his still revving chainsword to buck free of the now dead Ork runtling and crash down on the overextended new attacker. The second xenos died as messily as the first and Fozaker gave silent thanks to the Emperor for letting him slay the filth that sullied his world.
"Ya enjoy the killin' too much cyclops." Fozaker grunted as he looked back over his shoulder at the Fusilier who had addressed him, Krabich, the man was a blasphemer and worse but his words struck a cord deep in Fozaker, his wrath wasn't just because he hated the alien as all good Imperial citizens should, there was a need for revenge and pleasure he took from ending the xenos as violently as he could. "I only do my duty, and am blessed by Him on Earth for the effort." It was Krabich who made a disgruntled noise this time, "Ungh, save it for the Ministorum Fozaker." The pair heard a shout from the other room, it was the kid, Emil.
Fozaker pushed his way past a half collapsed doorway to find Emil straddling a thrashing, biting, kicking runtling, it spat curses in the crude Ork tongue and bucked under the weight of the young Fusilier. "Slay the xenos!" Emil shouted as he tried to strangle the green creature in his grasp, Fozaker moved forward and kicked the thing in its head with his steel capped boot, the familiar sound of bone breaking under force filled the small space within the hab unit. Fozaker delivered another hard kick and then another, followed by a series of stomps that left the creature's head a greasy ruin of flesh and gore. Emil vomited as he gazed down on the results of Fozaker's wrath, "By the throne..." the young man gasped as he wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"Seems like quite the party ya two are havin'." Krabich commented as he moved to help Emil up from the expanding pool of xenos blood. Fozaker took the moment to again state his devotion to the Imperial creed "We but do the Emperor's will." The three men stood uneasily for a moment, the high of combat ebbing as the fatigue of action set into their muscles and the immediate danger of the small Orks seemed to be over. "Everybody in one piece?" Krabich asked as he shifted his gaze between the two other Fusiliers.
Fozaker reached into his coat and grasped the only token he had left of his life before the war, a simple Aquila, made of steel and rubbed smooth by a nervous hand. The man rubbed his thumb against its cool flat surface, it reminded him of the still pond behind the old mining town he'd grown up in. The place he'd met his wife, where the local priest had anointed his daughter in the light of the Emperor; all of it gone now. He tucked the pendant back in his coat and he tightened his grip on what represented his life now, the hard leather wrapped handle of his chainsword. As Fozaker looked up at his comrades who seemed to gaze at him expectantly. "I am well, for Him on Earth guides my hand."
"Ya enjoy the killin' too much cyclops." Fozaker grunted as he looked back over his shoulder at the Fusilier who had addressed him, Krabich, the man was a blasphemer and worse but his words struck a cord deep in Fozaker, his wrath wasn't just because he hated the alien as all good Imperial citizens should, there was a need for revenge and pleasure he took from ending the xenos as violently as he could. "I only do my duty, and am blessed by Him on Earth for the effort." It was Krabich who made a disgruntled noise this time, "Ungh, save it for the Ministorum Fozaker." The pair heard a shout from the other room, it was the kid, Emil.
Fozaker pushed his way past a half collapsed doorway to find Emil straddling a thrashing, biting, kicking runtling, it spat curses in the crude Ork tongue and bucked under the weight of the young Fusilier. "Slay the xenos!" Emil shouted as he tried to strangle the green creature in his grasp, Fozaker moved forward and kicked the thing in its head with his steel capped boot, the familiar sound of bone breaking under force filled the small space within the hab unit. Fozaker delivered another hard kick and then another, followed by a series of stomps that left the creature's head a greasy ruin of flesh and gore. Emil vomited as he gazed down on the results of Fozaker's wrath, "By the throne..." the young man gasped as he wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"Seems like quite the party ya two are havin'." Krabich commented as he moved to help Emil up from the expanding pool of xenos blood. Fozaker took the moment to again state his devotion to the Imperial creed "We but do the Emperor's will." The three men stood uneasily for a moment, the high of combat ebbing as the fatigue of action set into their muscles and the immediate danger of the small Orks seemed to be over. "Everybody in one piece?" Krabich asked as he shifted his gaze between the two other Fusiliers.
Fozaker reached into his coat and grasped the only token he had left of his life before the war, a simple Aquila, made of steel and rubbed smooth by a nervous hand. The man rubbed his thumb against its cool flat surface, it reminded him of the still pond behind the old mining town he'd grown up in. The place he'd met his wife, where the local priest had anointed his daughter in the light of the Emperor; all of it gone now. He tucked the pendant back in his coat and he tightened his grip on what represented his life now, the hard leather wrapped handle of his chainsword. As Fozaker looked up at his comrades who seemed to gaze at him expectantly. "I am well, for Him on Earth guides my hand."
Sunday, December 3, 2017
Past Hab 19
He pressed his hand against the bulkhead on his his left and clutched the handlebar on the bench to his right, it didn't help, another jarring bump rattled his spine and made his teeth knock together. He looked with awe at Captain Zitzkazan, the man barely moved as poked his head out of the gunners turret. The burly man next to him stank of Promethium and wheezed through a respirator mask that concealed his expression, as far as Emil was concerned every man in the transport hold of the Taurox was a grizzled veteran compared to himself. He was only in the command squad because the Captain liked him and he had scored so high on the Mechanicus lay-skill test. His thoughts were interrupted by a particularly hard jolt to the vehicle he was riding in, the flamer trooper next to him elbowed the adjutant back into his seat. "Stahp lockin' ya legs teat-sucka! Ya bouncing more danna a wounded yearling." The man's harsh words came out with a metallic hollowness afforded by the protective mask.
"Oi, leave Good-luck alone. Ya know the welp is Throne-blessed." Emil bristled at the nickname, all the other men of the command squad called him Good-luck, Doc meant to defend the young Fusilier from the pioneer's harsh words but it irked him, however Fozaker was the worst when it came to treating Emil like a god luck charm, the bastard was always rubbing the back of Emil's head with one hand and clutching his Aquilla pendant in the other while mumbling the Emperor's prayer. Even in the back of the Taurox Fozaker was gripping the hilt of a chainsword and rubbing a thin spot into his pendant. "We walk in his light, the Emperor's divinity a beacon of our holy purpose." Krabich snorted, "Ha, ya need a beacon ta see ya cyclops bastard!" Emil had gotten used to Krabich but the man was the closest thing to a heretic that he'd ever met, it was all the more surprising that he was the company's pennant bearer. Fozaker lowered his voice but his lips were still moving in barely heard devotion.
Everyone was tense, they had already been through an ambush and now they all felt like canned fish packed into one Taurox. The Captain had taken over the role of gunner and they had left the other crewman behind with the damaged Taurox to effect a field repair. The pioneers were an odd lot, it didn't sit well with Emil to be so close to men that everyone knew were the most likely to die. Experts in the use of flamers and demolition work they suffered a much higher attrition rate than the average Fusilier, every one of them volunteered for the duty which made Emil more uneasy around them. Death was likely for any of them, but it was a forgone conclusion for the men of the pioneer units. All the men in the back of the Taurox lurched as the vehicle came to a stop.
The Captain swung down into the troop compartment, "Pioneers, disembark. Sweep that ruin to the right of the road." The pioneer at the back hatch rotated the the handle before hopping out with his lasgun tight to his shoulder, the five other men of his squad quickly followed suit alternating between flamer armed Fusiliers and those carrying lasguns. "We can not advance up this road any further, the Orks have blocked the road with barricades. This turns into an infantry operation until we can determine if the road has been mined or not." The Captain was addressing the command squad but his close-net vox was open and his words echoed through the Taurox's vox-amp. "Fozaker, you are the first out, follow close behind the pioneers, we need to find a way forward if we are going to rescue Valrak." The veteran nodded and quickly exited the rear hatch followed by Doc and then Krabich.
Emil stood to move with his squad when he felt the Captain's metallic grip on his shoulder, the Captain reached to his collar and deactivated his vox-bead "Emil, Valrak's vox-feed has gone silent, as far as I know he may well be dead already. The men don't need to know, but don't get yourself killed trying to recover a body." The young Fusilier nodded, "Aye sah." The Captain released his grip on his adjutant and drew his tactica map from his coat, "We just passed Hab 15, the plaza that Valrak is in is past Hab 19." The space between the two looked so small on the map but they had four more blocks of Ork infested ruins to cover on foot before they would even know if this was a rescue or a recovery operation. The Captain tucked his map away and shouted back to the Taurox driver, "Hold this position and maintain vox contact with the rear elements, you will have to be our lifeline to the rest of the force. There is so much distortion and interference on the vox-net. Keep buttoned up, don't want you to get shot in the head like me." The driver chuckled nervously, "Aye sah, we ain't all adamantine on the inside."
Captain Zitzkazan thumbed his vox-bead back on and urged his adjutant out of the transport. Emil hopped down and crunched into the loose gravel that was scattered across the road surface, he drew his laspistol and made his way towards the rest of his squad, the Captain following close on his heels. Smoke, something more, burning flesh, the smell filled his nose, and he stifled a cough as he crossed the threshold of the ruined hab. The pioneers had their weapons trained through holes in the interior wall. The flamer operator closest to the hole shouted, "Little green shites!" With a burp-hiss the pioneer at the breech squirted a torrent of liquid flame into the darkness beyond the breech. Krabich looked back at the Captain and Emil, "Xenos, the tiny ones. Whole herd of ankle bitin' skags. Pioneers roasted the first batch, habs full of um." The Captain un-clipped his sword from his belt, "Pioneers, lead the way." The pioneer squad leader smiled, his face lit by the guttering flames still licking at the next room, "Aye sah, we always do."
"Oi, leave Good-luck alone. Ya know the welp is Throne-blessed." Emil bristled at the nickname, all the other men of the command squad called him Good-luck, Doc meant to defend the young Fusilier from the pioneer's harsh words but it irked him, however Fozaker was the worst when it came to treating Emil like a god luck charm, the bastard was always rubbing the back of Emil's head with one hand and clutching his Aquilla pendant in the other while mumbling the Emperor's prayer. Even in the back of the Taurox Fozaker was gripping the hilt of a chainsword and rubbing a thin spot into his pendant. "We walk in his light, the Emperor's divinity a beacon of our holy purpose." Krabich snorted, "Ha, ya need a beacon ta see ya cyclops bastard!" Emil had gotten used to Krabich but the man was the closest thing to a heretic that he'd ever met, it was all the more surprising that he was the company's pennant bearer. Fozaker lowered his voice but his lips were still moving in barely heard devotion.
Everyone was tense, they had already been through an ambush and now they all felt like canned fish packed into one Taurox. The Captain had taken over the role of gunner and they had left the other crewman behind with the damaged Taurox to effect a field repair. The pioneers were an odd lot, it didn't sit well with Emil to be so close to men that everyone knew were the most likely to die. Experts in the use of flamers and demolition work they suffered a much higher attrition rate than the average Fusilier, every one of them volunteered for the duty which made Emil more uneasy around them. Death was likely for any of them, but it was a forgone conclusion for the men of the pioneer units. All the men in the back of the Taurox lurched as the vehicle came to a stop.
The Captain swung down into the troop compartment, "Pioneers, disembark. Sweep that ruin to the right of the road." The pioneer at the back hatch rotated the the handle before hopping out with his lasgun tight to his shoulder, the five other men of his squad quickly followed suit alternating between flamer armed Fusiliers and those carrying lasguns. "We can not advance up this road any further, the Orks have blocked the road with barricades. This turns into an infantry operation until we can determine if the road has been mined or not." The Captain was addressing the command squad but his close-net vox was open and his words echoed through the Taurox's vox-amp. "Fozaker, you are the first out, follow close behind the pioneers, we need to find a way forward if we are going to rescue Valrak." The veteran nodded and quickly exited the rear hatch followed by Doc and then Krabich.
Emil stood to move with his squad when he felt the Captain's metallic grip on his shoulder, the Captain reached to his collar and deactivated his vox-bead "Emil, Valrak's vox-feed has gone silent, as far as I know he may well be dead already. The men don't need to know, but don't get yourself killed trying to recover a body." The young Fusilier nodded, "Aye sah." The Captain released his grip on his adjutant and drew his tactica map from his coat, "We just passed Hab 15, the plaza that Valrak is in is past Hab 19." The space between the two looked so small on the map but they had four more blocks of Ork infested ruins to cover on foot before they would even know if this was a rescue or a recovery operation. The Captain tucked his map away and shouted back to the Taurox driver, "Hold this position and maintain vox contact with the rear elements, you will have to be our lifeline to the rest of the force. There is so much distortion and interference on the vox-net. Keep buttoned up, don't want you to get shot in the head like me." The driver chuckled nervously, "Aye sah, we ain't all adamantine on the inside."
Captain Zitzkazan thumbed his vox-bead back on and urged his adjutant out of the transport. Emil hopped down and crunched into the loose gravel that was scattered across the road surface, he drew his laspistol and made his way towards the rest of his squad, the Captain following close on his heels. Smoke, something more, burning flesh, the smell filled his nose, and he stifled a cough as he crossed the threshold of the ruined hab. The pioneers had their weapons trained through holes in the interior wall. The flamer operator closest to the hole shouted, "Little green shites!" With a burp-hiss the pioneer at the breech squirted a torrent of liquid flame into the darkness beyond the breech. Krabich looked back at the Captain and Emil, "Xenos, the tiny ones. Whole herd of ankle bitin' skags. Pioneers roasted the first batch, habs full of um." The Captain un-clipped his sword from his belt, "Pioneers, lead the way." The pioneer squad leader smiled, his face lit by the guttering flames still licking at the next room, "Aye sah, we always do."
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