A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

[sonofccn]

“ Unopposed reconnaissance flights have indicated situational stability in target area is increasing and that neither the secondary or primary quarantine ring has been breeched by “parasitical puppeteers” or additional UBO’s not detailed in survivors’ report. Recommendation is for the Patton doctrine to be postponed to oh-four hundred hours for further evaluation.” OSS memo to SAAC referring to the order to Atomized an alien foothold on Chinese soil.

Judgment, Hanger bay-

Raising his steaming cup up to his mouth, a wondrous blend of tea and a drop or two of something far stronger, he gently blew across it trying to cool off the simmering substance. To his back and at his side the kitchen attendant he’d snagged while inroute to the hanger, because for some reason Shanulas simply refused to leave his station to accompany him, looking on feverously holding the ceramic thermos he’d poured from to see if the Commodore approved of his concoction. Lines of fear not etching across his face as he’d seen in lowly servicemen who attended to Subcommander Tyler but genuine and unmigated concern Krevin had not seen in years, not since boarding that fateful shuttle waving to his parents as he bound first for Aldera and then to one of the then Republic Academies. It was puzzling through apparently non lethal so the Commodore allowed it to pass, continuing to allow his drink to cool, watching the ramp on the shuttle distend towards the metal deck. The contingent of stormtroopers who fanned out to either side of him like wings on a bird tensing themselves as they prepared to board her, with his presence Krevin saw no need to risk South Colonial troopers aboard further on his ship. After countermanding Jackson’s order, and stealing the secrets the droid claimed to posses, he refused to risk an “accidental discharge” settling their accords.

“Keep blasters set to stun, if the creature awakens I want it subdued not killed.” He ordered his warriors who began to trot towards the ramp.

“We won’t let you down sir.” The squadleader, a string of numbers and letters Krevin would never remember, answered sounding eager before falling after his charges.

Setting some part of his brain into alarm and while exteriorly unchanging felt his body began to tighten. Troopers were in his experience dour, grim sorts accepted by hard conditioning to their fate in the Empire’s colossal celestial machine, they obeyed him due to the markings on his uniform. They didn’t mimic a youngling catching his first skrumball for his father in the stands, unless they wanted nay needed to put distance between him and themselves. Glancing back at the attendant, clutching the half meter tall container to his chest, with a renewed and cautious eye, suddenly aware it was more than large enough to hold a thermal detonator. Tyler had already been given a taste of command, could excuse the surviving stormtroopers of any error or alleged incompetence on their part and he had acquitted quickly on going to see the engineers Addam and James. It would be so easy…

“Problem sir? With your tea?” The Attendant asked leaning forward worriedly.” Is it too hot, cold, did I put too much rum in it sir or not enough?”

“It’s fine. Very fine.” Krevin heard himself say being sure to sat the wafting cup back onto its saucer thankful for the return of the stormtroopers who descended three on a side between the hovering gurney.

A scaled, slumbering monstrosity resting in repose upon its surface and behind it lumbering in the slow, unsteady gait of the mechanoid came the medical robot. To it the Commodore offered a brief cursory nod, at odds with treating a synthetic as anything other than a piece of equipment, focused more on watching the approaching stormtroopers cautious that should he and the alien body turn up with blaster scarring it could always be claimed he’d been shot in the cross fire.

Perhaps the still alien possessed similar concerns, eyes lids sliding open to look across at the commander and then winked. The carefully maintained patterns of sleep vanishing in a wink as it sat up pulling its hand free from the manacles with such ease they might as well had not been locked. Clawed hands reaching out over the white dome of a stormtrooper to either side of him and before they could react he’d shoved them together with the full might of his densely woven muscular, the helmets shattering apart in gore filled vistas of scarlet and white as it pushed the slackening bodies from its path of destruction.

“Look out! He’s loose!” The squad leader screamed pivoting in place and firing with all the grace his training had bestowed upon him.

The bluish-white concurrent rings emitted striking the beast head on but barely slowing it through its natural armor as it hopped to its feet, restraints broken free of with equal ease, and then stretching out its taloned hand which pierced through the leader’s armor and flesh cutting down to his beating heart which it clenched and shredded.

A foot launching itself behind the creature, enjoying the final moments of the squadleader’s faltering life, catching another trooper and cratering his face sending him reeling lifeless to the ground before it jumped off of the gurney twisting he squadleader’s body around as a shield against the remaining two’s fire. The crimson stained white armor fabricated, more than its natural scales, to be all but impervious to the stunning effect of blasters.

“Full auto! Switch to full auto!” One of the two cried following his advice a fractionary impulse too late, the beast releasing the squadleader to embrace the repulsar equipped table which it slung as a missile into the trooper’s side.

Then scurried beneath it towards the sole remainder slashing at his knees and when those bleeding ribbons collapsed him towards the ground tearing a mouthful out from his throat. Rising from the gagging corpse, jaws popping as it worked to chew its meal, it regarded the medical droid for a heartbeat sensing no pulse, no animation within its network of wires and metalwork nor danger and spun away. Towards the hanger doors and victims. Towards Krevin.

“Well I be the son of a Bantha…” He murmured instincts first honed when his ancestors had been scurrying small mammals and sharpened endlessly by his tour of duty catapulting him to the deck as the thing sailed overhead ending the screaming of the attendant with the removal of his head.

It hitting the floor only a space after the Commodore who rolled off of the burning contents of his spilt cup and into a tightly coiled crouch, watching as the thing rose from its own landing and licking the flecks off of its talons turn back towards him. Unmistakable pleasure on its pleased face, the kind one wore when getting the winning hand in Sabacc or unleashing a super-star destroyer’s full might on an uprotected world. And he knew whom would be called upon to act as the defenseless planetoid, the beast sprinting forward raising the claws on one hand like scythes while he dove back to the ground to avoid it and grab at the nearest weapon. Fingers fighting for a grip over the smooth, almost porcelain like exterior of the late attendant’s thermos but they held letting him crack it over the beast’s head. Durasteel hard scales and harder skull preventing any serious damage to it but acted like a hammer blow shattering the container in Krevin’s hands, the fluid suspended within pouring out over the thing’s impervious face. Into its eyes, hot boiling liquid.

“Tea, Earl Grey. Hot.” The words of the attendant’s crisp reply when the Commodore asked him what he was preparing shooting to the forefront of Krevin’s brain as the murderous alien shrieked and withdrew from him.

Hands that could cleave apart bone like air and split flesh away with a butcher’s finesse delicately coming up to pad and wipe away at its stinging orbs. All thoughts of the world around it were momentarily forgotten and with it the Commodore who exploited the happening by scrambling not unlike his furry ancestors over the deck towards the mangled bodies of stormtroopers.

Not to check to see if life still lingered within their broken forms but to snatch at the blaster fallen from one of their hands a sparse few meters away. Snatching it up like a bird of prey swooping over its quarry and twisted back towards the howling monster, the cold metallic surface of the weapon fitting reassuringly in his hand. His thumb finding the switch to automatic effortlessly almost as an extension to his being same as his trigger finger which compressed the firing stud bathing the creature in glowing circles.

Undaunted it initially shook off the tingling they sent coursing through its body removing a hand and peeking with a bloodshot eye for Krevin. Setting after him even as a tremble sat into its body, motion slowing as the stimulant thinned and faded in its bloodstream. Weakening to the barrage with every breath, fighting ever more feebly to the growing numbness spreading inward from its extremities to its core until it collapsed. The Commodore, pushing himself up, continuing to fire upon the creature even as stormtroopers rushed down from the shuttle and into the hanger from the corridor outside. Quickly taking in the ruinous sight of the dead they moved to take control of the situation, Krevin’s men rushing to his side while a pair of Colonials knocked down the droid against his protestations and jabbed blasters into its mechanical face demanding answers.

“Feth it I’m going to have to start carrying a weapon.” The Commodore said with a shake of his head, at least ceasing his bombardment, refusing to relinquish the blaster as a pair of troopers appeared at his sides and began to escort him away.” Keep the monster alive, get it under restraints and in the brig before the stun effect wears off! Do it now! And let the droid up, the good doctor is an honored guest on our ship not some suspect to beat a confession out of.”

“You heard him you rapscallions! Help me up!” The robot huffed in a flawless imitation of indignant as it proffered its steely hands up into the air for the troopers to tug him upright by.” I was an unfortunate victim of that monster’s attack, an attack I tried to prevent with its execution, not a collaborator.”

Hoping no one noticed the electronically synthesized disappointment as he watched the still breathing specimen get man handled arms and legs twisted behind its back chaining them all together while a score of stormtroopers watched out of arms reach ready to unleash a withering barrage should it awaken prematurely. Its valuable organs, organs deserving to one who could unlock their secrets, still needlessly sloshing the things bio-fluid around.

Part of his mind spent fantasying at the now, for the moment, lost opportunity while another segment replayed the short lived battle analyzing approvingly at the commander’s hectic but victorious actions. Aware of the potential danger the Commodore represented should he decide to become the droid’s enemy, his departing actions assuring for the moment he was not fully in that category. Another short term impediment which would have to be corrected, another worthless sacrifice to the mechanoid’s coalescing vision. One which glittered and glowed before some phantasmal lens beckoning seductively, free of constraint or restrictions with only one’s burning will to light the way. So beautiful….so dangerous…

Interlude-

Extractum Gladius, Transit-

It was curious what one found to dwell upon in times of crisis, for Jor’ock it was the troublesome squeak in the armored goon’s hand as he pressed his head against the bulkhead. Holding it there in place show he had no choice but look the armor sheathed soldier’s own metallic one he lowered into view. The reptilian visage painstakingly etched into the polished material appearing to grimace more than usual and the captain couldn’t help but imagining its steel lips splitting open and swallowing him whole.

“Thret-Kor-M’nar was a seasoned veteran-warrior. At my side he slew dozens of the Consul’s enemies, watched entire worlds burn. No single alien could’ve defeated him unless…it wasn’t single combat. If at a crucial moment someone else attacked him…” The soldier growled threateningly subtly increasing the pressure of his gauntlet hoping to coach the desired response from his prisoner.

“Remember! Remember the First Consul ordered that I be alive for the assault!” Jor’ock gasped out between the crushing fingers.” If you kill me…”

Retracting him from the wall the soldier flung him to the deck, not far from the slaughtered warrior where a drone picked at the mangled stump trying to separate armor plate from flesh, machinery popping inside his suit as he stomped after. Bending down on bone crushing knee pads in front of Jor’ock, pinning him down as he tried to rise with one hand and curling the other in an iron mace of death which stopped a fraction of a millimeter from the captain’s face.

“That is the only reason a cur like you still live!” The armored warrior bellowed.” Confess your disgrace however I assure you I will be merciful! A quick, clean death without pain, if you force me to carry out the First Consul’s order I assure you your death will bring about new definitions of agony!”

“Negotiations are not your strong suit I take it.” Jor’ock said managing a laugh.” I didn’t attack Trak-Car-figleman or whatever he called himself. He saved my life, I wanted to kiss him not watch his head get bite off.”

His faux composure and insistence of his innocence, as well as audio logs corroborating at least partly what the captain had said, helping to convince the oversize ox through it was a momentary reprieve. As all those from the kith of the snake-men he could be intractably focused on a particularly issue smashing through any barriers set between it.

“Then it was a failed alliance Thret-Kor-M’nar interrupted, a betrayer betrayed which he unwittingly saved!” The warrior hissed lowering his fist so that he could pressed his cold, lifeless face mask against Jor’ock’s.” That is why you snuck away from us, came down here. To awaken your pet and retake your ship! Isn’t it? Isn’t it!”

“No, just no. And I’m not just saying that because you’re a tenth of the way from crushing my collar bone. I’ve never seen that race before and may I remind you during our brief contact it was trying to eat me! Hardly minion material!” Jor’ock, fueled partially from liquid courage and partially by being pushed well past his normal limits, rebutted much to the soldier’s annoyance.” I didn’t place it aboard my ship and just for the record I voted to eject the remains out an airlock. Still do in fact. I’m clearly on the don’t want it on my boat group.”

“Lying cur!” Mister Jolly cried heaving himself up with a creaking of his joints and lifting the captain alongside.” Do you dare suggest one of my battle-brothers would traffic and connive with alien-fodder? Once in transit nothing may embark upon a ship and our loyalty to the First Consul is beyond reproach unlike a worthless worm like you.”

When Jor’ock still didn’t confess to the crime he found himself shoved once more against the bulkhead, his chest held just short of collapsing, right beside where an iron fist sank into the wall. A head sized crevice punched through the industrial slab with the greatest of ease showing the supreme control, and modulation from the onboard computers, it took to keep from spilling the captain’s guts out all over the deck plating. So demonstrated and holding his head to gaze into the punctured pit the soldier repeated his charge to which Jor’ock once again denied only further infuriating his captor.

“Actually he likely had no action in bringing the alien onboard. I linked bacterium traces from Thret-Kor-M’nar’s neck wound to the eviscerated slave.” Slyth announced with a cold pragmaticism standing up from the aforementioned corpse in the emptied holding pen.” Your drones brought aboard the slaves while our dear Captain was still under your watchful eye…recuperating.”

The body, of a tall gaunt Consortium male dressed in the ratty trappings of a robe and whose shaven bald head was festooned with odd tattooed glyphs laid in the center of the cell with a serene look on his face and with everything from his chest to his groin split open. The insides past the broken, reedy bone and flat, yellowish paper like skin scooped away made hollow. The cause of which perhaps what had startled the twenty or so other slaves in the pen to stampede the gate, crushing those dying against its embrace as by weight of numbers they broke it down.

“Bacterium?” The soldier asked drawing out the word playfully as he released Jor’ock and let him fall to the ground.” An infection didn’t bite Thret-Kor-M’nar’s head off, an alien did. An alien brought onboard by the lowly, dishonorable filth here and I will have his confession even if I must pilgrimage to the onyx pools upon the moons of Rythex!”

“But it establishes a link between the unknown alien, Thret-Kor-M’nar and our slave, a link I am certain will be found in the drone killed as well.” Slyth said holding his ground against the armored warrior.” It perhaps could even tell us more about the creature if we could break down it genetic markers for analysis but I’m an engineer not a doctor.”

For a very long, silent moment the power suit equipped soldier glowered at the no nonsense Slyth walking across to scrape tissue from the drone’s wound track and feed it into the palm sized device he carried, clearly thinking about opening fire and killing him along with the captain still huddled on the ground where he’d fallen. Not eager to move and draw notice from the metal titan or lend credulence to any “he was trying to escape…” excuses. At last however the warrior relented and with the groaning protest of a train jumping its track changed the course of his vitriol.

“The merchant who sold us the slaves…he claimed they were scrawny but in good health…a claimed reputable dealer…swayed by coinage to betray the First Consul’s mission, in alliance with his enemies who fear the luster of his power!” He concluded opening his palm and dropping his fist into it with a shattering clap of thunder.” He will pay for giving us diseased stock!”

Which presumed anyone present lived to return to confront him a fact Jor’ock was dubious of but gladdened that his neck was safe for the next few weeks and unobstructed to the sweet amber liquid which so tickled his tastes he chose not to bring up the controversial tidbit. Accepting the steel gauntlet proffered to raise him to his feet, the soldier unapologetic for his actions, and returning unsteadily upright.

“Okay then…if we’re all friends once more I have a slight pounding in my skull and if there are no ship’s duties required of me I think I might retire briefly to the galley followed by my quarters.” He suggested eyeing his metal chaperon who ignored him, himself speaking into his radio headset.

“The threat to the ship has not been averted, we have not established the exact correlation between our slave population and the alien organism, the rest of them possibly are harboring similar organisms inside themselves.” Slyth pointed out, further ruining Jor’ock’s day, inserting the scrap of flesh he’d ripped from the drone’s neck into his reader.” We’d need to establish secure quarantine outside of the holding pens with sufficient equipment for a full medical exam, checking blood and tissue samples as well as more traditional x-rays to determine if they are indeed carriers…”

As he spoke half a dozen drones scampered down into view rallying to their master’s command, three with long rifles, two with compact snub nosed machine pistols and the sixth lingering in the back weighted down with the heavy canisters of a torch-thrower. Its nozzle kept cold and dark less it burn away precious oxygen and fuel needlessly through with the slightest touch it would ignite and expel tongues of incineration upon its victims. Taking position along the wall with the riflemen the drone waited patiently as the remaining two each stood outside the gate to a pen and swept side to side across the clustered crowds of slaves.

Moving on as those fell to the ground, where with the help of an unarmed drone one rifleman entered pistol drawn to shoot stragglers in the head under the cover of the other three, to the next chamber repeating their actions. Some slaves rushing to attack the electrified gateway, a few even reaching it, and some tried to escape into a corner away from the gunfire. None were observed splitting open into the described alien, none were spared.

“Problem eliminated.” The warrior informed Slyth dryly as the last fell, the bark of pistols weeding out those still stubbornly clinging to life.” We will carry out the Captain’s request, that the bodies be spaced where they shall never harm or come into contact with anything ever again. Flawless quarantine.”

“Gets my vote.” Jor’ock was quite to add watching with stomach churning interest the methodical manner the drones preened over the corpses ensuring nothing survived.” I mean if you’d had seen this thing in action you’d want any traces off of the ship as well.”

“That is adequate…if a bit wasteful.” The Engineer answered once the gunfire died away.” I would stress however that the drones used in the work be jettisoned as well. I don’t know what exactly this bacterium is I found but it’s metabolizing the victims’ flesh voraciously…if it were to spread in the confined space of a ship…”

“It will be done.” The Warrior grumbled, sounding less than happy, as he placed a metal hand on the captain’s shoulder forcefully turning him around and guiding him to his quarters.

[sonofccn]

“The matters of the case of rather plain and straightforward. The Archbald family clan has been meddling with the arcane and otherworldly for decades perhaps longer. The manor was a virtual museum to unidentifiable trinkets forged in furnaces found no where on Earth. Among their number was a “celestial casket”, a glass prism seven or so feet long by two feet wide. Wires and harnesses within support it once contained something of comparable size…we think somehow the Archbalds released it. Why I cannot fathom, never one to dwell upon queer ideas found in old forgotten lore, but I can attest to this. The family members were each kept alive for a period of few days to weeks, organs expertly exercised and placed in preserving fluid along blood splattered sheets with runes unintelligible to mortal man. If you ask me one of their curiosities returned the interest.” Commissioner Khole regarding the discovery of the murder of the Archbald family.

…war is a natural state of the cosmos and should not be taken as a personal failing on your part. Failing to be prepared for it would be, be it marauding aliens on the hinterland, the squabbling of pampered nobles or worlds attempting to deconstruct our glorious Dominion as long as intelligent life scurries on it’s way through the galaxy there will be conflict. It will fall upon your shoulders as the ultimate test of my words I impart to you for you to anticipate and compensate for these “distractions”.

As always the greatest moments are before the roar of cannons belch forth or interceptors take through the air, in the frothing moments before the eruption there is where you must strike. Before long convoys filled with millions if not billions of loyal soldiers, before hundreds of warships are rerouted before the great monolithic gears of war are set into motion it is imperative that the scales are balanced in the Confederacy’s favor. This may be as subtle as one elder statesman perishing in his sleep or as complex as a new breed of viral agent blighting the world’s crops.

Gnaw at the supports holding the opposing regime, shatter their unity into a thousand separate individualistic goals, exhaust them with brushfires and then as they lay bewildered, gasping for breath strike with precise hammer blows. Its imperative that you know each and every world the banners of our Dominion will unfurl in battle so that you can direct these blows to be most effective. A rural world with concentrated “educated scholars” who oppose the rule of the Lord Protector can be cleansed with a bombardment of cities while an industrial world the “infection” may be too widespread the world’s investment too great for such actions.

Such cautions and foresight ensures the least of the Lord Protector’s resources are wasted needlessly for the grand armies are but tools. They can be broken and replaced but at a cost of men and equipment that can’t be used elsewhere, the price of victory must never exceed the former should you desire your head squarely upon your shoulders. Nor does this vigil end once the trumpet of war had sounded and the lumbering behemoth that is the military is spurred into action transporting soldiers to the battlezone, for every bolt, every solitary boot, selected for the campaign affects the outcome and the decision to include one additional infantryman may tip the scales.

As you would choose repulsartanks over tracked or legged for a quick strike through marshy bogland so should you weigh the soldiers you are deploying to the field from the highest echelons downward. A general’s personality and traits influences the battle and how it is fought, choosing wrongly shall needlessly expend Imperial lives and delay victory. So I ask that you listen carefully to what I shall now say.

Against Humans and all but the most vile of alienforms you should first attack with a Gentleman’s General. He speaks of the civilizing code of warfare, of the honor of meeting his enemy face to face over the killing fields. When he strikes he unconsciously refrains his hand, standard bombs directed against industrial targets opposed to proton bombs to render the entire city. Artillery against precise targets instead of rolling barrages meant to crush everything into swirling clouds of dust. And in his path those who make war against us shall see common cause, understand their hearth and homes are best protected by allegiance to the Lord Protector, and bend their swords in submission.

Should the Gentleman’s General fail, should the populace remain resolute in their defiance send him away to other pastures where he may dream of his chivalrous battles of enlightened men and speak of his honor endlessly. In his place appoint the Butcher General. Where the former speaks in the form of a mountain brook cool and refreshing the latter that of a volcanic eruption harsh and noxious. He sees nothing but madness in the churning stench of death and misery and chooses to apt it, become it made flesh. A grisly charactercher to drive terror into the inhabitances’ hearts. Dropping plasma bombs a quarter full over cities to intentionally limit the damage and ensure more the maimed escape the fiery torrent with their lives, his shells burst with blister agent over hamlets and villages to ravage the populace and teach them what war means. The dead defiled and paraded so that not a soul on the world misunderstands the cost of fighting the Lord Protector.

Still a few Xeno breeds or Humans are determined enough to resist even his hand and in time you must send him away to burn and slaughter on some other globe and bring in your General of Death. His voice is cold and unexcited, too far removed for too long from the warming affairs of society he holds no delusions, no misunderstandings of his purpose. His is to kill not bring in to submission, cities which must be taken shall be flooded with chemical agents and than fought through. Cities that don’t will be atomized. He fights the utmost towards efficiency wasting not a joule of energy in elaborate visceral plays like the Butcher General, needs not the populace fear but their very lives. Through him great alters of stone, metal and wood shall be constructed dedicated to the extinguishing of living beings, from their deaths tools and equipment shall be spawned from continuing the process. Until it is over.

He never fails and his efforts will birth a virgin world eager and waiting to be added to our glorious Dominion. Through the cost of time and resources is staggering and is why the General of Death must be held at bay until…Extended excerpt from Archservitor Mallus Tyler manuscript “Treaties on Subservience and Devotion” circa 55 N.E. ( 2023 AD old calender)

[Admiral Breetai]

the art of war grimdark edition?

loovveee the update man

[Praeothmin]

Was Sun Tzu an alien?


:)

[sonofccn]

Here it is my last update for the year, hope its worth that weighty responsiblity, anyway hope this isn't too bad. Tried some cameo type stuff this time around sorry in advanced for butchering other people's characters. Yeah I"m also a stinker for ending the update the way I do but hopefully it will build up next years update. Also Admiral Breetai I want to thank you for the inspiration for the last bit, doubly so for the leader Cytherian, you gave me. :) Anyway enough of me flapping my gums.

“A city full of disappearances, that Ghost fellow poking his nose at every crime scene, Crowley and TechCorp cordoning off entire sections of my city and the blasted G-men helping them do it. I tell you I don’t know what this city is coming too.” Police Chief Blake regarding the craziness of the summer of ’39.

New Hope, undisclosed location-

Private second class Marc Rubon, former moisture farmer on a barren two bit world even he couldn’t find on a star chart, awoke to the drenching of icy, stagnate water, the coarse sensation of straw over his raw and cracked flesh and a dischanting melody of anguish he’d never been privileged too. Feeble memories of a blood stained sack, of a man with the strength of a jedi and the sharp sting of a steel spade bubbling up from the wading pool of his mind only to scatter as he opened one eye grimacing as light pierced through the shadowy gloom of his lingering unconscious.

Bars, corroding irons bars but even at a glance he saw they were still solid enough to hold him just as they still held the occupant in the iron cage saddled next to his own. A colossal viper, some how not appearing as scary shed of its body armor or with its once green scales caked with dried blood bled from numerous lacerations over its back, barely contained within the paltry cell resting its head against the red flecked bars looking into Rubon’s. Its powerful hands, claws plucked from the scarlet tinged tips, holding around a bar’s circumference each not to try and wrestle an opening but as support for its sagging form, the burning of its eyes reduced to a wet whimper. As pleading as the noises it gurgled through its razor sharp teeth, a wailing cry matched by the moans of the other occupants of what appeared to be some underground storeroom or dungeon. Some of the voices clearly human others clearly not.

“On your feet Englander!” A voice hissed followed by a hard blow to the private’s side, feeling something shift within.

The command was repeated, once more in accented basic, to which Rubon complied meekly waving a hand through his red haze towards the blurred shape of his attacker as he lurched away hitting a rusting wall of his cage and using them to slide up. Holding both hands over where he’d been kicked fearful of something falling out through nothing did. Once he was standing, if slightly hunched and gasping, his attacker, a bare chested mountain of a man with an onyx styled hood, retreated slightly out of the way making room for the vastly smaller individual who waited. Dressed in a plainclothed suit and tie, overcoat and hat neatly draped over one arm, at odds with the dripping surroundings he was a gaunt specimen hurtling towards the end of his lifespan, hair giving way to gray on the edges and vanishing entirely from the crown of his head with weakening eyes governed by thick glass lenses perched over the bridge of his nose. Frail of body, starting to stoop with age, he would have appeared comical beside the larger figure delicately removing his gloves from his bony hands but he didn’t. He didn’t look the least bit funny as he stepped into the cage, minding carefully dried blotches of blood on the straw.

“There now, we can have a conversation, no?” He asked in the same toned basic.” We can talk about ourselves, my job and what I do and your job and what you do. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“What’s going on…where am I? What system?” Rubon gasped pressing against the bars as the man advanced.” Are you the…Rebellion?”

Twisting, trying to find an avenue of escape, he saw in the cage beside him opposite the great snake the largest bug he’d ever seen scamper to the corner of its cell. Making a string of noises he somehow recognized as his own as a second hooded figure stalked over it, brushing aside its knobby arms, pinning it against the bars and bringing his mailed covered fist down against its leathery hide. Every blow cutting another set of grooves into its exoskeleton, spilling more ichors down over its hide onto the stained hay, and causing it to shriek higher and higher.

“No.” The plainclothed man said turning the corners of his mouth into a smile.” I’m a spider and you are my fly.”

Judgment, Lab Complex-

Krebe and the Subcommander descended down the turbolift, the ensign fidgeting in place both from his proximity to the officer and from the stories he’d heard. Rumors, gossip, wild slips of the tongues from Zarkon’s team. Likely, hopefully, none of it true but still it gnawed at him. Tyler in turn stood still and straight, inwardly enjoying the soft murmur of the Imperial Anthem piping through the elevator’s speakers. A tune he’d heard thousands maybe millions of times before but it was only as of late that he thought he could truly feel it seeping through him. The rigid order contained within the sweeping notes, like the hands of the Emperor outstretching over his domain. A promise of stability and normalcy he never realized until it had been plucked from him, yes now he found it soothing were before it only chaffed.

But that was of the past and the Subcommander had lived too long to dwell within it, the future was what mattered. As it always did. Stepping out of the lift once it stopped, doors splitting open to disgorge the both of them, he headed down the narrow corridor noting but not reacting to the air chilled by the shimmering curtain which hung suspended between them and the lab door. Its tendrils of energy encased through the ferrocrete lined walls as well to leech the destructive energies from anything which tried to pass, including the electrical impulses of unshielded organics which prompted Tyler to pressed a coded button set resting inside the wall. The energy shower splitting open enough for both men to step through before slamming shut soundlessly behind them reforming the spherical field it maintained over the complex’s perimeter.

Sealing them in the frosty sepulcher of technology, their foot falls somehow sounding heavier as they walked towards the reinforced door whose weakened motion sensors belatedly parted for them. Drawing open over a cavernous laboratory cluttered with failed experiments and curios from floor to ceiling. Test dummies meant to register gee forces for TIE pilots hung strangled from bundle cable beside a laser cannon purposely built from only house hold appliances and an AT-ST head rigged for repulsar flight.

From the walls were bolted chunks of granite from a world now dead, a heavily modified and partially melted ore smelter, the treads of some forgotten war machine and countless other tidbits and mechanical leftovers. More between the stacked boxes filled with the detritus, relics stripped of their serviceable parts to furnish the latest creation of the two machine gods. Both, fully absorbed, ignoring the intrusion to continue to tend with the device even as its pitch warbled to screeching tones and its exterior brightened to a cherry red. Which then erupted into a micro proton bomb, Tyler dropping behind a durasteel lined drum a few moments before Krebe dropped to the floor avoiding finger sized slivers which added to the motley décor of the vast lab.

“Woo! Yes!” The smaller of the two scientists exclaimed leaping to his feet and rushing to grab a simmering chunk smoldering on what remained of the work table.

Quickly tossing it from hand to hand as it scalding touch cut through the insulating gel his entire body had been lubricated in anticipation of the destructive event which turned into a juggling game the heat completely forgotten by Addam as he danced about his bemused partner. James more analytically and with greater precision reaching a hand down to his chest to pluck one of the remaining fragments transfixed in his chromium blue exoskeleton, holding it up to his face for inspection. Fibrous sensors, no larger than the smallest hairs, feeding him a constant stream of data from his gauntlet concerning the samples temperature, tensile strength and texture while the whining goggle like constructs projecting from his eyes concerned themselves with more complex matters of its molecular composition.

“Clearly three hours of perpetual “overthrust” will weaken the drive’s stability. I don’t know if you say but the top bracket, it just melted and split off like a moment before the entire rig cooked.” The cyborg explained allowing the crumbling pieces of metal to drift to the floor.

“I know!” Addam exuberantly exclaimed slinging his slip of debris back into the cooling pile on the table.” It just went up like a concussion missile…we have to see what the interceptor model will do.”

“It is a heavier, more robust design. It should handle the increased demand easier.” James answered turning his metallic face towards the ceiling were a robotic arm, wirelessly controlled by him, descended carrying the latest ion engine in a string of volatile experiments.

“Yes, I’m afraid that will have to wait.” Tyler, rising from his cover, announced walking towards the destructive duo.” New orders, from the Commodore.”

“Really? Is he here? Or are we going to the bridge to see him or…oh its you.” Addam gushed his enthusiasm turning cold as he recognized the Subcommander.

Tyler smiled. Since his assignment onboard the Judgment he’d crossed path with Tyler on select but fruitful occasions normally to obtain whatever unexplainable alien tech was being whispered about on the holonet. Some, such as a certain glowing green spherical, had involved certain amount of risk and loss of agents dealing with various worlds’ criminal underbelly but each time he’d been well rewarded.

Said payment being a point of contention between them ever since he asked what Tyler had intended to do with the first bauble he parted with in exchange for his prize and the Subcommander had answered honestly. He never asked again after that, finding something displeasing about the world the Cartel Tyler in turn had sold to had ripped the atmosphere off of. It wasn’t as if the micro-singularity had the needed stability to ever be used as a power source.

James equally regarded him coldly but for that specimen he had no other alternative, human by birth through one could be forgiven for assuming otherwises he was perhaps the pinnacle of synthetic replacement. Indeed while warriors like the long fallen droid General Grievous or Lord Vader had undertaken their reconstruction due to medical necessity prompted by extensive physical damage it had, as far as his file indicated, been conducted by James purely for his own aesthetics. Having over the years removed all traces of flesh and tissue from his surface but for his brushy, dropping mustache which cropped from his armored blue flesh jarringly out of place.

His eyes, when revealed as the protective goggles first extended out and than retracted behind his head slipping into concealing ports, styled in the effect of human eyes with functional lids but glowed with a diffused yellow light some people found disconcerting. Tyler didn’t.

“You are being reassigned as part of a research party to a human colony enclave. This has Zarkon’s full blessing. I have prepared a datapad to give you the particulars of your assignment.” Tyler continued snapping his fingers and prompting Krebe into action who hurriedly pressed the gray slate into his hand.

“These appear official.” James grumbled thumbing through it when the pad was handed across, memories of a falsified mission still running deep through the abomination of flesh and metal’s circuits.

He handed it to his partner who equally quickly skimmed through it, noting in brief what he was supposed to look for and what he was given permission to express to the primitive locals, but with a far more emotional response than his stoic associate. His face becoming animate again and his eyes lit up as he was given a sensor schematic of an old fashion air intake jet fighter with a query of advancement proposed.

“Fighters! Did you see this, we’re going to get to build fighters. Out of these!” He practically beamed pushing the datapad back into his partner’s face and pointing ecstatically to the crude display.” I mean can you imagine, we will practically be able to work on honest to Emperor museum pieces. It will be like redoing the air wars at the dawn of the Old Republic but with our guys armed with laser cannons and proton missiles!”

“Proposals only, covert proposals. The Commodore wishes to know the feasibility of constructing strike craft, warships etc with their native technology. He feels it might entice the populace to accept our…benevolence if he can dangle such marvels in front of them.” Tyler was quick to point out.” Examine their industry capability, see what they can build and how much and report your findings.”

“This is going to be so cool! Real jet engines!” Addam continued to coo not appearing to listen as he bolted off to prepare a satchel for the mission.” Ooh, what about rockets? Did you see anything about rockets in there?”

“Sure did.” James answered with his flat voice rotating his head after his excitable comrade to show him the friendly twinkle in his electronic eyes.” Big ones.”

“Best planet ever! Maybe we can dive bomb a few of the lizard-men who live there with one? Nothing lethal, just shake them up a tad?” The scientist bawled reappearing stuffing random clothing inside a canvas bag.” Okay shirts, socks, unmentionables…I’m packed. I took care of you too Jamie, rivet set, oil applicator and your “kiss me I’m a droid” T-shirt.”

He then moved on to grabbing spare parts and tools from workbenches or ripped directly out of the broken down relics stacked in heaps about in the Complex, all watched by Krebe who recognized such things as an inert hydrospanner to a volatile fusion cell being stuffed into the bag carelessly. Wanting to shirk away but for fear of the Subcommander witnessing Addam take a crowbar to retrieve a capacitor from the scorched hull of a super battle droid revealed to be still functional when its gun erupted narrowly avoiding removing the scientist’s head and adding a glowing crater to the ceiling. Doing little however to dampen his air of triumph after he finished prying his desired treasure out of the robot, holding it in the air proudly for a moment for all to revel in his crazed glory ignoring the rising cinders of smoke from his scalp where the blaster bolt had burnt a strip of his hair down to the quick. Looking with his work clothes, protective insulative gel and unbelievable wide grin like an escapee from an Imperial institution, multiple recommendations thereto to be found in his dossier.

Clever facade or deep insanity it didn’t matter to Tyler as he turned around to leave taking his new assistant with him. The two would get results, as they had done for him in the past, and that was what mattered. The future was built on results, not promises and he needed it built sturdy.

NEW HAVEN, IRONFORGE-

Since before the coming of the Empire and throughout the waning days of the Old Republic the world of Master Sergeant Aphorious had rung with the clash of arms, the landscape filled with the toil of the countless who shedding life and blood beneath the weeping stars. From the crucible the sergeant had been born, helping to hammer out a sword before he could properly wield one and learning to maintain and use a slugthrower shortly there after. He’d been born on the eve of a battle, a minor skirmish between clans through in his retellings it had grown to greater proportions, had lived his entire life surrounded by them and looked on with grim satisfaction that he’d end it at the conclusion of one. That is if clerical work didn’t get to him first, a nasty complication of how the Imperial army waged its wars opposed to his homeland.

So he was most eager when the scrawny logistical sergeant appeared to relive him, a small pale fellow already sweating from the roasting sun used to clime controlled hangers and ports on civilized worlds not an extended campaign in the field. Not one recruited from a farming community nor did his hands bare the calloused abuses of one raised from a factory but from the skilled artisans of the cityscape, perhaps his father had been an accountant he had the look to him. Or the bored son of a bureaucrat seeking adventure and excitement in the wrong outlet, in his decade and a half of service to the Imperial army Aphorious had seen plenty of them flow through the ranks. Most finding a way to quit once they realized it wasn’t like in the holo-vids with a few finding some useful niche with their inherent abilities freeing up others for tasks they were imminently more suitable for.

“I’m here to relieve you sergeant.” He said nebbishly drawing close to the master-sergeant, looking all the while uncomfortable in his skin and a hair unsure of his surroundings.

As if suspecting, somewhere deep at the back of his head, that this was all some elaborate prank being pulled on him. That they would pull a cake out and yell surprise and he’d go back to humdrum life of holo-vids, comfy office chairs and short nonarduous hours of work. Not giving him a chance to work it out Aphorious shoved his datapad into the man’s hands and stepped out of the way as the detail of stormtroopers shifted and cocooned around the clerk soldier on the off chance the enemy attempted to destroy the armies’ logistics. The “Icemen” dwarfing the supply sergeant making him all but vanish behind their protective ring, his lean form sporadically glimpsed trying to stick the datapad out through an opening in the white shield encircling him trying to get it to work.

“Best of luck.” The Master Sergeant said removing his deathstick to curl his lips into a smile, the toe of his boot kicking a gray painted crate he’d been delaying to deal with.” You can start here, case of self-sealing stembolts all lacking an ID beacon.”

In its place, proudly, each bore the red and blue with white star stamp of Soth Thejas and her colonies. The intricacies of electronic engineering all but beyond their factory-towns’ ability, powered almost exclusively with alien labor, with compensation attempted with their building components tougher and more rugged than standard specs called for. So over engineered and obsessed with assuring the part could survive the crash the transport wouldn’t that many times the components were no longer compatible with their intended accoutrements. Requiring not only a manual count of the crate’s contents to assure nothing had been lost or stolen but a calibration check to ensure a plug rated for 5 millimeters hadn’t been increased to five point nine thanks to added thickness of the materials used. Hours worth of work to go through all of the case’s contents which showed on the clerk’s face as the Master Sergeant turned away and moved to return to his unit.

To prepare for that which the blood in his veins sang for, for that which echoed across the self-made field of trampled and crushed grass. In the hovertanks which jockied with each other for position, the crews readying heavy cannons for quick transport in LAATs, to the soldiers snapping together blaster carbines and rushing through the dry, dusty landscape to board idling troopcarriers. The sky above thick with the loose, endlessly trod soil and legions of barges, shuttles and transports landing belated dregs to the preparing forces, fighting for space between the mountainous allotment of gunships which clung to the makeshift airfield like ants on a corpse. Some filling with infantry, trooper and army, while others stocked themselves with air to ground rockets or heavy laser cannons to shatter fortifications. Waiting to take aloft, surge out in a blackening cloud of destruction, rush out into the heavens screaming for that gleaming quicksilver taste of victory.

That metallic tang of durasteel bursting into molten droplet, the heavy musk of flesh broiled by a blaster bolt, the shaking of the ground as a stampede of armor rolled past, the whistling shriek of bombs released from their parent craft on their maiden and only flight. The world Aphorious was born into, the one he understood. The one which hastened his pace, took the wear of his armored vest away made his sun baked muscles relax and soften. That which made him want to run up his clan banner and have the pounding of drums follow as he charged with it into the thick of it.

It beckoned him, with fine pleasured whispers and velvet murmurs, just as it called to his squad. They like he the immaculate end project of unceasing clan warefare, through hailing from the northern tribes, waiting hungrily at their post their menial tasks completed. Watching enviously and in awe of the Great Walkers rise up from the cracked ground their bellies filled with arms and warriors and set towards the horizons, true iron avatars of the frenzied maelstrom they dominated. Destined to steal first blood from the enemy but not the last, not nearly if he and his squad were given but the word.

“Drake!” He snapped to a scowling squad member perched atop a crate of power cells furiously running an oiled rag over his weapon.” That gun ain’t getting any shinier, get off your asteroid and get’em up in the Runner!”

Hailing from the berserker clan of Ezarc, mad animal-men known across the planet for their savage if chaotic attacks, the blonde giant raised his scarred face up to the sergeant and pulled the edges of his mouth into a deeper grin than the lacerated nerve endings had already done. Adding a nonmilitary hand signal to ensure his meaning was well understood as he stood up raising his weapon skyward and locking it into the harness spliced into his protective vest. Originally an E-web it had been customized with a swivel mount bracketed to the holder along with a man portable power cell hooked across his back, good only for a few shots it was unilaterally lethal.

Equally so to the dark haired woman who, after slamming the thick bladed knife she’d been toying with into a holster in her boot, met and caught Drake’s hand the two straining in contest for the merest fraction of a moment before both broke and smacked the other’s metallic covered chest laughing off the blonde man’s response to the Master Sergeant. Hanging primed and ready at her side on its own mounting was an identically configured heavy blaster, almost rivaling her compact stature. Her clan was unknown, appearing one day at the sole starport the world boasted and being recuited after she broke the enlisters arm.

“Now Drake! Move like we got a purpose.” Aphorious grunted gesturing with the deathstick clenching hand he removed to exhale towards their ground transport.” Their not paying us by the hour, let gets this done.”

It, the Runner, a modified CAV with an extended rear compartment to handle the squad and weapon sponsons of everything the likes of Drake and the others could scrounge from the battlefield or Imperial depots. Coupled with the engine modifications it could shoot through, ram or disengage anything it met on the battlefield and was one half of the duet which ensured the success of his squad once deployed. The other was Phoenix, a hybrid LAAT encrusted with remote operated gunnery pods with the magnetic couplings needed to carry the Runner into the Hot Zone.

“I hear you. Up and in the tank louts. Second team go, first follow.” Drake snorted chosen as a NCO more for his prowess on the battle than his respect or care for the position.” Lets move it, we have a war to win for Command.”

“Feth straight, we are about to dive straight into the valley of hell and kick the nastiest, meanest son of a Bantha we find there straight through the fething jewels.” Aphorious grunted in affirmation tossing his spent death stick away and producing a fresh one.” Anyone got a problem with that?”

“No, sarge. We all could use a little excitement.” Private Huds cackled leaning against the side of the Runner with his blaster carbine slacken off his shoulder digging out a deathstick his own self.” But after the iron herd gets done I doubt we’ll have anything but another bug hunt on our hands.”

A muttering of bitter agreement for the ill tidings rising up from the squad as they sprinted up the loading ramp, squatting in the cramped space and securing their weapons for transit. Huds the last, but for Drake, his fellow heavy gunner Val and Aporhious himself, dunking under the rim of the CAV to join in the baneful recrimination he had sowed. Their previous deployments of recent history having been mopping up the leftovers from Stormtrooper assaults leaving nothing more than a few weasely aliens to poke out.

“Stow that lid soldier or so help me I’m going to break it in!” The Sergeant scowled sending Drake and Val up the ramp next.

Preparing to run up it himself, readying the Runner to in turn to crawl beneath the already warming Phoenix, we he caught sight of the transport sinking down from orbit. Big, fat whale of one larger than the rest of the barges and shuttles, larger than all of them placed together. Craggy as a mountain top and nearly as ancient, its pitted hull obviously predating the Clone Wars even to one such as Aphorious not well versed in Galactic history through he did take pleasure in noting the freshness in the Imperial sigils painted on either blocky side.

Down it came, sinking through the air meter by meter, pushing the smaller, fragile crafts from its path by sheer bulk and unmitigated nerve. Coming down in front of the Master Sergeant where the heavy walkers had set up, spindly legs extending from the belly of the bloated ship taking the burden from the repulsars while a silvery tongue vomited itself from the opening mouth. Worker droids swarming about it removing tethers and block restraints freeing the single item to roll out. Despite the distance, despite his yearning to hear the clang of war or all the blood filled years since that long ago winter as he knelt over his first kill completing a ritual as old to his clan as time itself Aphorious felt himself tense when the first rays of the hot, scorching sun fell onto the great metal beast, relaxing only when recognized the Imperial colors on it instead of the hated Rebellion.

Then he smiled, laughing as he turned to enter the Runner, welcoming the golem of war which had entered their midst’s and encouraging it to join its brother avatars already on the long march to the enemy. Its arrival making more a prophet out of Huds but even if the desolation was total by the time of their arrival the sheer blood spilt warmed the sergeant, imagining the aliens as he went up the rising ramp and took a seat facing it and the walker. Almost feeling sympathy for that moment when they realized, realized the exact size of the storm about to cut through and shatter their layers of defense and bunkers of concrete like a superlaser went through planets.

Almost.

New Hope, undisclosed location-

In sudden and painful clarity Rubon watched the fist telescope towards him in brutal slow motion, unable to do anything to divert it away from sinking into his stomach. Feeling things within pushed out of the way of the rock hard protrusion, things tearing. Something warm and wet forcing its way up his throat as the apeish brute withdrew his arm leaving the private dangling from his cell bars, rough rope tied tightly around raw and bleeding wrists.

“That’s enough of your preposterous stories, I refuse to believe an oversized garden slug could rule an entire planet.” The other, smaller man said clearly not amused, watching to ensure nothing which spewed from his prisoner’s mouth landed on him.” Tell me something that I can use or I’ll leave you for Karl to play with. Perhaps this star fleet you mentioned, if you told me more about it…”

“Star fleets…the Emperor’s fists. Thousands of them…used to hold the galaxy in line. I mean…I don’t…what do you want to know…” The private wheezed, coughing up more of the heavy and foul liquid.

“Oh everything, I’m a deeply curious fellow. I just can’t let something lay you understand, I have to take it apart, tinker with it. Take out all the little gears and rearrange them. You understand don’t you?” The intelligence officer said smiling stepping close to Rubon’s body and, drawing a white handkerchief, began to wipe at the corners of his mouth.” I feel compelled to know, to understand. For instances you say thousands of star fleets and I immediately wonder how many thousands, how many ships, how many like the ones above our world. You can tell me that right? Sure, it will be easy, just to help me with it.”

“Hundreds of thousands, maybe millions…I don’t know. They obscure such things through the bureaucracy, I’m not even sure the Emperor really knows how vast his forces stretch. Please…I’m just an Army private…they don’t tell me anything.” He begged, sobbing to the indifferent face of his captor.” I’ve spent most of my service penned inside the belly of a starcruiser or garrison a worthless chunk of rock, I’m a mote on the galaxy nothing more.”

“Now that will make me mad.” The officer stated drawing away his stained cloth and snapping his fingers, prompting Karl to stand in front of him to further tenderize the prisoner’s gut.” Try and think really hard, maybe it will come to you.”

The private’s screams blending with the howls of the serpent-man from the cage beside, curled against a corner of its cage being jabbed by an electrified prod in each and every crevice it possessed. The alien’s own intelligence officer patiently waiting for the latest bout to finish before resuming in broken bits of tongue they had impressed upon the creature. And so on in every cage of the dank menagerie of pain.

Finishing his work on Rubon’s stomach the muscle bound Karl moved upwards to his face, being careful not to damage his jaw but instead directing the fury against the swelled, bleeding tissue around his broken nose and eyes. His brain, rattling with each exchange against the wall of his confinement, apparently acceptable turned to mash as long as he could still speak. After a spell the attack ceased, the iron like touch of the man’s fingers gripping like avian claws around his bloody jowls pushing his head up against the bars once more and twisting it towards the officer he just barely made out through the glossy haze.

Eyelids sticking to the bloated lumps of his disfigured face he could only make out a blur as the officer leaned forward once more cleaning away the lightest bit of saliva and fluids from his prisoner. His ears were less effected hearing without difficulty the repeat of the question and when he once more tried to plead for reason or understanding was treated to the cannon like blow of Karl’s fist. The affect diminished now, his insides feeling as if a reek had run over them, but still acute and forcing him into another coughing fit his questioner didn’t wait to subside before continuing.

“ Come now, no secrecy is absolute. You must be able to give me harder numbers, some idea onto their composition.” The officer continued digging his cloth wrapped finger into a rut of the private’s to ensure he was staying conscious.” Just give it a try.”

“I don’t…I just don’t…they don’t tell me…I’m barely in charge of my own boots…” Rubon whined turning to a sputtering shriek as Karl stepped up once more.

The officer allowing him to administer his ministrations as the rusty hinges to the cell squeaked open and a fresh faced soldier looking more child than man stepped in, over energetically saluted and handed over a wax sealed envelope. Saluting again and clicking his heels together he then turned and departed as the officer tore the packet and extracted the wafer thin message from within. The paper, emblazoned with the watermark of the intelligence division, specially designed to tear apart at the slightest pressure which it did moments later in the officer’s grip after he read its sparse contents obtained from a forward observation post transmitted in code first to a relay station wirelessly and than through underground cable to a decoding station before ferried by motorbike to what was outwardly an abandoned farmhouse.

“Looks like we will have to finish this another time.” He informed the private raising the palm of his hand calling off Karl from his enthusiastic work.” It appears your friends have done something worth Intelligence’s notice. Until then I hope you will forgive my absence.”

Crumpling the envelope with his ruined cloth to dispose of later he made his way towards the cage’s door shrouding his coat back over his shoulders and returning his hat to its perch. Exiting it however he paused and turned around, the wicked smile never leaving his face as he spoke.

“Don’t worry about one of my colleagues taking over. We prefer to work our own personal cases.” He announced with a wink.” It builds a rapport between us you wouldn’t otherwise have. It is that little understanding, that we work with people not cogs, that I think that I enjoy my job so much.”

New Hope, Stout-Fortification-That-Shall-Endure-

The battle bridge bustled with activity, warriors by the dozens over glittering consoles awash in electronic light. Called the battle bridge because the banks of whirring computers, hazy unnatural glow of monitors, holographic displays and bundles of cables connecting everything resembled more the control deck of a Warcruiser than then the command lynchpin for a defensive line. Lightweight titanium panels making up the floor, walls and ceiling of the module connected to similar hollow blocks and sunk into the hard soil exploiting it for protection but sanitizing it for those who dwelled within. The air kept warm with just the right hint of moisture in the air to remind the occupants of distant Cytheria in the warming period but without risk of their scales growing slick with the condensations as would be during the wet period.

As well the plastic molded“stones” each of the crew wrapped their bodies around and hung off of at their stations pumped soothing tingles of warmth out from its pores into their bodies in rhythmic pulses which eased and erased brewing tensions induced from their endless work. Headsets crackling with the stacco of individual units reporting into position across the more than hundred kilometers wide line, digital displays glowing with different segments highlighting the position of each from automated sentry guns to the largest cannons. Tens of dozens of other terminals were focused on graphing out traversable routes through the gnarled patchwork of concurrent rings of pillboxes, mines, dugouts and barriers for supplies and reinforcements to deployed and the wounded to be taken from. Each one, when finished, transmitted to the corresponding sector control module who would distribute it down through the enlisted ranks.

At another post a bank of technicians concerned themselves with scanning the heavens for enemy aircraft, noting each time one of the impossibly small crafts passed overhead on the edge of space lodging its position and travel speed, and directing their own either prowling on patrol or fluttering over the line depositing men and equipment. Countless drone AA platforms slaved to their findings as well, in addition to their own weaker array, the low tier Adjuncts of each counting on their more flexible organic masters to properly position themselves where their firepower would be most effective.

Like a colony of insects the crowded room echoed with a thousand actions divergent yet focused to one solitary purpose. One singular being who rested in the center of the flowing activity like a rock breaching from a crashing surf, Strategic Controller( Second class) Sar’Ur’Ion. Towering above his warriors by a full half meter despite more than half his length wrapped around his own heated pillar he appeared more akin to the wrathful spirit-gods their long departed ancestors had worshipped than a mere commander of the Western line, solemn and silent from his perch passing unvoiced judgment on the underlings scurrying away. Well concealed contempt for the warriors he was surrounded with, soft spoken hatchlings from well placed broods, hidden in his monolithic visage.

The scars of centuries of faithful service to the defense of the Ascendency adorning his scaly hide, turned a murky black with age and as hard as a Swiftclaw tank, and marking he as one who the duration of cold sleep had been a fitting final act on behalf of the realm. In contrast the barely out of their eggshell soft-skins he’d awaken with had barely fired their weapons in anger before that time, eager data-shufflers and pension collectors eager to trade a few centuries for the glory and honor reserved for cold-sleep garrisons.

A fitting joke they should emerge to find the world ravaged, the colony vanished, communication with the Ascendency cut and an infestation of hairless apes thirsting for their blood. The culling would grow the survivors hardier, teach them the true pangs and slings their oaths to the standard meant. Unlike they, hatched and raised with the realms borders unchecked or molested for tens of decades, the Strategic Controller (Second class) had been participant of the eight blood drenched centuries which had bought that peace. His eyes beholding glittering c-beams, desiccated bodies clawing out of Brood warrens moments before thermal charges cremated them, Vraen warships exploding in atomic flames, even the final bitter moments of the siege of the Tannhauser Gate. He had slithered on worlds claimed by Iron Golems, gaped at the ceaseless factories erected over once verdant jungles which spewed them forth in endless waves. From the hand of one of their identical masses he’d taken the sword he now rested against the deck plate a hand on its hilt. Blasted from Mithril, like their metallic hides, it was virtually without heft and glided smooth and sure through the air despite its thick, bulky proportions.

Tribute he’d first bestowed to his war master, his name now inscribed down the blade’s side, and took as a banner on that regretful day of his death. Now it represented the old guard like himself who had sacrificed so much for that victory and the promise in the crop of soft-skin hatchlings that they might find half as much fibrous determination. Even now possessing his doubts any of those surrounding him could be found worthy, listening to their nervous chatter and conversations between themselves. The jokes and kidding which poorly hide their dread of the coming attack, without question the newcomers would attack unless their commander was blind and enfeeble, and anxiety of the command module being reached. Making empty boasts of the impossibility of anything forcing its way through the tens of kilometers deep explosives, interlocking fields of fire, thorn-wire, barricades and artillery, covering their fear with wages of a day’s pay on how far into the perimeter the assault would be halted. How far away each hoped they would be stopped.

It was all Sar’Ur’Ion could do to keep from snorting. Real warriors would have bet how close the enemy would get before being beaten back not hallow pleads for the contrary but more importantly true soldiers would have understood. There would have been no fear, no recriminating glances at each other or a chronometer, assured no fretting would alter an iota their fates. They would have met it head on gleefully confident in their abilities and those of their sacred brothers who watched their back and should they indeed fall understood the promise it would not be in vain. That the others would see the cause they sacrificed for through to its end that through their body may be cremated and placed upon some foreign world some part of them continued on, endless and immortal. The Strategic Commander’s heart growing weary as he recounted all those he carried with him, reliving those battles on a thousand separate worlds, becoming lost in them.

“Sir?! Sentry drones just fired up in grid sector zero-five-four, no wait zero-five-three and five as well and counting! They’re all going!” An alarmed technician blurted drawing Sar’Ur’Ion back to the living world.

“Seismic is going through the roof! By Saargoth it’s like a bombardment!” Another yelped reading the red script shooting over his screen.

“We have nothing on radar, no thermals or magni-scans…whatever it is it’s coming in below a hundred meters.” A third observed puzzled, his colleagues reluctantly agreeing with him.

“Manned gun post seven-nine-three has visual sighting.” A radio operator chimed in holding a claw to his receiver.” Confirming land vehicle.”

With the other he reached to switch to external speakers drowning out the exclamations of disbelief that a ground based war machine could be the culprit. The filling of the room with the harsh cackle of machine gun fire, the tightly gripped voice fighting to remain in control, and a shattering crash of thunder growing ever closer killing the feeble protests their problems were the cause of electronic warfare. All of them growing silent, almost shriveling, and listening to the clipped, coiled voice oscillating between audibility over the interference.

“…gray skinned…metallic…impossibly huge…twenty-thirty meters…missile battery useless, gun worthless…not stopping…distance three klicks…one…slowing…its…turning its head. Turning towards post seven-nine-four. Its-“ The voice wailed suddenly drowned out by a colossal explosion.” By Saargoth! Those guns…the dug out…vaporized! Now it’s turning again towards us…dear Saargoth its turning towards-“

There came the briefest hint of a blast’s roar and the communication ceased with an awful finality, its silence deafening to the warriors suddenly besieged with lost transponders across the outer perimeter. Each logged and reported dutifully to their screens by the administrating Adjuncts in burgeoning tallies which spread across the screen. New voices calling out across the ether, in fear or rage or screaming for artillery which was already being directed towards their position with electronic preciseness. And through it, through the shouts and rumbling, the Strategic Commander at last spoke. His voice like a sunless world and with cruel indifference to the soft-skins facing the onslaught, their fates decided by higher powers or their own actions not he.

“It begins.” He announced bowing his head for the likes of Saargoth and his departed war master who’d come before him.” May we prove worthy.”

*
I'd like to take this moment and thank each and every one who bothers to read my insane ravings. One thousand thank yous apiece to Preao and Breetia whom I'm indebt to both for encouragment and liberaly stealing everything I could from both their stories.

[Admiral Breetai]

excellent chapter.

"I am a spider and you are a fly"...ooohhh shiiiittt I take it Gramps is based off one of the changelings?

Robo Reynalds is scary

[sonofccn]

Short but I think "sweet" update to help ring in the near year. Also forgive me for being a shill but I want to take a moment and endorse this. Just a collection of my rejected stories I had collecting dust on the hardrive, I know what a salespitch, figured I might put up and see if I might get the odd copper. Just 12 cents per story, come on help a hack writer with delusions of grander. :)

New Hope, Stout-Fortification-That-Shall-Endure-

I.Only had one song in mind when I did this scene. Enjoy :)

The shells came whistling down like fat beetles who lost their wings, diving into the broiling mists scattering it with a thunderclap and shooting up a pillar of atomized soil and debris. The hazy column fanning out to rain over the ruined landscape only to be kicked back up again repeating the cycle endlessly. Pebbles of rock, bone or fused metal, striking as hard as bullets at the lip of the dugout where Kray’Torth’Jel clung to trying to be lost against the hard dirt and stone peering over the edge into the swirling mists of vapor. Through the bursting canisters of glare filled rockets, through the thick ominous smoke, hoping with all his heart that the rocking of the ground beneath him would cease. That that the thick, smoky sheet which hung suspended in front of him like some ancient wall would at last hold, that its great steel paw wouldn’t emerge crushing multi-ton barricades and land mines with effortless ease. That the barrage or missiles or something he couldn’t see had killed it, driven it back. Again and again he hoped that always to feel the bitter sting of disappointment.

Rising above him braving the hurtling chips which pierced through armor and skin and hung embedded was Kray’Torth’Jel’s unit leader shouldering an rocket launcher which spewed the egg shaped ordinance out on a cushion of shimmering flame. Stabilizers extending out from it, twisting at the whims of its Adjunct which directed the missile towards the gray skinned beast’s head breaking through the smoky barrier. The shell harmlessly expending itself against the armored crust, a smoldering blister between its lower set guns which crumbled and fell away leaving unblemished metal behind. Unnoticed by the machine-animal, twisting its head through the ashy fog towards an emplacement and with a thundering roar fired erasing it from existence.

A similar roar coming from Kray’Torth’Jel’s commander as he lowered himself nearly flat to the coarse ground of the dug out sliding another rocket into the back of his smoking launcher reporting everything through the centimeter long transmitter adhered over his throat. Its mate placed over the ridge of his head, painted a dark green like the one on his neck, allowing the soft-skin eggsucker on the other end to reply, the oscillations of his voice translated as soundless vibrations into the receiver’s skull. No such restraint acting on the commander, rising up to fire anew, who bellowed to the limit his lungs would allow through that was the tiniest squeak to the sounds of the guns, bursting of shells and mortars.

“The shells are on target, neat as an Adjunct. Absolutely worthless!” He growled watching the war machine walk through them with as much regard as it would a shower of rainwater.” Its hides too thick, we need gunships to come down and try and find chinks in its coverage. Attack angles we can’t.”

Raising his own rocket launcher up to the edge of the dugout, not daring to rise up his belly to the flying debris, Kray’Torth’Jel took aim as his commander continued to argue with the sniveling data shuffler. Watching through the digital scope the vehicle crush a pillbox, its foot ignoring the rotary cannons firing out of it on its descent upon it, turning part of its body and head in the direction flown from of a series of long reach missiles. The rockets shattering like clods of mud against the gray skinned behemoth, ignored fiery flowers blossoming against its unholy skin of its head traversing to face them. Its chin guns flaring vividly for a moment, recoiling in their mounts to offset some unknown force, ejecting a pair of incandescent plasma which sailed in a wake of incinerated ozone from sight. There followed the crack of matter being flash boiled into an explosive force and the flurry of missiles ceased, the silver monster continued on its head swinging back in place.

“I wouldn’t care if the entire Ascendency airforce showed up to aid them, by Saargoth you will find some gunships or they are coming through.” The commander continued to howl cupping his hand over the radio in his neck to cut down on of the suffocating noise.” Nothing we have is doing more than slowing it down!”

On his end the soft-skin continued his mushy but determined refusal while out across the shrinking battlefield shrieking shells continued to fall after the plodding beast, fortified turrets unleashed themselves without quarter or reservation and the broken ground squirmed and twisted with unyielding warriors. Emerging from every nook, every crack weaving between shell bursts to lung themselves towards each of the mammoth crushing feet of the war machine. Some self-detonating with laden explosives, others scurrying up the legs like flesh hungry insects seeking softer, vulnerable spots. One, hanging on the jerking platform with claw and tail, shoving his plasma cannon against the steely plate and fired turning that segment of armor into a molten volcano which rocketed his disintegrating remains away.

“ Allocated for reserves? Withdrawal to secondary positions? What withdrawal?” The commander hissed rearing up to fire again.” No retreat order has been given!”

Somewhere to their side a Swiftclaw banker was demolished by the gray titan’s blast, an encased layer of rock, sandbags and steel plates transformed along with the sixty ton tank within to fragments no larger than a claw-finger. One of those, burning white with heat, flew through Kray’Torth’Jel’s dugout catching his straightening unit leader, slicing through his protective helmet and through his skull into his brain without the slightest delay. Landing on the other edge of the hollowed pit sizzling with brain matter as the commander drooped back to the hard earth his weapon unfired, two neat slits faintly leaking blood on either side of his temple.

“Your sector was among those selected to cover their regrouping.” The soft-skin filing clerk continued echoing into the corpse.” By order of the Strategic Commander. I’m afraid no additional assets can be committed.”

The lack of a rumbling response causing a concerned Kray’Torth’Jel, lifting his head up a millimeter from the iron like sod he desperately tried to burrow into, to turn after the commander’s broken form. His eyes traveling from him to the rest of the unit piled where they had fallen, taken one by one like the unit leader, and then back to the machine-animal which stretched so high above him now. No more hope watching the head swish down through the stinging clouds, no more prayer for a miracle. Just sadness.

Above the guns thundered one more time transforming the entire world into one blinding flash then darkness. Nothing.

*

excellent chapter.

Thank you.

I take it Gramps is based off one of the changelings

Better not let him hear you calling him that but I don't think I had a particuarly changling in mind when I did him. I was just trying to make a total, absolute soulless abomination

[Praeothmin]

to Preao and Breetia whom I'm indebt to both for encouragment and liberaly stealing everything I could from both their stories.

My pleasure, except I din't see you borrowing anything from my story...
Except for your Strike team which remind me of a team from an ill fated mission I copied... :)
And because you wrote about them, you'll find my next update funny... :)

Oh, and by the way:
Cool update...
The intelligence officer reminds me of Colonel Hans Landa from Inglorious Basterds... :)

[Admiral Breetai]

ahh you are published? most excellent i may just lend out some copper

also short update but a good one a real good one keep 'em coming

[sonofccn]

ahh you are published?

If you consider uploading to Amazon online published. ;)

also short update but a good one a real good one keep 'em coming

Thank you.

My pleasure, except I din't see you borrowing anything from my story...

Well I heavily modeled my Imperials on Breetia's Imperials, I've tried to mimic your fluid fight scenes, however poorly I accomplished that, as well I aped both you and Breetia's use of cameos of other fictions.

Except for your Strike team which remind me of a team from an ill fated mission I copied... :)

I just hope I did them justice. :)

And because you wrote about them, you'll find my next update funny... :)

Oh boy! I was hoping you might do something with them.

[Praeothmin]

I just hope I did them justice.

They were quite recognizable, and represented the real ones very well...

I hope I do them justice as well when you read about them...

Oh boy! I was hoping you might do something with them.

I could not "not" do anything with them... :)

[sonofccn]

The first part of what should be a fairly extensive, and hopefully "EPIC", slog of war. First up with Valor squad and Corporal Jek the most luckless soldier his Majesty's Imperial service.

“You think my research is to kill? Small minded fool, across the gilded, withering ages men have been quartered, hung, burned, perished from famine and pestilence, broiled and countless other iterations. It has long since ceased to amuse me, my work is for something vastly more important. To escape my rotting prison, to ascend upon that lofty mountain where the gods still dance and then…then major I will do as you ask. Then I will kill, until then I have more practical uses for the little worms who annoy me so.” Rasputin informing Heck Strauser of his line of research shortly before the latter’s disappearance.

I. Something I thought sounded appropiate all things considered.

New Hope, AT-AT “Rumbles”

A self assured stormtrooper with a helmet cracked up like an egg outlined how he wanted the drop to proceed but it was all lost to Jek huddling towards the rear of the compartment trying not to be stepped on by some of the two plus meter troopers crowding towards the assault commander. Still fitted with an opened cowl army helmet the cheap radio speaker was futile against the labored bellows of the lumbering transport or the endless skittering hail against the outer armor. What sounded enough to destroy the world they were on a dozen times over exploded outside rattling the interior like a house in a hurricane, the constant drizzle of shell and shot like some cascading tempest equally as deafening.

For the past hour he’d been treated to it, denied even the slightest of their surroundings or the walker’s progress, standing in the overfilled compartment being shook, shaken and completely stirred fearing each blast, each shrieking shell, would pierce their armored canopy scattering him and the white clad troopers like toys. Not that they cared, the rest of Valor squad and the other white clad “icemen” placidly indifferent to the bombardment behind their identical face masks. Some offering suggestions to the assault commander to the battle layout played out over the lens of their helmet, others performing one final check on their gear revving themselves up for the attack while other appeared merely smitten with the walker itself. Clenching their fist in the air or quietly hooting to themselves each time the compartment rung with the noise of the laser cannons, slamming their gloved fist against the armored plated walls just begging for the enemy to try and pierce them.

’19 was one of those and worse he appeared to be under the delusion that Jek was one as well, grabbing and shaking him with each outburst despite the complaint of Lucky regarding the matter. The acting squad leader on his other side, thankfully standing between ’19 and Specs keeping the cyborg that much farther away, with his head turned down and a hand resting against his helmet watching the unfolding battle layout.

“Hear that kid?!” ’19 gushed ignoring Lucky’s gestures for silence.” That sounds like a fething munitions depot going up. Boom, gone! Nothing can stop these babies!”

“Didn’t I-didn’t I-“ Jek struggled to say being jostled by the trooper as the gun fired for the one millionth time in the last sixty minutes.”-hear about the Rebels taking one out…I thought I heard about that…something about ramming it was a snowspeeder?”

“Lies Kid! Just-Kaboom! Feth yeah!” ’19 shouted throwing a hand up into the air.” Just Rebel propaganda, that’s why it wasn’t picked up on the official news of the galaxy. Built to be practically be a mini starship nothing can stand against them. I tell y-”

The rest of his energetic boasting ended with the grating groan of machinery as the legs first slowed and came to a rest with a painful lurch everyone but Jek compensated for. Saved from sprawling against the stormtrooper in front of him, a gentleman whom he suspected from his size, musk and limited vocabulary to be a wookiee in disguise, by ’19 who drew him back to his feet than dragging him in tow towards the rappelling panel where the assault commander moved. Taking his place at the forefront of the preparing line holding his blaster rifle upwards next to his splintered helmet showing off the emblazoned text scrawled on its side.

“ I don’t want you to merely kill the enemy, we could paste the landscape with bombs if we wanted that. I want you to take from his courage, crush his spirit, to utterly pulverize him. I want their last image to be us as we tighten their intestines about their throat, I want them destroyed. No exceptions, no excuses! Mike Donner proclaimed as the ramp door started to recede and the dangling viper thrusted his gun through the gap to fire.

Bullets scattering in glowing sparks over the roof of the cabin and shooting downward in crumbling strays at the ranks of soldiers who all parted but for the Assault Commander. Standing in place twisting at the waist to avoid the tail which jetted out like a harpoon and swiveling his gun towards the hanging creature exposed behind the sliding open plate of durasteel. Tapping the firing stud thrice in a rapid succession he neatly lined up three blaster bolts which gouged holes through the creature’s face and head, smoldering embers washing over his armor as he leaned over it lifting his foot and driving the smoking corpse down to the earth below.

“Let’s do this.” He shouted grabbing on the rappelling rope and falling with it into the churning wasteland.” Primo victoria eduro victoria!”

Followed with roaring approval by the rest who grabbed onto the rope and slide after him, Valor squad one of the last with ’19 selected to lead with Jek next thanks to his proximity. His last glance of the safety of the compartment that of the cyborg Specs rushing towards the opening and Lucky at his heels than he was sailing down choking on sulfurous fumes and smoke as heavy as sackcloth. Everything grim and murky as he hit the ground, stumbling on the morass of bodies liquefied and fused into the soil, rolling against the trampled headless corpse Donner had dropped.

All around him was noise, shouting both in basic and uncomprehendable alien, the burst of weapons fire and hellish whine of shells of every caliber plummeting to shake the ground like falling gods. Pushing himself up, fingers sinking to the warm and moist remains, he saw through cloudy eyes a stormtrooper racing ahead of him vanish into an opening hole, another after firing at hidden grate as the viper within returned with a flechet cannon filleting the trooper to ribbons. The beast emerging through the resultant visceral spray, a red soaked white thing hanging limply in one clawed hand, clutching the impossibly large cannon. Sensing Jek through the air, curling its upper body towards him, bringing its gun until its barrel filled his vision. A vision which withdrew as the first of ‘19’s shots ruptured against the creature, reeling away from the blistering fire and dropping back down into the pit which the running stormtrooper, holstering a blaster, primed a thermal charge and threw down after. A gout of flame licking back up through the depth’s opening, laced with the sooty ash of the hellspawns squatting in the hovel, reflecting off of ’19 as he crouched beside it scanning the shifting landscape for additional quarry.

All in a few heartbeats Jek realized hearing and seeing Specs land, scanner chirping wildly, and trot off across the mushy dead landscape. Firing his gun sporadically at the knobby and twisted hills which rose from the bleak sod and the rocky flatland in between, each time rewarded with something detaching itself from the surroundings in a death spasm.

Landing last on the blood soaked soil, adding a flurry of blaster bolts to ‘19’s to a gaggle trying to emerge from a pit, Lucky stomped across to the precise and exacting cyborg. Not as accustomed to the indecipherable lights and sounds coming from his portable scanner but diligent enough to recognize the diverse range of signals it was bedeviled with.

“Got ourselves a real mess here.” He shouted needlessly, dropping into a crouch mirroring ‘19’s to shoot just as another viper revealed himself.” Going need you to get us through this.”

Shooting over the squadleader’s head claiming the life of another squad’s stormtrooper sliding down before Lucky’s burst cut the alien down, fist sized holes burned through its chest belching scalding vapor. More added to it to ensure it remained down and to its partner which similarly lifted its mud lathered body off of the ground. Shooting one handed with its machinegun as it tried to reach out a hand to the first struck one, drawing back a steaming nub moments before its face cratered.

“Coming up.” The machine-man answered before the second viper’s body had fallen, taking a step gesturing to be followed and shooting an alien rifleman with the same motion.

“After him, Kid move! ’19 this isn’t a shooting range, you don’t move I’ll blow your asteroid off myself.” Lucky thundered mimicking Gunny’s rowdy vocabulary with all the gnarled force he could muster.” We got ourselves a job to do, lets go and do it!”

The cautious turn of his head toward Jek, reminding the soldier he had not yet moved since his fall, was however pure ’48. The friendly wave of his hand beckoning the corporal on was similarly in character well as the “smile” in the tilt of his head doing which Jek found enabled his legs to move once more. Not, as he greatly preferred, to grab onto the dangling rope and claw his way up past the descending trooper to nestle inside the protective womb of the walker but in a quick trot after the energetic ’19 with Lucky taking his place covering the rear.

Watching the “Rumbles” finish depositing its platoons of stormtroopers and heaving into a rickety motion drawing back in its rope, walking unmolested forward its guns firing off into the distance at unobserved artillery posts. Above its roaring head the sky flashed and crackled with pyrotechnics, gunships launching volleys of rockets to the ground in turn slain by interceptors dropping in avian like swoops and who in turn were slaughtered by seeking missiles launched by the dozens from nearly every conceivable nook or cranny in the shell marked landscape.

Below its lumbering form the smoke drenched landscape blazed with unmatched intensity, shells tossed like kindling exploding with wrathfully violence, hilltops shone with the never ceasing flare of muzzle fire and red crimson seas from the troopers wilting scaling them, only for the crests to vanish all together when mortar batteries zeroed onto them or demolition charges were flung into place. The heavy guns sunken into earthen fortifications crowning each of them continuing to belch explosive shells through the torrent to the very last. The ground between each was slick and treacherous, enemies boiling from the very ground while simultaneously vanished their screams lost to the pang filled howls of war. Bodies of both intertwining, lost to grapple as claws carved through armor and daggers slipped between scales, locking with the embrace of death in a singular monument of hate and fury. Behind them sustaining the ghastly attrition the Xenos squirmed over the ravine of barb wire and barricades set up as a final defense, ferried swiftly from sequestered bunkers through the trench network by armored troopcarriers whose knobbish guns added to the havoc.

It was through this avenue which Valor squad’s objective lay, where Specs lead them leapfrogging from place to place avoiding the pitfalls of hidden ordinance or soldiers choosing the valley between two bristling hilltops to make the crossing. Stopping there, tens of meters from the first row of wire mesh, and kneeling digging his shoulder into the soft hillside with a quick sign for the others to mimic his deed.

’19 splitting off and taking Kid with him to the parallel side wedging themselves behind a tumble of rocks loosened and slid from the raging contest above, Lucky scooting behind the cyborg watching the ridge above ’19 like he knew the trooper was watching the one behind him. Jek, more from craven fear than intentional planning, gazing out back the way they came and the littered field hiding the Emperor knew how many of the vile aliens in their burrows waiting for some sound or transmission from a secondary spotter to burst out.

“This have a point Specs?” ’19 impatiently asked, warily watching the traversable gun bunker above the machine-man and Lucky repel its attackers.” We’re kind of are cornered Reeks here.”

“Yes.” He whispered in a smiling voice watching with his augmented eyes the first of the Vipers pop up from behind the ridge of mesh and steel.

The heralds of the caravan disgorged from the idling troopcarrier, whose combustion engine shone like a beacon on thermal even if its owners faded into the background radiance, and picking their way through the barricade to support the waging hilltops. Pushing through and dismantling segments of the line unaware of the guns which were being drawn on them, of the long knives suspended above their unsuspecting heads.

“Carrier will be tough, makes me wish we had a plex launcher.” Lucky remarked hefting his rifle up, switching it to single shot, and making his first bead not to the lead lizard squirming between panels but the scarred slagger whose howls appeared to coordinating them.

“Leave that to me, come on Kid looks like we’re doing this the old fashion way.” ’19 cackled in pure heaven, the man leaning more of his body out from behind from behind the rock in preparation for the coming sprint.

The movement as well as appearance of more of the grimy off white of his battered armor catching the commander Viper’s eye, his head turning to focus on the trooper. Experienced eyes making out the huddled shape, the incongruities with the surrounding attire, with honed instinct dropping his tri-barreled rifle from its skyward position towards it before a high concentrated burst of plasma drilled through the front of his armored skull and out the back. The hot brains still funneling out the back when the second shot of Lucky’s cleaved away much of another snake’s face and jaw followed with Specs blowing open a third’s chest. Steaming flecks from the slain swirling around the confused survivors agape at their comrades falling around them, minds still processing what was happening.

“Lets rock!” ’19 screamed lunging out pelting one almost to disintegration with his twin carbines, his running feet catapulting him across the intervening no man’s land.

Jek screamed too as he, reluctantly followed, through his was a nameless, dread filled shriek and he sprinted hunched face more down than up firing in wild clutches at the shadows and smoke he thought might be Xenos. Above his head the screeching of bolts informed him Lucky or the infernal man-machine were not relenting. Each hissing plasma capsule meaning another fewer Viper to be dealt with, one less thing which craved his dissolution. That thought, that fear, consuming him as he sped through the first layer of razor-wire hosing down a wounded Xeno which shifted towards him. A handgun that seemed as big as his head cradled in its hand.

Such concerns not troubling ’19 weaving between a pair of star shaped barricades meant to impede a battletank and launching himself into the air, his state of being condensable and distillable into a solitary word as he flew through the smog thick air driving his foot against the gunning Snake sending it backwards onto the slanted stakes which pierced through its back and up through its organs. That was Alive.

Every cell, every fiber, flushed with energy, his every sense heightened to its limit. Landing he spun away from the Viper anguishing on the spearpoints towards the craggy, broken ground of the twin hills. To the flicker of movement of the two serpents who’d had been coming to greet and escort the reinforcements and now whom scurried over the edge above the two imperial sharpshooters, both drawn to look up by the burning streaks of gore which poured every place a blaster bolt tore an atomized furrow through the beast’s blood and bone. Both Imperials rising and moving out from beneath the twitching bodies which flopped to the ground below, their demise as violent as they lived their lives with claws rending trenches through the ground and tails snapping about as their final impulses died out. ’19, ceasing fire and raising his guns skyward, tilting his head knowingly at Lucky’s gaze, half covered with brackish drizzle, who in turn curved his towards the telescopic sight on the rifle he raised and fired.

Finding his mark behind the startled stormtrooper a millisecond later showered with the remaining detritus of a Viper’s face, turning to find the one he’d pierce falling back onto the steel points it had pulled itself off of.

“Don’t get cocky.” He heard Lucky chastise.” We still have job to do.”

Lowering a hand to the rim of his helmet to feel the latest scoring the near shot had deposited in its wake ’19 grunted in compliance bending under the three meter tall stake fence and squeezing between the bars and the barbed wire behind to drop down the waist high ditch composing the network which ran behind and through their defensive interior. The very arteries of their battlefield navigating supplies, equipment and personnel to and fro where they were needed, carried by “bloodcells” like the transport he found himself staring down.

Set low to the ground it was a battle gray steel box with a flattop except for a nasty looking duel turret sat along its rear, supported by man sized wheels encased with enough armor it was doubtful a direct hit with a blaster would penetrate. Its side, the side facing the hills, was slid open revealing part of the second squad still inside the behemoth. More outside coming to the aid of their besieged brethren and after the most minuscule of time it took for them to see the streaked whitish things that had jumped into their midst’s wasn’t one of them half a dozen guns matched the two the stormtrooper clenched. Neither side hesitating, the volume between filling with flying shards, plasma and leaden slugs, both setting to motion. Half of the Xenos spreading out in a half circle away from the human intruder their guns sweeping after him while the other sect dropped their bellies to the ground laying nearly flat sprinting at impossible speed after the stormtrooper. Against those he directed his fire, aiming for their heads which weaved as if they parted through water, while mirroring the steps of the gunners. Running to increase his separation from the aliens soldiers and retreat behind the rear of the APC.

Making it with more than a stride to go before he reached the cover of its armored flanks when a leathery green carpet slid in front of him, a living mountain rising up in his path and swinging half a star destroyer in the shape of a machinegun at his head just as he snapped it forward to see the obstruction. The next he saw was of the troubled and turbulent sky darkening with brooding clouds, tasting his own blood against the surface of his helmet wondering why the world was ringing and how he ended upon his back. A partial answer revealed in the form of a Viper which slithered over him, waving its slightly scuffed rifle to silence the gunners.

Through not for concern for ‘19’s health the trooper realized, recognizing the glint in the man-beast’s eye, watching as the alien drew a dagger long enough to be called a sword from a sheath on its gun arm and hooking its machine gun by a strap on a hook on it slammed his meaty paw over ‘19’s head. Lifting it with a vise like grip, and along with it his body, exposing his neck which it aimed with a sword stroke. The blade raising up as the stormtrooper watched addled, not yet able to direct his body with purpose, and then like a cord had been cut swinging free with droid like force. That’s when the blaster bolts started flying, five of them. Four going completely wild, one in fact narrowly avoiding removing ‘19’s leg as it punched a divot in the soil, but the other struck off center on the creature’s arm blowing a chunk out that with the growing force of the swing snapped it free and sent it spinning like a pie plate nicking ‘19’s helmet and embedding itself into the wall face behind.

From his perch squeezed between the bars lined with stakes, fitting better with his smaller size and lack of encumbering armor, Jek only stared expectantly at the stormtrooper straining to twist his head in the grasp of the Viper. Unsure of what to do next, unsure that he had done what he done in the first place. His mind still milliseconds and several actions back before he’d drawn the ire of half a squad of Xenos.

“Move?” He suggested weakly when nothing was forthcoming dropping flat against the ground after a barrage of bullets cut after him knocking his helmet off of his diving head, more burrowing through the ground or sparking off of the bars he was wedged between.” Run, get cover!”

Again without his mind realization of what was occurring he found the gun going off again in his hand, instead of trying slink back out from the bars and find a good hiding spot, all on its own accord. Indeed for a long spell in his adrenalin and fear soaked state he wanted who was the brave lout unleashing it all against the terrible titans only to belatedly realize as their outpour against him intensified that he was.

And with the others distracted and the one clutching him still processing his ruined limb ’19 forced a hand back down to the ground, around the well worn handle of one of his beloved carbines and back up again against the bottom of the Snake’s mouth. Pulling the trigger, hearing the hiss of steam as matter vaporized, seeing the gout of atomized flesh expelled from the creature’s jowls and tearing the clawed hand free from his hand in one jumbled singular sensation, his head still swimming from what had knocked out one side of his visor’s systems and put a deep crack running down the front. Through it he reached around and clutched with his arm the thing’s neck first to help drag him up and second to keep propped as he dangled around it shooting. His aim wobbled, heaved and lurched with abandon, but he saw the holes sprout against them, heard their squeals of pain and rage at the unsuspected attack. Heard them switch targets from the Kid to him, felt his meatshield shudder and peel apart, lasting only a second before bone chips began spewing from it but in that moment he cut down the remainders by half. Leaving what remained as he released the corpse-screen caught between two targets and seeking cover from the twin fields of fire. Decisions which ate fractions of time, minute lengths by any definition but by such spans a soldier’s life was measured, the split second which followed allowing ’19 to dive behind the caboose of the transport.

Diving onto his shoulder and pivoting on his back well behind it, bullets splintering off along its edge, he was treated once more to the troubled sky glistening with glowing baubles that were competing strike craft as well as the troopcarrier’s turret assembly which hummed to life. Revolving not towards him, which would have been all but impossible and inherently unsafe, but after the Kid still nestled against the ridgeline spraying with the wild abandon normally found only in South Colonial recruits.

“Let’s see how tough you really are.” He screamed drawing a demo pack from his belt and slapping it against the underside of the war vehicle, prepping it and then rolling back into view.

Meeting the alien infantry with a battle yell of distinction he rose to standing gunning the foul Xenos and raced away before leaping towards the trench wall ahead of the conflagration which rocked the APC. Jostled upwards by the spigot of flame which carved up through the floor plating and incinerating anything not contained with specially heat resistant canisters like fuel or shells such as the crew, coming back down the midsection sagged dipping down its molten hollowed frame into the scorch ground then splitting open spilling the clumps of ash which remained of the occupants.

The swirling gray “snow” washing over ’19 who rolled back over from his last jump, squinted at the smoking remains of the troopcarrier, and unsteadily stood back up. Spinning to face the ridge wall at dirt crumbling from its edge only to find Lucky and Specs standing over it helping to push Kid through the bars and drop him over.

“Next time, we bring plex rockets.” ’19 wheezed placing his back against the trench wall, feeling as if he was swimming through morass.

“And miss you in all your glory?” Lucky asked rhetorically dropping down beside his friend.” Come on, we still have a task to complete and I can’t have you goldbricking on us.”

“I think I liked your Gunny impersonation more.” ’19 groaned pushing off, doing hid best to hide his swaying, and taking a step before remembering he had no fathom of where their objective was.” Leave the irreverence to me, I’m a professional at it.”

Specs started to reply, favorably comparing ‘19’s skull to netronium in its ability to withstand both damage and reason, which was ended by the first chatter of machinegun fire which forced the cyborg down to the ground and sent tufts of dirt sprouting from the ridge wall. Hitting the ground he rolled away from the tracking volley and rose as more joined in, from either side of the squad, return swift fire to the hazy figures lurking in the distance behind the trawling sheets of smoke and dust perpetually settling across the battlefield. Dark, shadowy shapes clinging to the ground, almost indistinguishable hard targets. Far harder than a standing biped dressed in off colored white armor and their guns fired so quickly.

“How many!” Lucky screamed pitching a grenade towards one of the groupings before turning and scrambling towards the isle of protection offered by the bisected APC.

“Baker’s dozen but growing. Rapidly.” The machine-man answered similarly destined, subtracting the meager few he could lay claim too with his carbine.” Holding steady at over three hundred and eighty meters which appears to be beyond their weapons effective range.”

The tens of dozens of bullets which flew past with every second squandered spoke differently of course, each gouging strips through his armor. Splintering it, cracking it, as he leapt onto the still glowing edge of the severed troopcarrier and threw himself behind its armored bulkheads. Jek appearing at his side, the little man white faced and drenched in sweat from the momentary but harrowing run, with ’19 hugging the smoldering edge leaning out to alternate facing directions shooting at the distant threat.

Lucky taking post on the other edge, achieving greater feats with his slower more considered shots than his comrades wild abandon. Focusing on section, clearing it one Viper at a time, instead of attack both sides and holding to Specs to watch over his six with his ethereal sensors.

“No change in proximity.” He related after the squadleader inquired.” Numbers in both parties increasing but they are holding their position.”

“Why?” ’48 demanded leaning back inside the split craft, the wall outside sparking from deflected shots.” They could be on us inside twenty…maybe ten. Why are they holding put?”

“Who the feth cares?” ’19 pleasantly suggested over the pattering of hail as he swung back inside the oven roasted compartment.” What matters is killing these sons of a banthas before they realize they can storm us.”

Lucky disagreed, as strongly as forcefully as the bullets which pounded against the hull of the dead struck personnel carrier. Specs said nothing, holding whatever council he had to himself and consoling and consolidating his focus on his scanner. Watching with his artificial eyes the simulacrum representation of the growing forces, noting variations in their actions, their occurrences, like eddies in a current to coalesce them into reportable patterns.

Jek was the sole without purpose or opinion, beyond curling in some corner and waiting for the storm to pass, and as ’19 and Lucky traded heated exchanges on why each was right the corporal found himself out of place. A constant of his life, more so since waking up inside the crash troop transport, he’d been beset by the rudderless, weightless feeling on the first day he stepped onto that frozen iceball of a moon for basic and even earlier during that one term he spent at business technical per his father’s request learning the skills of the trade, to be a “man” in his words, before the change of venues to follow his passion. Where he met she who would change his life and send him errantly of on a new destiny and ultimately trapped inside a troop carrier with half an army taking potshots at him.

Before he’d combated the feeling by taking a pint, a rare indulgence more so since it helped get him into the mess he now found himself in, or more regularly by shrugging his shoulder and setting himself adrift in the proverbial currents until he acclimated or was carried to more favorable tides such as when he father obliged to send him to art school. Always discouraging the “limp-wristedness” of his son, a migrant vagabond born between the stars his hearth on Aboreia taking much dint and determined effort to accomplish, but never able to break it.

Now while still present and still as strong as ever there came a small tingling along his spine, some compulsion which made him fidget with his hands and pace the length of the burned out wreck. Some part of him wanting to stretch his hands out, to anchor himself from the groundless sensation. A persistent itch to act that took him at length to even notice and longer to recognize within himself, small through that feeling was it was relentless and unceasing.

“I’m insane.” He thought to himself stepping over the broken chasm to the rear quadrant of the carrier, running fingers over the fragile scrapes of woven hammocks the aliens had traveled in and the congealed plastics which drooped from the roof in gnarled formations.

Still warm to the touch and soft like butter they broke apart under his touch, oozing like mucus through his fingers dripping to the floor. Exposing more of the broiled electronics and wiring which had been routed between the layers like a nervous system in the process, charred silicon and copper he tugged at fighting the persistent urging running up and down his spine. A tug which made him want to join in the rapid fire conversation between ’19 and ’48, to interject his thoughts and suggestions. To find a solution, to hopefully impress them he realized with a sudden acuity a droid could only dream of.

”I’m starting to like them?” He wondered with alarm returning his gaze to the three stormtroopers.

With regard to Specs, cold and solemn at his duty even now, remembering that first instant when he first had seen his hidden horror. His perverted flesh, his desecrated form merged with that of the machine. Remembering how he recoiled, now while there still simmering healthy revulsion it was dimmed, shrunken. He could stand beside the machine-man now, and had when he ran into the APC, and not even think about his affliction. His sacrilege of the human form.

Then ’19. Arrogant, impulsive and suicidal by any rational standards yes but bold and without fear. Seeing less of the crazed berserker in him now, patiently arguing to make a mad dash into the alien guns, and more of the kidder and card player he’d met at the med-camp. Part of him, thankfully a very miniscule part, wanting to prove he could be as brave as he was.

Last Lucky. No more merely a faceless sharpshooter. Always composed but not cold like the cyborg, determined and supportive. Him most of all he felt an inkling to get his approval, to prove himself to.

A remarkable line of thought for people he’d assumed were nuts on their first meeting, a notion he still clung too expanding it now to include himself, and one which he was still assimilating when the shrill note rose from Specs’s scanner.

“ Enemy forces…ahead of us are moving. Away.” Specs announced his vocalizer doing a marvelous job of sounding surprised.” They are retreating.”

“Why?” Lucky asked braving the lessoning hail of thrown slugs to peer out across the smoky wasteland.

His visor augmenting the distortion of kicked of sod, condensing vapor and propellant exhaust which blotted across everything, and which thankfully afflicted their opponents without reservation, making out the Vipers form rising up in pairs and slinking away in organized style. He also made out, latching onto its heat signal, the halftrack which all but approached silently on the noise filled battlefield drawing to a step well beyond any hope of reach with his rifle. No weapons that he could observed, not that that would be definitive, with the alien soldiers going towards the rear opening up panels and hauling out crates they threw down. Greedily cracking them open with the butts of their rifles, scooping out the contents.

A smile growing on the squad leader’s face as he recognized the rectangular ammo feeders needed for their slughthrowers, the glint of their bare projectiles laid in long leafs needed for their heavier and more robust designs. Watching them toss them hungrily to each other, matching the weapons they had draped about them.

“They’re reloading!” He exclaimed dunking back in to his unit.” They’re cumbersome projectiles they’ve exhausted their stores and needed resupply.”

“About time their technological primitivism bite them for once.” ’19 gushed braving the fire still being thrown to step back out of the troopcarrier and dash ahead.” Come on, our best chance to push through. Me and Kid can keep their chops occupied, you and Specs drop them.”

Not waiting for a reply from either veteran trooper or to see Jek resist and stand where he was the gun ho stormtrooper bolted with another of his famous screams firing without haste against the alien horde. Missing the concerned note in Specs voice when last he spoke, unlike Kid who moved conflicted to the flash cut opening in the transport, his robotic eyes reading something of note in the swirling maelstrom of signals, readings and fluctuations. The cyborg first trying to raise ’19 by com, gesturing to both Lucky and Kid to hold their position, and when he realized the fool’s radio was out of commission his systems articulated the nearest approximation to a sigh and stepped out after him. Regulating his vocalizer to its maximum setting, enough to clear over the din of explosions and thundering machine guns, to shout his warning to the impatient warrior of the Empire.

“Stop! Get down!” He boomed with bomb like force, voice crackling into static on its edges but still understandable.” You fething idiot, drop!”

The passion, or machine equivalent, in a voice known for its kind spoken ways more than its message reaching through ‘19’s thick skull. The weaving soldier belly flopping onto the rough soil prompting the Snakes previously withdrawing to reload to surge forward again blazing away and for their commander to send another tight beam message giving the gunnery crew the go ahead. Regretful fewer had fallen into the web but delighted all the same to unleash the power of their assault cannon the hilltop turret shook once more with life and ‘19’s world was demolished in a burst of fire and brimstone. His helmet protecting him from the sudden burst of light as the high explosive shell carved a shallow fox hole in the ground ahead of him but offering far less for the fiery rock which collided with his already abused faceguard along with the wave of pressure which picked him up and tossed him like a toddler throwing his toy figure.

He landed like one as well meters from where he started from, meters across flat terrain now filled to the highest heavens by slugthrower fire, neglected and unthought of by the encroaching Xenos. Their trick wasted they conspired a return to more direct methods, both sides crashing together to crush them.

Four hundred meters.

Specs leaning back out, firing with labored singular precision making each bolt count, monitoring the approaching tide and focusing against those coming from the “rear”, gladdened as Kid took up position to his back covering over where ’19 lay crumpled. The machine-man’s sensors confirming basic life function still in operation but nothing more at his range, one of the many questions Jek asked in a flurry as quick as the bolts leaping from his gun’s muzzle.

“ Simple trajectories. The APC is simply too close to the base of the foothill, they’d only hit dirt and rock.” He explained answering another question plaguing heavily both Kid and Lucky’s mind.” At best they can only use it to “box” us in here and the relatively slow traverse does make that problematic against basic infantry like us.”

He didn’t add however it was unneeded, the stout bodies of their infantry was doing the job fine. Some scurrying across with their bellies scraping the ground for maximum speed while others towered above unleashing waves of suppression fire but together they moved as a crushing tide as only Vipers could do.

Two hundred-fifty meters.

Lucky shifted to full auto, leaning out the gape in the troopcarrier watching flesh dissolving from scaly skin into broiling clumps of vapor, popping meat melt under the heat and bone shatter then repeating the process as he swiveled around to do the same behind. Amazed as always to the resilience of the aliens, losing chunks of themselves which would have slain mere humans and continuing without impediment, and their serpentine grace. Able to swarm around, crawl over or other bypass the ones that did fall with their packed ranks far greater than he ever observed any alien race accomplish.

One hundred-twenty-five meters.

“They weren’t going to stop.” Jek chanted inside his head over and over again, squatting at the edge of the APC bulkhead holding his trigger against them.

Monsters, aliens, xenos, killers, soldiers all equally applicable. All equally pointless, all merely placeholders for what they were. Relentless, he saw it in the dead forest the wave they had sallied against the Imperial advance then after their counter attack had nearly pushed everyone back over the gauntlet they had kept coming under artillery, under blaster fire, into mouths of beached tanks.

Feinting, maneuvering, trying to draw units out of place or expose new openings but in the end content to pummel through with sheer force of will and bodies. Before however the corporal had the luxury of never being fully encircled by the beasts, the retreat through the dead forest had been chaotic but equally so for both sides. Now however there was nothing, nothing but them racing in from all sides by the dozens and now only three of them.

Fifty meters.

Specs joined his squad leader in going into rapid fire mode, the converging nature of his targets and their own crippling return fire rendering any attempt at precise aim impossible. Firing nearly blind, the barest glimpse of his head from behind the armored walls high risk of perforating it with thrown slugs.

An augmented eye on his screaming scanner observing the pack outside, coldly counting the rate at which they perished versus their progress. Initial projections had been hopeful but with his slippage to tactics more fitting of ’19 he was forced to acknowledge a corresponding drop in the former variable compared to the latter. Too many bolts wasted, too much time, on already slaughtered members propelled by their comrades. Shredding apart bodies whose organs were already ash and flesh broiled and popped. Reaching the inescapable conclusion that just under a quarter of the original number who made the charge would survive to reach the broken war vehicle.

“So be it.” He thought with a mental slug, never ceasing his fire.” Let them come.”

Twenty-five meters.

‘19’s bombastic fighting style was felt most severely in its absence as Lucky struggled to switch and forth from his twin target areas, holding down the firing stud on his rifle far longer than it had ever been intended for a single duration.

“Bad for systems, cuts down on the life expectancy of the equipment.” The squad leader thought to himself reciting what his drill instructor had said of the matter.” Could be bad, its might just up and fail a few weeks or months from now.”

Switching back yet again, to be engulfed with the stinking charred flesh of that had cut down the last few meters in a final spurt of motion, he held his rifle one handed, no fear of missing at the ever shrinking ranges, unclipping a grenade from his belt which he lodged a head. Followed by throwing one behind him dunking under the heavy handled pistol clenched by an attacking alien. The weapon fully automatic as Lucky discovered when its owner squeezed it in pain from the detonations, shielding the stormtrooper as he withdrew further into the cabin beneath the ricocheting bullets. At last releasing the trigger on his weapon and instead conserving the power of a shot against the beast as it followed after him by using its edge against the elbow of the creature pushing its hand pistol against the ceiling squandering its shot. Next he dropped his shoulder and heaved the thing back out of the opening, its singed and ruined tail splitting open from the pressure, into the simmering air where countless lead shells tore and dispersed his body across a meter wide scarlet circle.

A small hint of a smile on his lips, faltering and momentary, at the sight. Vanishing, replaced with a harder frown, at the sight of the things which replaced his playmate. Behind him he heard a string of explosions as Specs cooked off his allotment and the measured scrape of his heels. And like that they were upon them and it was chaos.

Zero meters.

FETH! That thought exploded across Jek’s mind as he stumbled backwards, tangently sensing crossing the cyborg’s path, and hung suspended expanding glacerially across in richer, fuller meaning. Ahead a green blur whirled in, a war ax clanking and sinking partway into the interior above where the corporal’s head had been, hissing and savage. He caught fragmentary images of it, glimpses of teeth, hate filled eyes, its long barreled rifle struggling to fit inside the cramped compartment, and its chest shriveling beneath the touch of plasma. Then it was gone and replaced with fresh horrors, too many too quickly for any distinct image. He smelled blood, some his some theirs, cast into the air felt his skin burn from the vapor which poured from widening holes, saw long, reptilian jaws rupture into thousands of fragments and heard the endless reverberation of their slugthrowers catching the walls of the transport.

He fell back towards the rear of the APC, the Xenos swarming in from either side in a flood cutting him off from Lucky and the cyborg. The two fighting at each others backs with the ease of practice, vanishing beneath the tide of scaly bodies. Leaving the corporal on his own, tumbling through drooping plastics and dangling wires his mind frozen shut in mid expletive and his body responding solely on impulses.

No time for thought, the millisecond it would have taken when he felt his blaster carbine snap from his hands along with the tearing open of his combat vest from the scything tail of a Viper would have spelled his demise. His skull and body penetrated by fiery lead, instead without thought he dove upon his attacker. His frail form like the leaf blown against the mountain’s edge striking its hard leathery belly, failing to so much as sway the beast, but it got him within reach. Jek drawing away ahead of the crushing blow of its weapon stock hands clutching a machine pistol he’d ripped from its satchel on the alien. Pointing the heavy, bulky weapon, designed to be wielded by a palm easily double the length of his, upwards towards the Snake’s gullet and squeezed the blunt and insensitive trigger. The gun coming to life in his hands sending pangs trembling up through his arms on the first thunderous shot and from all others they thankfully went numb from the hammering blows, the shaking weapon carving a ragged hole nearly as effectively as a blaster bolt would have punching up through the top of the Xeno’s skull and showering him. The gun containing, flying wild in his shaken grip, sawing away the top most portion of another which dove to the ground in spasm and cutting red down the chest of another who twisted out of the way gouging into the soften wall.

Hunks of plastic breaking off, pouring over him in a dough like fashion as the corporal swerved his gun after it only to have the weapon shudder to a stop its deceptively small magazine utterly desolate. Again no time for thought, the epithet still ringing through the corners of his mind, he dropped the hot, smoking repeater diving to the ground to drive a fist against his foe’s underside avoiding the warspike club it swung up to stop him. The steel spoke flashing past his ear up into the ruined ceiling piercing through wires which flashed and sparked with diminished life and sent rumbling ministrations of life from the machinery overhead, sounds which Jek heard and logged as his curled palm broke against the alien’s pebbly skin doing no more damage than a rubber ball would have. He rose eyes rising to the muscles arm ripping the spike free from its lodging, to the armband sheathed around it and the handle fastened to it. Grabbing at it, using the sharp edge of the attached blade to cut through the Velcro straps, freeing in his hand what appeared to his mind as a small sword and, as he felt sickle like claws dig across his flank drove it up towards one of the thing’s hate filled eyes. Catching sight of his bedeviled, gory, and embattled reflection in the slimy pool before it popped in yellow pus sinking the gladis up to its hilt.

His foe tightening his grip, claws digging deeper into the corporal’s soft flesh, at the intrusion and than fell slacken, his body and the Imperial’s drooping together onto the floor of the troopcarrier. Jek laying against the armored beast’s bleeding chest propping it up and through it himself, finding his knees weak as water and his strength faltering. But something, self-preservation or anger, pushed him on and all too soon he was heaving the alien off of him. Pulling its paw from off of his side and out from under it. Towards the one with the top of its head cut open, its body still but the armor plates of its vest still bellowing as it gasped for breath. Rising up over it, pressing his arms and elbows into its rough, warm flesh to sit up and slip a five chambered slugthrower almost bludgeon like in weight pressed its heavy forged barrel against the remaining temple of the beast and dispatched it with an echoing roar.

Then, seeing Specs and Lucky standing triumphant over their own pile of dead, the corporal cradled the gun to his chest as he leaved over the cooling corpse and relieved himself. Vomiting all of his fear, pain and misery out over the floor. Afterwards he thought he might have passed out through only for a moment.

How else to explain being back upon his world of birth in his father’s old workshop, the smell of oils and machinery pungently strong, where he had failed to impress upon young Jek important traits needed to be a man. Reliance, of the self variety, his watchword. Another was independence, many a day would be spent as he extolled such virtues he’d earned scraping his existence on a rotten, decrepit barge bound between the stars. Days spent in futility, the fudge that was Jek’s mind incapable of ever understanding the teachings which seemed so important to his elder. All but forgotten since he left, until now.

“Looks like they’re unpacking mortars now from the truck. It does appear they no longer have a taste for another assault.” Specs clinically diagnosed helping to drag Jek back to the living world.

The corporal awaking to find himself moved to the front, gauzy bandage soaked in soothing balms applied over the wounds on his chest and side. Another he found with probing fingers on the side of his face as he sat up, shakily blood made too thin mixing with painkillers, thoughts and memories turning over in his head.

“Then I suggest before they get a fix on us and blow us to atoms we show these miserable cretins how Imperials punch out.” Lucky rumbled angrily staring out across the no man land between the APC and the aliens.

At ‘19’s body still laying there, neglected from thought by the reptilian onslaught, still unmoving from where he lay. Thermals saying he still lived but in what condition, in what agony, it was less expressive.

“Before you go and do that…Icemen helmets. They can relay images to one another, live feed?” Jek asked, mind suddenly alive with forgotten lore, hobbling back to the rear of the transport.

Both troopers turned surprised at their comrade’s activity, both fearing he was as lost to them as ’19 was, and after a beat Lucky answered his query in the positive.

“To anyone within a kilo radius of our position but the other Stormtrooper squads are getting equally pasted, no one can be spared to save our asteroids.” He stated turning his eye back towards the cannons being set up.” Not in the time we have left anyway.’

“Thankfully I have a slightly simpler alternative.” Jek grunted reaching up through the hanging sheets of plastic to grab at the frayed cable splicing it with another which he suspected connected to an auxiliary battery to maintain the craft’s electronic systems.

The two sparking on contact with each other, seemingly biting into the corporal’s hand as he twisted them together, but rewarded him with a sickened groaning sound as the motors above him creakingly traversed the assembly. The APC’s turret, and its guns, sluggishly resuming life and with it understanding dawned on his fellow stormtroopers.

“You can work that?” Lucky, removing his helmet, asked gazing incredulously from Jek to the slagged controls intended for its operation.

“Yes…I mean I think…well my father could…grew up fixing things on a broken down spice trader. Never really had the knack for it but…” The corporal explained greatly gladdened it was the squad leader’s helmet he took to wear not the cyborg’s.” But the systems seem fairly straight forward and compartmentalized, has everything I need to make it work.”

Specs meanwhile removing his helmet as well, revealing his corpse-face, after initiating a video link, and extending it up through the broken and twisted gap in the carrier’s roof where alien riflemen, sensing what was to come, began cracking shots around it. Missing the small, whitish target which rotated from them to the dual guns sputtering to death in direct alignment. Jek, tossing his borrowed helmet aside now his aiming complete, releasing the arcing wires and reaching up through the melted roof prodding the underside of the assembly to deduce the firing mechanism. At his fingertips he saw and felt more sparks, outside a laser range finder activated sending its pinging of the supply truck to the transports no longer functional Adjunct. Another touch tore a reservoir and spilt thick, syrupy hydraulic oil down his arm crippling the gun’s elevation controls.

“I would advise you with the utmost haste.” Specs warned lowering his helmet down over his head once more.” The first of the guns has already been set up.”

Outside there came a thud and a whistling promise of death as a shell kicked up into the atmosphere and arced downward. The corporal freezing for a moment as heard it come down, feeling it in the pit of his stomach as it exploded somewhere behind their position. Perhaps even on top of their comrades heads if he had any luck, which he would be the first to admit he didn’t.

“We got one more at best before they get us sighted in, I’d say thirty seconds tops.” Lucky advised sticking his head out and cracking a few shots as the artillery team dropped a shell down the smooth tube and positioned it.

From his place Jek cursed drawing his hand away from a metal piece which had suddenly become scaling hot, traces of outer layer of skin still sizzling on it, unaware of the radar targeter he’d accidentally called upon to screech into nothingness. Holding his fingers to his mouth, choking on the taste of the hydraulic fluid, he stared for a moment trying to remember what his father had tried to teach him all those years ago flinched and then thinking of the mortar shell which would scour them all to the four winds grabbed a cable he identified as having power and shoved it into the center of the entire mess. He smelled something burning, heard something pop from the sagging bulkhead from the back of his head and for the second time lost consciousness throw back in a hail of embers from the motor assembly as everything fired to live for a millisecond.

Including the electronic primed cannons, belching twin 88mm sabot shells through the fragile armor of the halftrack into its cargo compartment and drums of fuel and crates of shells which hadn’t been unloaded. The truck, the lizards and their mortars going up in one delicious explosive mushroom. Truly one of the more beautiful sights Lucky had seen since coming to the worthless planet.

It didn’t end the threat, even for immediate concerns there was the rear facing contingent, but it did save them long enough to deal with it as well as allow Specs to rush out ahead of the transport to apply whatever aid he could to his fallen brother in arms. It also, Lucky thought taking back on his helmet and leaning out to pick off the over eager Xenos encroaching too close, did something else. It soundly rung to the Vipers what could be expected from the embrace of the Empire’s finest.

And hearing the disconnected rumbles of roar grow louder and closer together, witnessing the offending turret cannon which had struck ’19 down collapse upon itself from a demolition charge, he knew it was only just begun.

“Primo victoria eduro victoria” He whispered to himself continuing to gun the Xenos down.

End Part I

[Admiral Breetai]

oh jesus christ the awesome...

[Praeothmin]

Sweet, sweet battle scenes, as always...

Keep it up!

[sonofccn]

Next part of Valor squad's ordeal. A slower pace I think, less of an action shootfest. Hope you like it. Also a minor warning chemical agents are used and I don't think they're very pretty.

“In the time before the forbearers, raised by Saargoth to dwell among the twinkling lights, did do battle against the Hunger. That which wills to draw over the celestial stars to darkness, and lo They-Of-Eternal-Remembrance waged fiercely, their hearts burning hot with the pride of their people and the warrior’s honor, breaking their swords against it but not even Saargoth could fell the beast but banish it back to the infernal darkness which birthed the horror. Now elders bow their heads in prayer for signs show that the Hunger draws near once more, once more our warriors shall raise their swords once more. But if we shall honor the sacrifice of Saargoth with victory I can not say.” Venusian explaining the reasoning behind the “Death-Cult” growing among their number and its differences to Kau’tu or the Emerald goddess ones.

New Hope, Stout-Fortification-That-Shall-Endure-


I. Yeah easy to see where I'm drawing inspiration from for this scene.
The sky above clashed and rumbled, atmospheric conditions visible only to his enhanced vision wrestling for control, rivaling the screech of the interceptors as they braved the continued ground to air missiles and the hum of the rotary gunships that flittered across the battlefield above Specs head. Orange halos surrounding rotary cannons which spewed death raking over the hills receding in the distance and through the network of burrows and passages they’d carved to the aforementioned foothills

Man-made ravines which stretched twisting like intestines forcing one to cross kilometers to advance mere meters worth territory while layers of razor-wire and panels prevented more direct routes as did the enemy soldiers lurking in their own burrows. Inside the walls the enemy was more mobile preferring to slither forth in small squads from the shadows or purposely fabricated alcove or prowl about in troopcarriers more heavily armed than an AT-ST.

For these in particularly he kept an enhanced eye on his scanner, twisting his wrist to see it over ‘19’s body he held draped over his. His fellow trooper encased back in his pitted and scarred armor, hiding the bandages wrapped tightly over his chest keeping those bones in place as best they could, with his blaster carbine cradled against one of the gouged holes held loosely in the grip of his good arm. Alert and kept from subsuming to an agony of burning pain solely due to a mix of stimulants and painkillers, the same set giving Kid the illusion of vitality bounding right behind the cyborg with Lucky covering his preferred position where the long reach of his rifle could best be exploited. Short as that was in the turning, snake like trenches they were fighting through.

“Which way?” He shouted coming to a splitting of passages more to drown out the partial transmission which burst in static filled excess into both his and Specs’s ears.

In the distance beyond where the two trails split off, past perhaps hundreds of separate tunnels which converged and split off without any apparent reasoning, he saw flare signals shooting up into the air. Blood crimson, heard the voices of those requesting aid, watched it fall unanswered. The ruby fragments flittering to the body littered ground, touching off against bodies hung suspended with wire thorns impaled into their bodies like at some slaughterhouse.

“This is Sergeant Bloc of Gamma squad! Cut off, surrounded, these fethers move fast!” The voice crackled carrying with it incoherent snippets of weapons fire.” I have several wounded, some critical. To any and all squads we require assistance. I repeat we desperately require-“

There was a thud and the voiced ended, melting in the swirling static which replaced it, none of the rest of the squad taking up where the sergeant had ended. Their remaining fragments of time focused against his killers, each member of Valor squad feeling it in their gut that there would not be a second emergency flare. No need among the corpses.

“This way.” Specs answered pointing his carbine towards the leftward most passage.” Ultrasonics show it should lead towards our objective.”

“No offense but your trusting a highly sophisticated piece of machinery built by the lowest bidder.” ’19, bobbing alongside the sprinting cyborg, laughed.” Are you sure trench scanning was a high priority when they slapped that thing together.”

“ In either event I surmise our journey will be a short one.” Specs answered keeping an eye on their objective’s metallic signature through rock walls.

Reaching the opening he selected he took the edge of the tunnel, turning his chest towards the wall to spare ’19 the worst of its cold embrace, peering down its corner with his eyes and listening to the steady beeps of the scanner. Sensing nothing immediately dangerous from either he pressed on gesturing to be followed, stopping and starting again with barely a noticeable pause and no significant gains made by his colleagues. Running down the chosen’s path few paltry meters before it looped back needlessly creating a horseshoe shape doubling back on the other side of a meter thick dirt and rock barricade. Its size especially noted and counted upon by the cyborg shielding him and his teammates from the shells which rained down upon the other side, ending if but for a moment the drawn out groaning of wind rustling over blacken and bloody bodies with their shrill whistle and explosions. Mortar fire, Imperial he judged from the plume he saw creeping above the wall and from certain energy readings he recorded with sensors, which as he calculated was landing too far to do them any harm through his comrades were slow to accept that.

“Halt!” Lucky commanded crouching against the opposing wall and looking up as the bombs streaked in the heavens above.” Inbound!”

“Understood.” Specs answered complying, lowering and resting his carbine on one knee.” The area is ideally situated to withstand this bombardment and offers better protection than the previous chamber.”

“A warning next time.” The squadleader grumbled, clumps of dirt falling down on his head from a close burst.

More still coming as the firers did their best to collapse the whole next section, something each of Valor squad hoped to the Emperor they didn’t accomplish, or at least what was in it. First favoring ends near either terminating point of the tunnel Valor squad crouched in, slowly working their way towards the center in a creeping barrage which further made the cyborg believe it was an Imperial unit if one sufficiently distant. His eyes on the remaining shells, calculating how much longer the bombardment would last, when something tickled the peripheral lenses. Servos tickling as he rolled them away from the twinkling lights in the sky towards the rocky curve in the tunnel and the scaly shoulder which materialized into a full troop of Vipers.

Three of them crawling backwards around the wall, the one in the middle held over the shoulder of the one on either side of it. Its armor missing, theirs singed and cracked from plasma burns along with their skin, exposing a chest and stomach pockmarked with blaster shots and hurled debris. More caked onto the two supporting Viper’s guns which swished as one on their sensing of Valor squad, surprise tainting their scarred scaly faces. For half a heartbeat nothing happened, Specs eyes adjusting with the softest of whines inside his skull confirming what he saw, the calm before the coming storm.

Then one, the leftward portion of his face one fused plasma burn, with a snarl slide forward shoving off his burden behind and away from him. Muscles rippling beneath the bleeding skin in his gunarm moving it further spatially as well as through its scarred claw-hand. The eyes of the cyborg watching in vivid clarity and slowness the crude ignition system of the slugthrower rear backwards, to fall upon the first shell like a hammer, racing and beating his alien opponent with a subtle press of his carbine, the bolt exploding cleanly on its chest. Metal slivers, red hot and billowing, flying along with vaporizing mists of flesh as the shot burrowed, heat lancing like a skewer burning to ash the dense patch of muscles and broiling the organs behind. The steam turning to smoke as cinders caught and erupted into separate converging blazes, harsh noxious streams which curled up over the beast’s face. Its hate filled eye directing the barking gun still swiveling across the breadth of the trench.

All saw by Specs through the fading afterglow of his marksmanship, dropping ’19 to the ground well below chaotic stream of lead and wrapping his hand around his weapon’s stock steading his aim which claimed the other side of the Viper’s chest. Turning it molten, red streamers falling down over its body leaving smoldering black streaks, and still it came. Its one eye never blinking, never wavering from the cyborg, jaws straining open in a scream its cremated lungs could never give voice too.

Bullets tore screaming around Specs’s head, his ears ringing with their harrowing cries, while instinct carried him down, away from the dropped ’19, into a prone position. His head remaining fixed on the Snake directing the weapon he cradled in his arms and beneath his body for support, tapping the firing stud one more time. Across the breadth the alien cleaved its rifle down as its race would a heavy forged ax. On one side a capsule of energetic plasma was flung into the air, the other conical spear took flight on the cushions of expanding gas. In unison Spec’s helmet shattered open and the nameless Viper lost its remaining eye, from the human came armored composites from the alien warrior bone and blood.

“Fethers!” Came a voice, hard as iron, bitter as hell itself.

’19, propping himself against the dirt wall, repeated his indictment turning from the cyborg’s drooped body to the smoking corpse to the remaining pair of Vipers. Both diving for the end of the wall, and its protection, slowed by one dragging the other which hung limply off of its body. It was this one ’19 directed his sights too, it actively twisting to fire its own rifle back.

“Die you fething son of a bantha!” The trooper screamed, his gun joining him with its siren wail.

His hand shook, his vision warbled, countless bolts uselessly hammered the wall behind the reptiles burning glassy smooth craters in the dense sod but he was rewarded with boils of crimson blossoming along the dragging Viper’s middle. Scooping out great handfuls of meat and flesh from it, more roasting safe from sight. The beast slumping, its lower body convulsing, its arms growing slacken, loosing their grip against the anchor of the one it had been pulling. Recovering the shot Viper continued forward realizing the lose of its burden, craning its neck back to where that one had fallen. Then, and only then, it parted its clenched jaws and made a sound. Above its echoing dirge was answered by the hearty clash of thunder, the first fat drops of hard, mean rain relieving themselves from the murderous brooding clouds.

Slamming into the rocky wall with its own earth shattering crack the beast shielded itself from the rest of ‘19’s fire, gun and hand reappearing braving the flecks of hot scatter kicked up from the glowing hot gouges being divoted into the barrier to shoot back. Hot lead clawing through the air above ‘19’s head as he dropped down hitting his bad arm and feeling pieces of the bone within…shift once more out of alignment bringing with it a biting surge of pain. Pushing through it, his head starting to spin, he lifted his head back up through the falling shower of dirt carved from the wall holding down the trigger to his carbine. More of the wall disappearing around its arm which it withdrew for the briefest of pauses then returned shifting its firing patterns. Towards the still reacting members of Valor squad.

Having taken watch over the squad’s rear Lucky was greeted with his turn with a teamate’s motionless body, an alien corpse, another listless and one very big, rapid firing slugthrower. Half a dozen of such projectiles crackling about him as he flattened himself onto the hard ground, more as he raised his head up taking in the environment so changed from just seconds ago and made his decision.

“Kid!” He screamed to a bump of flesh and blood even more deeply burrowed into the sod, the little stormtrooper barely poking the topmost portion of his head and an eye from his huddle.

Said eye widening in disbelief witnessing what the squad leader signaled but with the barest millimeter of a nod his body set into motion. Pulling his body from its indention it had created, dirt crumbling off of his uniform, he rose to a stooped posture to join in on ‘19’s fire swinging like a rusty hinge off of his axis. The pinned alien the hinge.

Lucky in turn, shambling on his knees and an arm, dove for Specs’s body, falling protectively over it. Ripping off his destroy helmet, bits disintegrating at his touch, revealing the mangled mess and sliding free the already well used medkit from his utility belt. Around him the war continued.

The cornered beast howled again with rage and the ground shook once more, retreating further at the lips edge as Jek’s shots homed in but not to flee. Flight completely gone from its mind, escaping the wrath of searing energy only to discard its rifle. Its magazine empty, its length to wide and cumbersome for what was to come. As followed was its armor, a thumb-claw slicing through the straps which welded it to its body, the plate armor falling in two freeing his body to move. Taking from it only a pair of pistols it welded in each hand as it rushed back around the corner, into the seething storm of heat and energy. Towards fate.

The first two shots narrowly missing shattering Jek’s skull who belly flopped the ground despite the pain it caused, scrambling with his hands and feet into the rough soil flipping himself over and rolling expecting more to perforate him at any moment. But none did, its purpose accomplished the aliens swerved forcefully at the wall’s edge. Ignoring the exposed back of Lucky bent of the machine-man for ’19 laying with his chin digging into the soil peering up along the sight of his weapon similarly dug in to the scaly abomination.

Between them ashy rain fell striking the cut and battered ground like spear points, greasy water rolling over the two of them and their weapons. Layers of silt and detritus of cremated remains kicked up into the atmosphere pooling where the filthy liquid dribbled off, caking over the lenses of ‘19’s mask and the unblinking eyes of his antagonist, turning the ground first spongy then to sinking muck. Morass which tasted like the butt of a deathstick which oozed up through the underside of the stormtrooper’s helmet and threatened to suck him down, slightest warble in his carbine through the increasing sheets as its stock began to submerge.

Correcting his finger slipped from the increasingly slick trigger, all it took. The twin aliens guns belching out the rainwater that had collected drizzling down in dirty streamers on its way to the ground with a pair of high caliber slugs. Nearly half of each gun jerking backwards absorbing the recoil and slamming forward again spitting another death dealing projectile into the chamber, their owner’s mouth dropping open in a hate filled hiss that was drowned out by the filling of ruinous rainfall. ’19 responded, launching a bolt which crackled and steamed through the downpour past the alien marauder. Twisting its elastic body out of the way of the coming death, head and body rippling in wave like motion to avoid another aimed at its gaping jaws, then curving until its shoulder nearly grazed the mushy ground. Never ceasing firing, squirming forward at a maddening pace across the muddy sod.

Jek, lifting his up from the sprawl, blinking away stinging mud, looked towards the commotion seeing the Viper rise up swerve with reptilian grace out of the way of another glowing bolt retract and continued its lunge forward. Saw ’19 correct swing his weapon after it, saw the thing twist itself about then droop towards the ground as the stormtrooper cut after its head again only to catch a plasma capsule when he abruptly dropped the end of his gun instead of following through. Kid cheering when he saw the alien’s head explode, rainwater flashing to vapor adding to the gory demolition, which died in his throat as the gun slipped from ‘19’s fingers. Saw his body growing still, the fresh blood running down his back and sides.

Saw it and moved, digging his knees into ground which wanted to swallow him, pushing up and struggling haphazardly towards him. Saw his head creak back up from the brown swirl threatening to pull him down, saw it turn towards him and opened his mouth to call out. To shout encouragement, to inform him he was coming for him with every slippery step and fall.

He never got a chance, ’19 heaving his body up one final time, grinding his broken arm as a brace, with his weapon once more. Firing it once before he collapsed again, the hissing bolt shooting across from the scrambling Jek who trailed after it with a turn of his head to see the Viper who’d the two had been carrying have its chest hollowed out. The gun it had been training on the Kid hitting the mud unused, its smoking body rocking backwards against the syrupy wall.

‘19’s body was already cooling by the time Jek reached it; through he turned it over regardless. Exposing pancake sized exit wounds down his chest and front, the flesh eviscerated as if with blaster fire, no medkit could have healed. On his face however, removed by Kid desperately looking for sign of life, frozen in his hardening muscles, was a smile. A little one but one full of his smug cheer he’d always worn. His eyes half closed staring off into something Jek couldn’t see or perhaps merely in enjoyment of his last kill. At his final shot.

“How is he?” Lucky called out still working over Specs.

There came silence except for the explosions of war in the distance and the beating of rain for several long seconds, when there at last came a response the voice was lower than he remembered it being and much more taunt.

“Gone.” Jek whispered returning the trooper’s helmet.

Placing his weapon back on his cratered chest, wrapping his lifeless fingers around it, then turning on the sinking ground towards where Lucky stooped less than a meter away. Ripping chunks of metal and plastic tubing out with his bare hands from the cyborgs face who lay unassuming in the cold, damp mud.

“How is he?” He asked cautiously approaching.

“Adequate. For now.” The machine man grumbled lifting a hand up to push Lucky off of him, feeling like a schoolboy being fussed over by his mother, and sitting up.

Turning his head towards the Corporal revealing cover plate the offending shell had frayed apart, the broken arrangement of filters and seals beneath it as well as the titanium construct which had been used to replace much of the lower portion of his face. Of his actual mouth nothing remained, either burned away by the digestion fluid or cut away by an Imperial surgeon, just a circular gash between in the metal frame which air was forced down. The hole whistling as his scarred lungs took their first full, unobstructed fill of the unprocessed air almost immediately convulsing in fits of coughing on particles of water vapor, toxins, smoke and other pollutants which now soaked through his ravaged airways.

“I can still function.” He informed a concerned looking Lucky and Kid, his vocaliser speaking without difficulty through the shuddering gasps of his organic frame.

His eyes briefly lingering on ‘19’s soaking body as he said that, subtle changes in their color and the limited animation of the surrounding tissue expressing what it hadn’t been designed to. What he couldn’t say, memory of the mission flashing back to the forefront of his mind driving him on. Repeating his capability to still fight to the satisfaction of Lucky the trudged forward once again.

To where the passage curved, to where the last Viper ’19 had shot sat. Its body stirring on their approach, not much, very slow indeed with its life being drained by inches with every breath but it was there. An eye lazily appearing from the rising scaly lid, rolling its murky surface towards Jek who hefted the heavy-wrought revolver he’d kept from its holster. Pressing it into the eyesocket, watching the body jerk slightly before feebly subsiding, letting it sink in and then firing. Enjoying what felt like a sledgehammer against his wrist, watching the top of the creature’s skull split open and vomit material across the ground.

“Bantha loving Fether!” He cursed drawing his weapon out to secure it, kicking the beast one time for final measure then slogging along after Specs as he resumed his march around the dog eared corner.

Towards the next leg of trench where at last the fall of shells had ceased, the ground like the surface of an airless orbital. Man sized craters filling with greasy rain and the pulverized remains six or seven Vipers, the odd head which had survived crispened if intact bobbing in the cloudy water staring up at Valor squad as they crept through the mushy red carpeting. The red sea, becoming more and more like so with the mixing of the ashy torrent, spreading out along the bottom of the bowl shaped chamber forming the central hub for dozens of sprawling tunnels connected too.

All around still, desolate and quiet. The forged ravines were empty, abandoned by any soldiers to flee from the bombardment. Deceptively innocent, Specs signaling the remains of the squad down with an abrupt squeak from his scanner as its probing gaze fell upon something. A split second later the muscles in his neck popping as he swung it out of the way of the “laser” bolt scorched past in a gush of steamy mist. The bleed through from the failing magnetic containment of the projectil causing the little flesh remaining in his face to tingle, burning it in truth but his nerves had long been to deadened to feel anything but the barest tenth of the light scalding, and briefly overloaded his optical receptors but it didn’t stop him from turning his head towards where the shot had come from. Bounding a leap away from his teammates into a crouch he craned his weapon there, his clearing vision extending out over barb wire strewn lip of the trench through the falling sheets and mud to the tiny crest smeared with brown poking up from the uneven and mottled landscape. One hand, two fingers extended, leaving the forward grip of the rifle resting on it tripod mount coming to the side of the spotted helmet with two fingers extended making a quick salute.

“Sorry. Spotted movement, thought the Scales were coming for a rematch.” A voice crackled, just barely in range, in Lucky’s ear.” Not that I could have done much more to you, if you’ll pardon my bluntness. What’s your status?

“Still capable.” Lucky responded signaling everything was okay and rising along with his squad.” This is acting squad leader Lucky for Valor squad, you have a name voice in my head?”

“Specialist “Boom” of Quick-reach squad. And my compliments on your…trooper. Few men can make me miss when I’m trying.” The spotter said equal mix grudgingly and with approval.” And I was trying.”

“I’ll let him now.” Lucky said with a laugh gesturing with his arm for Specs and Jek to start up once more.” But moving on I don’t suppose you’re in position to help us storm the base-complex?”

Hoping seeping obviously into his voice only to be dashed by the unseen specialist like surf against sharp rocks. Unsure if it was regret or relief in the man’s voice as he said so.

“Negative. We have orders to hold this sector and to support some army saps being moved along ahead of the armored thrust.” Boom answered with a sigh.” But Ghoul squad moved on ahead, lost contact without an auxiliary but they should be up there.”

A note of doubt noticeable this time, a moment hesitation in his voice, at whether they’d find any help further infield. Lucky in turn, saluting the spotter before trotting after his men, could only hoped “Ghoul” squad broke the trend and its members were experienced troopers with real combat beneath their fingers. All too often the more bombastic squad names were raised from puke green newbies with no old hand around to inform them cleaning their E-11s was more important than having an intimidating squad name.

Regrettably Jek was the first of them to discover the answer, the short stormtrooper sprinting along tensed and hunched with his weapon posed when he gasped on an acidic scent the other too were armored against. A sickening twist of festering bile and a hot, humid aroma he couldn’t place which seemed to seep into his lungs and sink there. Gasping at the sudden weighing of his breath he staggered forward past the machine-man who immune to the toxic aroma felt his own lungs seize at the touch of the diluted chemicals.

“I’m dying.” Kid thought stumbling onto his hands and knees swallowing a burning lung full which the falling rain did nothing to quench and found it wanting.” All this…and I’m going to choke!”

To his side he heard Specs speak, unmistakable even through his fugue, but they washed over him as meaningless as the cascading sheets of dihydrogen monoixide, each fat droplet stinging as it hit suddenly raw flesh. The pain only growing worse as he sought to burrow into the cold, wet mud, smearing it over his face greedily dabbing it with fist into pores which burned until he sensed someone step over him. A hard hand batting his away and grabbing a fistful of his hair, another anchoring at the scruff of his soiled uniform and together hauled his wheezing, gasping body to his feet. The force propping him up, the hand releasing his scalp to paw around his face ripping clumps of the muck from it while the other he saw through tearing orbs draw a small cylinder from its blurry belt. Next the kid felt a hard jab into his throat, felt something cold rush in. A few moments later he tasted a mouthful of cleansing chemicals as a swab was rushed over his lips, up into his eyes burning them worse than before and eventually all over his face.

“Stop! Please, stop! Help!” He bleated weak and reed like pulling out of Lucky’s grasp before realizing that through troubled he could breath again.

The squad leader, the seal beneath his neck expanded to combat the toxins, nodded his head understandingly and gestured with the diluting wipe and the Corporal’s face. When he didn’t refuse the trooper stepped up to him and finished his hasty cleaning weak, dabbing in the sanitizing chemicals as best he could in the downpour. Finishing he tossed the rag away and gently guided Jek around pointing to Specs. The machine-man finishing with his own injection, the beating of his chest slowly subsiding as it took effect.

“CN-20 is dense.” He scolded, mechanical voice eerily serene even as his body still shook and his exposed flesh turned a vivid pink.” Clings to the ground. You shouldn’t do that if you don’t want to end looking like me.”

At once Kid made a grab at his drenched face sputtering a near laugh from the cyborg’s vocalize. His eyes smiling and there was a sense of one behind Lucky’s helmet at the little trooper’s antics.

“The worst of it was neutralized. Thankfully the environment was obliging to disperse the agent, a full dose would have been far more…unpleasant.” He said growing more grimly holding a curled hand.” Lesions would already be swelling with pus in the inflammatory tissues of your lungs as big as this and even with a tri-ox compound you’d choke. Eventually.”

Jek had never trained for chemical warfare, his training instructor long before giving him up as a useless case. Assigned to a C-level reserve force he had doubted he ever would have to experience it through he could imagine its effects thanks to a few yarns spun by some of the old timers who’d been in his platoon. Old dogs the army bled off of atrophied units no longer combat fit in hopes some of their experience and natural ability would rub off on the younger ones. He could envision the ghost villages they had talked about and forests where nothing would grow for decades because of the contaminates. They were nasty, brutish visions of gnarled flesh and broken bodies piled on dead ground. They also were incomparable to what awaited them at the end of passage.

The topmost part of the command module had been placed in low level flowing away from the tunnel entrance, the maze of warrens shielding the cubical shaped building with their earthen work, and dotting the sloped land between like zits were dozens of slanted foxholes. Widely dispersed, placed in widening circles of three with overlapping zones, while further in field mortar teams sat in more elaborate pits partial walls and roof made form sandbags erected protecting them from small arms fire. Between laying like the illegitimate spawn of maggots the bodies moldered.

The aliens…the aliens unable not to feel some twinge of sympathy at bodies whose scales flaked away revealing raw tissue with the consistency of porridge or were pushed aside by engorged pustules that on each numbered in the thousands. Their jaws formed shut from frothed foam and bile hacked up from inflamed lungs, eyes blacken and bloated creeping from their sockets like probing inchworms. That and more, so much more, the gas had done ensuring their deaths were of such agony as to be a deterrent to others who’d resist the Empire. But not quickly, indeed a very stubborn few still suckled air through increasing oceans of mucus and invading water, as the other bodies accompanying the Vipers found out.

They were piled in a loose heap in the center of the killing field, their killers through blind and choking patiently waiting for them to advance that far before springing upon them. The attack was that of a savage mob, no focus or plan onward from its spawning, some of the bodies bashed to pulp others slashed to ribbons. Each thrown to the center with its death, its attacker pressing on, and for each their masks had been wrenched from their faces. Tinged bile running down blistered chins on those who had lingered, the eyes engorged on all of them and the skin broken down by the compound’s embrace to the point the heavy rain caused it to slough away.

“Emperor have mercy.” Jek whispered looking away from the festering meat.

“They can’t be helped.” Specs answered, the slightest hesitation in his electronic voice.” We must complete our objective.”

In the silence of his own helmet Lucky added his own opinion to the engagement, a particular vitriolic and venomous outburst directed not at the white clad troopers but the equally bloated figure wrapped in the uniform of an Intelligence officer. For the military he reminded himself at the flush of white hot hatred not the jackals who answered to Compnor but still a man who dabbled in secrets and half truths. A bad omen and through he hadn’t said anything he knew Specs had seen the figure and agreed, in both of their experiences whenever Intel-men became involved things became complicated.

Planet Oceania complicated, capture a fertilized Megarachnid complicated. And just when things were starting to go so well too. But it would wait, they still had a job to do like Specs said and they were Valor squad. They did not fail.

The AA-guns were hidden equidistantly in separate clusters of foxholes, grim gray plate doors vanishing and appearing beneath the ever shifting mud. Reaching down through the shifting currents like the rest of his unit Lucky gripped the either side of the rubber paddle inside the crescent shaped pocket drawing it up until it clicked then rotating it counterclockwise until he heard the pins snap into alignment again. Scowling at the grit and grime the rain and mud had washed in slowing the mechanism and at one point froze it in place and required copious coaxing before squeaking past the obstruction.

“-oost the power Spunkmeyer, I’m not reading anyone down there.” A cool as a freshly babbling brook voice crackled in his ear as he pushed the turn-key back down into place, feminine but with all the control it might as well have belonged to a droid.” Either they’ve lost their auxiliaries or…”

“This is acting squad leader Lucky of Valor squad, I’m reading your signal. Who is this and what is your situation?” He answered gambling his suit’s weak signal would be picked up.

The increase in power by the one called Spunkmeyer however proved sufficient for his small pulse to be received. Her cold and even voice returning to his ears, the hint of a smile carried on its waves.

“About time someone picked up, we’re in the pipe five by five and things are getting a little rough.” The female voice answered detached and distant from the rumbling and shaking, as well as a more panicked sounding male voice, bleeding in from her side of the transmission.”If you Mudeaters could oblige we’d be appreciative.”

“Negative. AA-guns have not been neutralized over sector-A of the command building, discontinue arrival. Return to your loitering position. I repeat the guns are still active!” Lucky shouted digging his fingers around the lip of the panel door and lifting it up with a sharp pop of its rubberized seals breaking.

Whitish clouds of oxidants escaping from the hatch as he pulled it open and perhaps it was that which tickled something in the arguing trooper’s brain. That of a spectroscopic scan revealing canisters of noncorrosive gases were expelled inside the chamber, and traces of oxygen withdrawn, when the weapon was in “rest” mode. Some of the military engineers speculating the two by two meter self-contained “box” could remain in standby mode for decades perhaps centuries without defect. Needlessly for ones accustomed to the Empire’s maintenance demanding design philosophy they had been quite adamant in their drooling over specs for the hardware.

That little story relayed by Donner, and his humorous reply when asked by one to try and take on intact, swirling through Lucky’s mind along with a thousand other facets and the inbound pilot. Even after he would never be sure what really connected in his firing synapses which prompted him to step away from the opening, saving him from the thrust of the claw-hand which would have slit open his throat and chest. Missing the hand caught the door panel, its talons scraping across leaving marks, and pushed off of that to unspool itself from where it had taken shelter. Drawing its blistered face away from the torn rocket assembly and the one half of the mix seeping from the clawed housing to lunge its mangy foam dripping jaws after the intruding trooper. Matted eyes, seeing for the first time as the hard rain washed the worst of the greenish crust away, staring up at him and the rifle he flipped stock first up to greet it. Skin ripened by the CN-20 busting, bone breaking, from the impact. Slowing its attack, slowing it enough for Lucky to swing around it twisting his weapon and smashing its side against the powerful jaws of the monster pushing it down to the muddy sod where his boot took over.

“Eat this!” He screamed jabbing his rifle’s business end down into its agape jaws and firing.

The beast dying quick and clean, sinking back into its hole as the squad leader lifted his foot away, turning with a warning look to the rest who opened their gun boxes with observant trepidation and caution through no further surprises revealed themselves. In his ear, removing an explosive charge from his belt, the female pilot continued on with her steadfast refusal to divert her course so much as an iota.

“Sounds like you boys could use some help, as luck would have it I have a belly full of Mudeaters ready to kill something in the name of the Emperor.” She said with a small laugh unaware of the missile racks which extended like scorpion tails because of her approach, or maybe she’d have laughed anyway.” We should be at LZ in thirty…”

“Take your time.” Lucky answered her leaping away from the gun position as it went up in a thermal charge, warheads cooking off a split moment later.

Around him the other two gunnery posts were similarly demolished, Kid’s the last adding a little singe to his list of war injuries as he just barely out jumped the resulting fireball. Thankfully the over abundant precipitation put out the worst of the trailing tongue of fire as he rocketed through the air crashing through the narrow slit of a Xeno pit. Legs kicking the soft earth as he struggled tried to free himself, get away from the lingering agents of gas the rainwater couldn’t disperse. Per design of course, the Emperor in his infinite wisdom wishing a toxin that would all but act as a blight upon the land unless the proper counter agents were employed. All manufactured by loyal and obedient corporations, and who in turn were properly rewarded, of course.

The immediate guns silenced, all Valor squad were assigned, Lucky shouldered his rifle and moved to help the little stormtrooper up from the fumes. Specs starting to mirror before his scanner started squawking like a storm, despite the remaining presence of the gas kneeling onto one knee shouting a warning for Lucky to follow suit. The door to the command bunker opening with his words and the ones who’d retreated from the chemical assault made their appearance.

“When it rains…” Lucky said exasperated joining with the machine-man’s salvo at the wall to wall filled entrance.

Some throwing themselves to the ground wiggling through the poisoned mud to fire while others hugged themselves to the blaster proof walls of the opening. All of them fired, cascading sheets of bullets as thick as the rainfall forcing the two of them to dive to the ground as well. Specs crawling behind as best he could the armored panel of the smoldering AA-gun he’d taken out while Lucky rolled behind the mountain of corpses listening to the shrill splintering of bone and sawing of flesh. And in the sky above he heard the moan of a LAAT engine as it dove like an avian from above the compound warning of its presence and what was to come.

Which for Valor squad Lucky guessed shooting around pus leaking bodies was going to get a lot bloodier before they got better.

End part II