Unforseen Aid: A Micro-story
This is something I came up with while working on my chappy dreadnought to keep folks waiting in suspense as to what I was working on next. I've modified it from the original to give it a better story-esque feel. Also, this is what I call a micro-story. A short short story of around 1500 words or so that has a beginning, middle, and end with no need to add to it. I find them more challenging than regular stories as I have to get across my plot and ideas with as few words as possible. I'm still working on getting it right, though lol.
Good luck and good gaming,
"My Lord!” came the startled cry of the serf in charge of monitoring the planetary landing. “Drop pod x57-3 has suffered a malfunction and is veering towards the edge of the equatorial jungle near where the forces of the Great Enemy are headed to land their amphibious assault!"
"Can the pod be contacted?" asked O-sohei Ahishiko.
"No my Lord! Comm-servitor reports that it is unable to establish a link! Course of action, my Lord?"
"There is no need" the old chaplain snorted.
"Brother Shiro is quite capable. Were it in me, I would almost pity the heretics...almost."
The sound of shrieking metal cut through the thick, humid jungle air as brother Shiro tried to free himself from the wreckage of the crashed drop pod. His massive bulk made the activity that much harder given that the pod had landed at a bad angle. The hold was filled with smoke and the flashing of red warning lights across the panels set into the pod’s central command system. Activating his comm-link, Shiro attempted to make contact with the Void Stalkers landing force. He was greeted with the high-pitched squeal of vox static. Upon checking its status, he discovered the vox had been damaged in the bone-jarring impact with the planet‘s surface. With no other recourse, Shiro set his great crozious aside and began clearing away the bits of wreckage that stood in his way. Gingerly, he grasped the emergency release with his large metallic hand and gave a mighty tug, ripping the handle from its mooring. Anger flared in the ancient marine as the pod steadfastly refused to let him go. It was as if fate itself conspired to keep him a prisoner in the cold metallic embrace of the transport’s hold. With a surge of energy, he slammed his ceramite shoulder into the door jarring it from the frame.
Carefully, he stepped from the wreckage and took stock of his surroundings. He was no where near the intended drop site. That fact was readily apparent as he took in the dank, green forest encompassing his crash site. Consulting the auspex on his internal display he found that he was far from where he needed to be. Originally the plan had been for the Void Stalkers force to land near Castigir's capital city of Mashrapoor, located some 100 km from his current location. Why his pod had malfunctioned was a mystery to him. It had received the proper preparation. Servitors under the techmarine's supervision had taken extra care with Shiro's pod, performing the proper pre-battle rites and administering the proper salves to prepare it‘s machine spirit for war. He knew he had been extremely lucky. While the pod had gone off course, the landing thrusters had kept it from smashing into the ground, obliterating both himself and the ship. Having no other choice, Shiro turned and reached into the pod. He took a hold of the massive crozious and attached it to the clamps on the back of his venerable armor.
Without a word, Shiro made his way into underbrush, heading for what he hoped to be the last reported location of the local PDF units left to protect the coastal town of Ashram and the small star port located there.
Captain Voram Solm of the 22nd Ashrami PDF studied the reports he'd received from forward watch posts dotting the coast and sighed. He set the data slates aside, taking what little respite he could. Rubbing his eyes, Solm vaguely wondered if the rest of the PDF was in the same shape as his boys were. The preparations to repel the incoming rebel fleet had been hasty ones as the heretics had given the PDF little time to act. He hoped that they would be enough to keep the enemies of the Emperor from breaking through his thin lines and rolling into the city of Ashram proper. Word had reached him of terrible warriors in blood-drenched power armor leading armies of madmen made up from the planet's own populace in rebellion against the loyal servants of the God-Emperor.
In all his years, Solm had never heard of such madness. Stories of demons and giants had filtered their way down through his command. At first he had dismissed such talk as the ravings of men inexperienced in the horrors of real combat. That had been until the first data slates had reached his command post filled with captured picts of the enemy forces. Even looking at stills made his skin crawl and his gut churned as the images they captured filled his mind. Such things were impossible. He had heard of space marines. He had even been lucky enough to catch a fleeting glimpse of some when he was a boy fifty years ago after the cleansing of a small ork encampment in the northern continent. Solm remembered being awed. What he read now filled him with a bowel-wrenching terror. That the God-Emperor's chosen warriors would be at the head of this rebellion baffled him.
Frightened shouts of alarm and the whine of las fire from outside his command tent shocked him from his reverie. Grabbing his bolt pistol and sword, Solm raced outside to find the cause of the commotion. Shouting for reports, he began bellowing orders to those of his men he could find.
"Surely the enemy would have been spotted before now" he thought. Scenarios ran through his head. "Certainly not without some warning..." Solm found himself coming to a stumbling stop as he spotted the reason for the alarm. Somehow the rebels had landed unannounced, flanking his position. Striding through the camp came a warrior in baroque armor, a bloody power axe in one hand and a plasma pistol in the other. To say that it was massive would have been an understatement.
"God-Emperor...it's one of them."
He froze; his gut clenched in fear as a monster from some insane man’s nightmare turned its visored gaze towards him, aiming its plasma pistol. Solm knew he was dead. He stood face to face with death in the guise of a fallen space marine. A strange smile played across the scarred beast's face.
"Death to the False Emperor! Death to your corpse god!" the traitor roared as he stomped towards Solm, pistol held high.
"I have failed" thought Solm as the whine of the charging plasma pistol grew louder and louder. Falling to his knees, the captain made one last prayer to the God-Emperor. “Let vengeance be done” he whispered as he prepared to die.
Blazing red light burned through the dense undergrowth of the forest surrounding the camp, spearing the fallen space marine with power of the sun. A look of surprise crossed the traitor marine’s scarred face as the twin lascannon beams burned through his armor, leaving a smoldering hole where his chest should have been. Solm blinked, trying to clear the spots from his eyes. He was alive. He turned, seeking his savior.
A metallic roar followed the beams. Striding from the forest, the armored form of Brother Shiro charged into the milling horde of cultists. His heavy flamer belched fire into their panicking ranks, sending the more cowardly ones sprinting for the safety of the trees. From his sloped ebon armor hung braziers and purity seals, swinging back and forth as the dreadnought slaughtered his way though the terrified cultists. Ancient liturgies spilled from his vox-caster as he set into those who had turned from the light of the Emperor. With each swing of his crozious, they fell. As he had for many centuries, Shiro raised his voice in praise of the Emperor.
Snapped from his stupor, Solm began to reign in his broken troops, attempting to bring order to the rag tag line. The fiery oratory of the massive space marine dreadnought filled his blood with hate and he screamed in rage as he fired round after round into the rebel forces, exhorting his fellow soldiers to take the fight to the heretics. Ranks reformed as the guardsmen took up positions along Shiro‘s flanks, following in the wake of his bloodthirsty rampage. What had been a route only moments ago was now a massacre. The cultist‘s will to fight had been broken with the death of the traitor marine. Now leaderless, they lacked the resolve to continue on.
As Solm watched, the dreadnought fought on, pushing the fleeing cultists towards the coast. Terrible metallic roars filled the forest as the armored giant reaped his harvest of the heretic. He thought of his prayer, spoken only moments before and shivered. “Truly the God-Emperor watches over us” he whispered as the sound of dying cultist filled the slowly darkening sky.
"If you can't stun them with your tactical brilliance, baffle them with your superior grasp of BS."
"I refuse to engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed man."
Well, seeing as how you capitalize your characters, use proper grammar and punctuation, I'd say you qualify.