Post by Lex on Feb 22, 2007 2:57:56 GMT -5
Classic (though short) behind enemy lines story. Contains some profanity(mostly in gothic) and lots of violence.
I have no onwership of any of the GW material.
Sniper gets left behind as the squad he is with retreats. The veteran sniper who rearer him hears about it and goes back to find him, along with a Commissar. The two are seperated as the commissar tries to prevent a squad of orks attacking the last guard base, and the sniper finds his ally.
The sniper informs the veteran that a bomb is to be used on the base, they act quickly and move it away, escaping via. shuttle.
“Briggs, my men are going to move across the main street. Are we covered?”
The sniper shifted uneasily, pulling his cap up a little to get a better viewing range. He eased himself onto his rifle and scanned down the scope, his crosshair flitting across the street as he looked for threats.
“Briggs, are you hearing me?”
The sniper pressed the vox transmitter on his ear, annoyed at himself for not just saying ‘yes’ before. He took a last peek down the scope, and a glint of metal caught his eye. He refocused the lens of his rifle.
Mines.
“Briggs, I haven’t got time for-”
“Explosives sir, the orks must have set them. Gimme a minute I’ll try and set one off.”
There was gruff speech between the squad at the other end for a minute, then;
“Don’t bother; we’ll cross in at a later point. Is Pits nearby?”
Backing up a little the sniper checked his long range auspex, isolating the little yellow bleep amidst a dozen red. He scanned along, and picked up the squad he was talking to.
Then who were the red?”
“Your squad set to magenta? Because I’m picking up reds on your side of the street.”
“What-”
The sniper picked up the words ‘contacts’ in the background of the transmission, and a second later spotted the orks working their way across the street. They were treading carefully, evidently aware of the mines.
Ork commandos and they outnumbered the Vostroyan squad by two.
Decision time.
“Sergeant, get your men behind cover, set up your firing line. I’m gunna go for the mines.”
He ignored the reply, and took aim at the small patch of metal. He took a deep breath, and fired.
There was a spark as the bullet bounced harmlessly off the solid metal. The orks all turned to face the sniper’s direction, the biggest pointed and they all started shooting.
“Grox-pile! Briggs get out of their. I’ll contact Pits.”
The sniper grabbed his rifle and ran, ducking under the hail of concentrated fire. He threw himself through the empty doorway at the end of the walkway, landing heavily and scrambling to his feet.
He turned, and froze, listening to the orks downstairs. There was no way down apart from this one. At least, not in this building. He tore a grenade from his waist, pulling the pin and dropping it down the stairs. He listened for a second to the grunts of surprise then darted out across another walkway.
The rusted joints groaned beneath him, and a handrail gave way, falling into the street. A roar behind him was all the notice he got of the orks reaching the top of the stairs, then it was a blur of grey ruin as the walkway collapsed. He jumped, hands reaching out, fingers clawing at the air.
He hit the wall with a crack, hands scrabbling at the ledge. Without a foothold he slowly slipped, and he stared down at the three storey drop. Gulping he looked down for a platform of any kind that would save him.
A balcony, four feet to his right and ten feet down. It was his only hope. He swung himself across, his fingers slipping away. He hit the edge of the balcony with a crack, but managed to pull himself up with one arm. He moved into the room in time to avoid the remaining orks gun fire.
Teeth chattering he opened up another vox link.
“Your squad ok sir?”
For a few seconds it looked like no reply was coming, then…
“Briggs, I just got the order for a tactical withdrawal. Can you get out of there and to the manufactorum district? The supply port is the last rally point of the Vostroyans before we depart. We’re practically there Briggs… what about you?”
The sniper’s hand reached down for his auspex, and he yelled in anger as he saw the sparks. At least it explained the crack.
“Sir, I’m without auspex, and there are orks swarming my location. This link isn’t holding out…”
“Throne be with you Briggs.”
The sniper threw the vox transmitter through the balcony, and nursed his bruises for a minute.
Trapped, alone, and soon to be abandoned.
He groaned as he noticed the bleeding in his leg, and tore the shard of metal out. A tear run down his cheek, misery in action. A faint memory nudged through the bleak sadness, and the sniper’s eyes widened.
Not the supply-port…
*
“When did you last speak to him?”
The sergeant shifted nervously, unused to the veteran’s anger. He shrugged, and a hand connected with his cheek, knocking him aside.
“Give up Pits, he’s gone. I’d be surprised if he survived for more than an hour.”
The veteran lifted the sergeant with a single hand, slamming him against the crumbling brickwork of the supply port. He spat at the sergeant’s feet, his eyes glaring madly.
“Where did you last see him, I haven’t got time for more Grox-gak. Tell me now.”
He dropped the sergeant, who remained where he lay, quivering.
“Main street, the lower walkway. We heard a crash which we think was a different walkway giving way. He’s probably dead Pits.”
Pits nodded, taking the two las-pistols from the sergeant’s belt. He ignored the complaints and walked out, his nostrils flaring. He walked through the squad who had been sent to pick up the sniper originally, and out through a thick plasteel door.
He shrugged off the night cold, pulling his cap away from his ears and dropping it into the snow. Clearing his throat he set off at a jog across the icy pavement that spanned the gap between the supply port and the empty wreckages of the manufactorums.
“Where in feth do you think your going?”
He turned and smiled at the commissar. The commissar was a red shirt from the Cadians, sent to keep the Cadians at the fore of the campaign. At least those were the rumours.
“Fetching a forgotten soldier sir, I would appreciate your help.”
The commissar pulled his cloak more tightly about his shoulder and jogged across. He unstrapped his belt, refitting it on the outside for easier access to his weapons. He frowned for a second, then followed the veteran sniper through the burnt out shell of a tank factory.
“How far?”
The sniper didn’t turn.
“Not far sir, but the area is a bit of an ork hotspot.”
The commissar rubbed a small bullet wound on his shoulder, remembering the ork that had put it there.
“Good, but lets… not tell higher command about this.”
The sniper raised an eyebrow, and stopped. He turned his stocky form thick with firs but perfectly still, he looked the shaking commissar up and down, then turned and continued to run.
“You know Briggs?”
The commissar didn’t bother denying it, there was no point trying to lie to a four campaign veteran. He quickened his pace, ignoring the agony in his bones.
“I sent him out to find out what happened to my… previous superior.”
“Oh.”
The pair continued in silence for a few minutes down the narrow alleys, ignoring the devastated city around them. Suddenly they stopped.
The twisted and mangled walkway lay before them, rusted orange and sickly dead green moss jarring against the black and white surroundings. The sniper fell to his knees and picked up a vox transmitter.
“Frak.”
The commissar sighed.
“That just makes it all the harder.”
The sniper didn’t respond for a second, waving the commissar into silence. His head shot up and he stared down the dark alley. He threw the commissar to the ground and grabbed the fallen walkway, miraculously flipping it onto its side as the hail of ork fire burst up in the night.
The commissar bellied forwards, drawing his plasma pistol and taking swift aim. There was a hiss and an ork hit the snow, its face a burnt hole. The sniper brought up his long las, ignoring the scope and picking off the orks one at a time.
There was a grinding to their left and the commissar grabbed the sniper and they both leapt back, narrowly dodging the killer kan as it smashed through the thin frame of an old gun factory. The commissar ducked the buzz saw as it arched through the air, and leapt up, firing plasma through the narrow slit and into the eyes of the ok pilot.
“A new route please sniper.”
“Its pits and I think we should go the way that kan just came.”
The commissar nodded and the two threw themselves into the ancient machinery of the gun factory. They ran for a few minutes, keeping to the wall, and then met a flight of plasteel stairs. The pair ran up it, the Vostroyan seeing the orks piling in after them. They both remained silent whilst the orks looked around.
The greenskins quickly gave up, and were joined by a nob from another doorway.
“Oi, what are youze boyz doing in ‘ere?”
“Hunting a couple o da humies!”
The nob laughed.
“We found a whole bunch o humies in da old port. All da lads are going dere. Let’s go break some skulls!”
With a sigh the commissar tapped the sniper on the shoulder.
“Find shadow light, I’ve got to deal with the commandoes. Those six will be a serious threat to the port without the nob, and I think they’ll need all the help they can get over there.”
The sniper nodded, whispering his thanks. He waved the commissar away and pushed open a door at the top of the flight. It struggled, blocked by something on the other side. The sniper pushed it open a little more and reached around, feeling the body. He pushed the body forwards and side stepped in.
“d**n, that commissar left too soon.”
Briggs struggled to his feet, his face numb with cold. Pits took a scarf from his waist and handed it to the sniper, who thanked him and strapped it around his head, leaving only eyes visible.
“The supply port… we gotta get the guys out of there…”
Pits shook his head.
“Why would we leave it?”
Briggs stood, wobbling on his injured leg.
“Because some of the orks have a fragging bomb, and are in the sewers as we speak.”
“Gak, lets go.”
*
The commissar kept low, getting up only to nimbly move between cover. He stepped over the body of another ork he had killed, another straggler. There were only two left with the nob now, but they were wary, and ready.
He drew his power pistol, sighting down it and at the back of the nobs head. Pulling the trigger he ducked down and waited for a yell.
“Oi, ladz, he’s over dere!”
“Grox!”
He listened as the orks split up and moved to trap him. Hearing the audible click of a grenade being armed he waited for a second before jumping up and catching the frag, tossing it back in time to blow off the throwing orks arm.
He ducked back down, drawing his power sword and waiting for the other two orks.
“Get dat flamer over dere!”
He didn’t have time to get up and shoot, he threw himself deep behind the cover and tossed the cloak over himself, deactivating thee power sword before it burned him. Pulling snow over his cloak he had a second to gasp at the cold before the flamer puffed over the cover, too high to melt the snow but still hot enough to make his cloak damp.
“Dats enough, da humies die fast anyways. You go ahead; I want da fancy light blasta!”
The power sword crackled back into life and the commissar leapt the cover, beheading the nob in a single stroke and cutting the gas pipe on the burna. He leapt away as the last ork pulled the flamer’s trigger, and smiled as the explosion engulfed the green skin.
He got up from the snow and ran, charging across the paving and through the open door of the supply port. Sighing he joined the firing line at the slit windows and began the task of saving the port from its immediate destruction.
Less than three metres beneath his feet the ork commandos armed the bomb, setting the timer for three minutes and running, laughing, to join their mates on the surface.
*
“This place smells worse than an ork loincloth!”
Pits ignored him, quickening his pace a little as they finally approached the underside of the port. He slowed down, easing the wounded sniper from his shoulders and pulling the two ‘borrowed’ las pistols from his belt.
He ran in, pumping rounds into the backs of the orks as they ran. He caught a few but they otherwise didn’t seem to care, turning he saw why.
Two minutes, thirty seconds.
“Frak!”
Briggs caught up with him, noting the time left and gulping. The two bent down and looked at the jumble of wiring.
“Which one do we pull?”
Pits shrugged, staring after the retreating orks.
“We don’t pull any; can you help me take this after those orks?”
Briggs smiled, and the pair grabbed the bomb, grunting as they pulled it down the narrow gulley. After a minute more of toil they dropped it and hobbled back, opening the first hatch they came to and struggling out, shouting at the top of their lungs.
“Get to cover!”
The men around them all ducked, recognising Pits as everyone in the regiment did.
The explosion tore through the manufactorums, detonating a series of old oil drums and spreading a fire wall around the isolated port. The flames crept closer, by leaps and bounds depending on what fuel they found.
“We have about a minute before we die.”
“You cheery old sod, thanks for coming back for me.”
There was a familiar roar overhead and Pits helped Briggs to his feet, the two struggled out into the centre of the port.
“Get in you lazy sons o’ grox!”
The two struggled into the transport ship, collapsing in a tired pile. A hand bent down and grabbed Pits, lifting him to his feet.
“What’s this I heard about you attacking my sergeant?”
Pits and the commissar laughed, and the craft rocketed away from the destruction with a final burst of power.
I have no onwership of any of the GW material.
Sniper gets left behind as the squad he is with retreats. The veteran sniper who rearer him hears about it and goes back to find him, along with a Commissar. The two are seperated as the commissar tries to prevent a squad of orks attacking the last guard base, and the sniper finds his ally.
The sniper informs the veteran that a bomb is to be used on the base, they act quickly and move it away, escaping via. shuttle.
Lastborn [T]
“Briggs, my men are going to move across the main street. Are we covered?”
The sniper shifted uneasily, pulling his cap up a little to get a better viewing range. He eased himself onto his rifle and scanned down the scope, his crosshair flitting across the street as he looked for threats.
“Briggs, are you hearing me?”
The sniper pressed the vox transmitter on his ear, annoyed at himself for not just saying ‘yes’ before. He took a last peek down the scope, and a glint of metal caught his eye. He refocused the lens of his rifle.
Mines.
“Briggs, I haven’t got time for-”
“Explosives sir, the orks must have set them. Gimme a minute I’ll try and set one off.”
There was gruff speech between the squad at the other end for a minute, then;
“Don’t bother; we’ll cross in at a later point. Is Pits nearby?”
Backing up a little the sniper checked his long range auspex, isolating the little yellow bleep amidst a dozen red. He scanned along, and picked up the squad he was talking to.
Then who were the red?”
“Your squad set to magenta? Because I’m picking up reds on your side of the street.”
“What-”
The sniper picked up the words ‘contacts’ in the background of the transmission, and a second later spotted the orks working their way across the street. They were treading carefully, evidently aware of the mines.
Ork commandos and they outnumbered the Vostroyan squad by two.
Decision time.
“Sergeant, get your men behind cover, set up your firing line. I’m gunna go for the mines.”
He ignored the reply, and took aim at the small patch of metal. He took a deep breath, and fired.
There was a spark as the bullet bounced harmlessly off the solid metal. The orks all turned to face the sniper’s direction, the biggest pointed and they all started shooting.
“Grox-pile! Briggs get out of their. I’ll contact Pits.”
The sniper grabbed his rifle and ran, ducking under the hail of concentrated fire. He threw himself through the empty doorway at the end of the walkway, landing heavily and scrambling to his feet.
He turned, and froze, listening to the orks downstairs. There was no way down apart from this one. At least, not in this building. He tore a grenade from his waist, pulling the pin and dropping it down the stairs. He listened for a second to the grunts of surprise then darted out across another walkway.
The rusted joints groaned beneath him, and a handrail gave way, falling into the street. A roar behind him was all the notice he got of the orks reaching the top of the stairs, then it was a blur of grey ruin as the walkway collapsed. He jumped, hands reaching out, fingers clawing at the air.
He hit the wall with a crack, hands scrabbling at the ledge. Without a foothold he slowly slipped, and he stared down at the three storey drop. Gulping he looked down for a platform of any kind that would save him.
A balcony, four feet to his right and ten feet down. It was his only hope. He swung himself across, his fingers slipping away. He hit the edge of the balcony with a crack, but managed to pull himself up with one arm. He moved into the room in time to avoid the remaining orks gun fire.
Teeth chattering he opened up another vox link.
“Your squad ok sir?”
For a few seconds it looked like no reply was coming, then…
“Briggs, I just got the order for a tactical withdrawal. Can you get out of there and to the manufactorum district? The supply port is the last rally point of the Vostroyans before we depart. We’re practically there Briggs… what about you?”
The sniper’s hand reached down for his auspex, and he yelled in anger as he saw the sparks. At least it explained the crack.
“Sir, I’m without auspex, and there are orks swarming my location. This link isn’t holding out…”
“Throne be with you Briggs.”
The sniper threw the vox transmitter through the balcony, and nursed his bruises for a minute.
Trapped, alone, and soon to be abandoned.
He groaned as he noticed the bleeding in his leg, and tore the shard of metal out. A tear run down his cheek, misery in action. A faint memory nudged through the bleak sadness, and the sniper’s eyes widened.
Not the supply-port…
*
“When did you last speak to him?”
The sergeant shifted nervously, unused to the veteran’s anger. He shrugged, and a hand connected with his cheek, knocking him aside.
“Give up Pits, he’s gone. I’d be surprised if he survived for more than an hour.”
The veteran lifted the sergeant with a single hand, slamming him against the crumbling brickwork of the supply port. He spat at the sergeant’s feet, his eyes glaring madly.
“Where did you last see him, I haven’t got time for more Grox-gak. Tell me now.”
He dropped the sergeant, who remained where he lay, quivering.
“Main street, the lower walkway. We heard a crash which we think was a different walkway giving way. He’s probably dead Pits.”
Pits nodded, taking the two las-pistols from the sergeant’s belt. He ignored the complaints and walked out, his nostrils flaring. He walked through the squad who had been sent to pick up the sniper originally, and out through a thick plasteel door.
He shrugged off the night cold, pulling his cap away from his ears and dropping it into the snow. Clearing his throat he set off at a jog across the icy pavement that spanned the gap between the supply port and the empty wreckages of the manufactorums.
“Where in feth do you think your going?”
He turned and smiled at the commissar. The commissar was a red shirt from the Cadians, sent to keep the Cadians at the fore of the campaign. At least those were the rumours.
“Fetching a forgotten soldier sir, I would appreciate your help.”
The commissar pulled his cloak more tightly about his shoulder and jogged across. He unstrapped his belt, refitting it on the outside for easier access to his weapons. He frowned for a second, then followed the veteran sniper through the burnt out shell of a tank factory.
“How far?”
The sniper didn’t turn.
“Not far sir, but the area is a bit of an ork hotspot.”
The commissar rubbed a small bullet wound on his shoulder, remembering the ork that had put it there.
“Good, but lets… not tell higher command about this.”
The sniper raised an eyebrow, and stopped. He turned his stocky form thick with firs but perfectly still, he looked the shaking commissar up and down, then turned and continued to run.
“You know Briggs?”
The commissar didn’t bother denying it, there was no point trying to lie to a four campaign veteran. He quickened his pace, ignoring the agony in his bones.
“I sent him out to find out what happened to my… previous superior.”
“Oh.”
The pair continued in silence for a few minutes down the narrow alleys, ignoring the devastated city around them. Suddenly they stopped.
The twisted and mangled walkway lay before them, rusted orange and sickly dead green moss jarring against the black and white surroundings. The sniper fell to his knees and picked up a vox transmitter.
“Frak.”
The commissar sighed.
“That just makes it all the harder.”
The sniper didn’t respond for a second, waving the commissar into silence. His head shot up and he stared down the dark alley. He threw the commissar to the ground and grabbed the fallen walkway, miraculously flipping it onto its side as the hail of ork fire burst up in the night.
The commissar bellied forwards, drawing his plasma pistol and taking swift aim. There was a hiss and an ork hit the snow, its face a burnt hole. The sniper brought up his long las, ignoring the scope and picking off the orks one at a time.
There was a grinding to their left and the commissar grabbed the sniper and they both leapt back, narrowly dodging the killer kan as it smashed through the thin frame of an old gun factory. The commissar ducked the buzz saw as it arched through the air, and leapt up, firing plasma through the narrow slit and into the eyes of the ok pilot.
“A new route please sniper.”
“Its pits and I think we should go the way that kan just came.”
The commissar nodded and the two threw themselves into the ancient machinery of the gun factory. They ran for a few minutes, keeping to the wall, and then met a flight of plasteel stairs. The pair ran up it, the Vostroyan seeing the orks piling in after them. They both remained silent whilst the orks looked around.
The greenskins quickly gave up, and were joined by a nob from another doorway.
“Oi, what are youze boyz doing in ‘ere?”
“Hunting a couple o da humies!”
The nob laughed.
“We found a whole bunch o humies in da old port. All da lads are going dere. Let’s go break some skulls!”
With a sigh the commissar tapped the sniper on the shoulder.
“Find shadow light, I’ve got to deal with the commandoes. Those six will be a serious threat to the port without the nob, and I think they’ll need all the help they can get over there.”
The sniper nodded, whispering his thanks. He waved the commissar away and pushed open a door at the top of the flight. It struggled, blocked by something on the other side. The sniper pushed it open a little more and reached around, feeling the body. He pushed the body forwards and side stepped in.
“d**n, that commissar left too soon.”
Briggs struggled to his feet, his face numb with cold. Pits took a scarf from his waist and handed it to the sniper, who thanked him and strapped it around his head, leaving only eyes visible.
“The supply port… we gotta get the guys out of there…”
Pits shook his head.
“Why would we leave it?”
Briggs stood, wobbling on his injured leg.
“Because some of the orks have a fragging bomb, and are in the sewers as we speak.”
“Gak, lets go.”
*
The commissar kept low, getting up only to nimbly move between cover. He stepped over the body of another ork he had killed, another straggler. There were only two left with the nob now, but they were wary, and ready.
He drew his power pistol, sighting down it and at the back of the nobs head. Pulling the trigger he ducked down and waited for a yell.
“Oi, ladz, he’s over dere!”
“Grox!”
He listened as the orks split up and moved to trap him. Hearing the audible click of a grenade being armed he waited for a second before jumping up and catching the frag, tossing it back in time to blow off the throwing orks arm.
He ducked back down, drawing his power sword and waiting for the other two orks.
“Get dat flamer over dere!”
He didn’t have time to get up and shoot, he threw himself deep behind the cover and tossed the cloak over himself, deactivating thee power sword before it burned him. Pulling snow over his cloak he had a second to gasp at the cold before the flamer puffed over the cover, too high to melt the snow but still hot enough to make his cloak damp.
“Dats enough, da humies die fast anyways. You go ahead; I want da fancy light blasta!”
The power sword crackled back into life and the commissar leapt the cover, beheading the nob in a single stroke and cutting the gas pipe on the burna. He leapt away as the last ork pulled the flamer’s trigger, and smiled as the explosion engulfed the green skin.
He got up from the snow and ran, charging across the paving and through the open door of the supply port. Sighing he joined the firing line at the slit windows and began the task of saving the port from its immediate destruction.
Less than three metres beneath his feet the ork commandos armed the bomb, setting the timer for three minutes and running, laughing, to join their mates on the surface.
*
“This place smells worse than an ork loincloth!”
Pits ignored him, quickening his pace a little as they finally approached the underside of the port. He slowed down, easing the wounded sniper from his shoulders and pulling the two ‘borrowed’ las pistols from his belt.
He ran in, pumping rounds into the backs of the orks as they ran. He caught a few but they otherwise didn’t seem to care, turning he saw why.
Two minutes, thirty seconds.
“Frak!”
Briggs caught up with him, noting the time left and gulping. The two bent down and looked at the jumble of wiring.
“Which one do we pull?”
Pits shrugged, staring after the retreating orks.
“We don’t pull any; can you help me take this after those orks?”
Briggs smiled, and the pair grabbed the bomb, grunting as they pulled it down the narrow gulley. After a minute more of toil they dropped it and hobbled back, opening the first hatch they came to and struggling out, shouting at the top of their lungs.
“Get to cover!”
The men around them all ducked, recognising Pits as everyone in the regiment did.
The explosion tore through the manufactorums, detonating a series of old oil drums and spreading a fire wall around the isolated port. The flames crept closer, by leaps and bounds depending on what fuel they found.
“We have about a minute before we die.”
“You cheery old sod, thanks for coming back for me.”
There was a familiar roar overhead and Pits helped Briggs to his feet, the two struggled out into the centre of the port.
“Get in you lazy sons o’ grox!”
The two struggled into the transport ship, collapsing in a tired pile. A hand bent down and grabbed Pits, lifting him to his feet.
“What’s this I heard about you attacking my sergeant?”
Pits and the commissar laughed, and the craft rocketed away from the destruction with a final burst of power.