(40k IG) Upon the flaming fields
Upon the flaming fields
Chapter 1- Awaiting the end
He had never seen anything like it before. Guardsman Thorke stared in awe as a huge serpentine daemon yanked a battle tank down into the ground below; the road crumpled and tore like paper under both forms vast combined bulk. The traitors were over running the desperate defences; it wouldn’t be long until they got into the main city.
“Open fire!” The heavy weapons team sergeant roared behind him. Thorke snapped back to his senses quickly, becoming conscious of the dangers around him. The sudden thump of two autocannons reminded him of his own weapons. He needlessly reloaded his autogun and brought it up to his shoulder, looking down the 2x zoom scope. Without effort he found a target, a cultist wielding a promethium flamer.
He licked his lips, turned the catch to single shot and pressed his finger upon the trigger. The kick felt good, the muzzle flash dazzled his eyes for an instant and he smiled as the slug shot ignited the promethium tank. With a dazzlingly bright fireball three cultists were engulfed in the deadly chemicals. He had learned that flamer men were brilliant targets long ago. Their death screams made him feel good, three less to worry about later on.
He returned his eye to his scope, peering down and singling out another target. Before he could pull the trigger the cultist exploded into a gory paste as an autocannon shell hit him. The cracks in the road were filling with gore and blood. Thorke ducked as a stray round pinged off the road and over his head impacting on the autocannons blast shield with a metallic ping.
“Reloading, keep them suppressed!” Shouted one of the heavy weapons team frantically; fear chiselled upon his stern face. Almost immediately the gunner and sergeant picked up their side arms and started taking basically random shots down the road.
Thorke looked around, watching as the other autocannon gunner was shot in the stomach. His screams were terrible, as his stomach acids burned into his innards. Dropping another traitor Thorke leapt up and sprinted the short distance to the cannon.
“Holy frag, just like that he’s dead,” One soldier grimaced as the team left their comrade’s body down. Thorke had seen it before, and seen much worse as well. A sand bag mound ruptured under a krak grenades blast. Dirt covered his sharp, handsome features as another explosion threw up the mound like toy bricks. He jumped into the gunner’s seat of the autocannon and racked the slide with a sharp jolt.
He triggered the firing stud and braced his body against the massive thump of the heavy weapon. He hardly needed to aim so many cultists were trying to get through the gap in the sandbags it created a choke point. Limbs and bodies were pulped as the high velocity shells smashed into the horde of traitors. Their skin was mutilated and pierced in devotion to their false lords. Once again he managed to ignite a flamer drum. Flaming bodies dropped as flesh was incinerated and burned.
Then there was a sudden click. He knew it wouldn't overheat so suddenly, and it couldn't be out of ammunition so quickly. It had jammed. He cursed such luck and leapt to his feet. He took his autogun from his shoulder and firing from the hip began to fire.
The recoil this time hurt his taught muscles as he tried to keep the gun steady. Bullets flew from the barrel, impacting upon the traitors flesh with deadly effects. He smiled as the traitors fell to the ground, gurgling in their own blood or already dead. It seemed like an age before the autocannon team shouted they were reloaded, in reality it was but a few minutes. With one of the heavy guns down their firepower was drastically reduced, and the traitor leaders knew this. He unclipped a frag grenade and pulled the pin, but didn’t release the stud. Instead he tucked it underneath a sandbag so the stud was held down. The defence wouldn’t last long; he knew that, the enemy knew that.
The autocannon fired quickly, more cultists died, but too many were coming too quickly. Thorke looked down the scope quickly, popping off three shots into what seemed like some sergeant equivalent. He turned around and sprinted to knew cover further down the road. Shots threw up tiny stones against him. His camouflage fatigues were dirty and torn. His carapace armour was rented and chipped.
He never looked back as he sprinted, hearing a sudden thump he knew his grenade had been set off. He skidded round a corner and braced himself against a ruined wall. A brick fell from the wall as his weight was pressed against it. He glanced round, seeing three other guardsmen sprinting down the road towards him. He brought up his scope, once again switched to single fire and blew out the cranium of a pursuing mutant brandishing a rusted stubber. Its body stumbled on limply before realising it was dead and collapsed face first into the ruined rockrete road.
A shot took down one of the fleeing soldiers, his spine splintered by a lucky shot. Shots flew down the road, two or three striking the wall behind which Thorke was taking cover. A cultist brandish an iron cleaver ran down the street to his left, reacting first Thorke reached for his combat blade. He grimaced as he realised it wasn’t there, grabbing desperately for his shovel as the traitor swung wildly.
He charged quickly, brandishing the trench digging shovel like a mace. The traitor smiled seeing this new fresh meat, his already blood slick blade held high. Thorke ducked under a decapitating strike and smacked his opponents knee joint hard with the side of the shovel. Blood dripped from the wound but the cultist seemed oblivious to the pain.
“Die imperial scum!” The cultist slurred from a deformed mouth, spittle dribbling down its chin. Thorke didn’t reply, instead smashing the traitors shoulder with the shovel. The cultist faltered, now realising the pain. Before he could stab Thorke smashed his head in with an overhead strike, brain fluids leaking from the crack in its skull. The cultist fell to his knees before dropping backwards.
The two surviving guardsmen sprinted round the corner one bumping into Thorke; they both fell to the ground. Thorke got up first, ignoring the clumsy man on the ground. He realised they were running towards a ruined factory, he could see multiple different soldiers holed up there. He decided he would survive longer with other soldiers to watch his back, he begun the short jog to the door of the factory.
“Wait up we don’t want to.....” Shouted one of the guardsmen before a las bolt sheered through his abdomen. Thorke looked round, estimating his chances. He decided to run back, picking up the wounded trooper as the other survivor ran through the main doors. The wounded man looked up, his eyes pools of painful tears. He whispered a thanks and closed his eyes as Thorke dragged him along one handed, using his other hand to fire his autogun into the shadows. His hands were blood covered but he ploughed on.
Eventually he reached the main doors; two soldiers opened the doors, both smiling to see another comrade coming into the factory. The two soldiers at the doors shut them after Thorke was through, and slammed a table up against them. They clearly weren’t taking any chances. He walked over to a room with a rough medicae symbol painted on it and left the wounded soldier there. He walked further down the hall. He had no intentions of leaving quickly; he wanted to survive after all. He took in his surroundings, floor tiles were missing, cracked and shattered. The walls sported small colonies of fungal growth, years of moisture abuse causing the growth of the greyish colonies. The lights flickered, some stayed on; others blinked into life irregularly casting twisted shadows across the hall.
The other, unwounded trooper was fiddling with the safety catch on his pistol. He was sitting on an old, over used medicae bed, its soft inner padding was wet and moulded. He looked up as Thorke strode towards him, only then did Thorke realise how young the man was. He was no older than twenty five but looked slightly older with the hardening of battle.
“You leaving?” The guy asked finally snapping the safety catch back so the weapon could fire. Thorke stammered slightly, pulling a Torq stick from his pocket and lighting it. He blew a smoke ring before talking properly.
“Nah, I’m sticking here, better here than out there.” The trooper nodded slightly, Thorke gestured him a Torq stick which he gratefully took and lit it. Thorke had a sudden flash back, he had given a guy a Torq stick and when he had lit it the man fell, his cranium blown out. A sniper had seen the spark and had popped him. That was the luck of the battlefield. He shook the thought from his head.
“Yeah me too, by the way I’m Neirv,” Neirv said getting up and shaking Thorke’s hand tightly. Thorke liked a guy with a solid handshake, said a lot about a guy. The trooper sat back down on the staircase leading to the next floor. Blood caked his armour vest and had stiffened his fatigues, only then did Thorke realise how dirty he was. He was also caked in grit, mud, blood and Emperor knows what else.
“I’m Thorke. Well Corporal Thorke,” Thorke said looking at his stripes on his shoulder, one was slightly pink with blood. Neirv smiled slightly and took out the clip from his pistol and started reloading it, Thorke realised Neirv had three bayonets, probably scavanged from the dead. He remebered how close he had been to dying because he didn't have a bayonet.
Neirv looked at Thorke, realising his surprise at the three bayonets. He took one out of its scabbard and looked at it inquisitively, more to emphasise what he said next than anything.
“We got one of them standard issue. We certainly didn’t argue, we needed all we could get! I picked the other two up from corpses, three is better than one after all.”
Thorke nodded in agreement, exhaling a cloud of smoke and dragging the stick again slowly. He looked at his empty scabbard, trying to figure out where he could have dropped it.
“Took me five shots to drop one real determined fragger, to be honest I wouldn’t trust this gun to save my life. I'd much rather have him up in my face, so I could show him my blade,” He said matter-of-factly still draggin on the same Torq stick. Neirv smiled and unsheathed one of the bayonets and handed it to Throke.
“Consider it payment for the killer stick,” Neirv said gesturing to Thorke’s Torq pack. They both chuckled a bit. They continued chatting for quite some time. Thorke threw Neirv another three Torq sticks, since one for a bayonet wasn’t very fair. Suddenly, just as time was passing over midnight they heard a hefty smashing sound and the animalistic roar of someone...... no something.
Awaiting your opinions eagerly guys!!!
Please click the link above and sign up, even if you don't use the service (which allows you to get points for use on Amazon.com) it helps me a lot. Thanks
Last edited by TheJolt; 03-14-10 at 12:57 PM.