Clickaholic Anonymous: Thanks man, I'll keep that in mind next time I write action scenes. This story is written solely from first person, ie. From Lister's point of view. Um, I'm hesitant to use the current IG planes (Valkyrie or Vultures) since they're really armoured and all, and shooting them with bolters wouldn't work. I'm not even sure if they were around in the Great Crusade. I don't want to get crucified by the fluff mob. You've seen what happened to Mr. MULTILAZORS and how much the community loves him. I read your critique and really appreciated it. I've tried to change some things as you indicated, but a story needs some level of sophisticated description, or else I might as well write a picture book. Lister is fairly well educated from the orphanage, and is fifteen at this time. I'll remember not to fall into purple prose next time. Thanks for reminding me. Oh BTW, you're demanding, but that's a great thing. Inflated Head Syndrome is something no one should have.
Thirty-two survivors out of the several hundred. That was all that remained to remember Tommis. Most of them would never live full lives again, bits blown off them by the flier's merciless cannon-fire. Most lay groaning or deathly still on the floor of the caves we were now sheltering. None of the kids had made it out. Apparently a missile had collapsed the roof on our building. Those Ginasian bastards. I hoped the pilots would die slow deaths, with glowing pieces of metal shoved up their arses.
It had been four days since our rescue, and the two able-bodied adults had been discussing how to continue with the captain. He was unsteadily standing next to the men, a small shake occasionally going through his recently healed legs – yet still dwarfing them. The two men were now the de-facto leaders of the SFL, now that Uncle had a roof on top of him. One of them was called Torres, a beefy man with a tic in his left eye, a wild mane of blond hair and tight pants marking him as a clergyman of Bon Jovi. The other was slightly shorter and thinner, a nervous looking man who went by the name of Delan. He was currently shifting around and shrinking away from the space marine, obviously terrified by his presence. In contrast, Torres was nodding emphatically to the marine's instructions, his hatred towards the Tyrant overpowering his fear of the Astartes.
"...So I suggest that we infiltrate these orbital laser defence compounds and neutralise them," finished Alaris, after a lengthy oratory. The men nodded in agreement.
"We're wanted men, space marine. We cannot do it, our faces are on posters all over Ginas," Torres cut in mournfully. "The soldiers know our faces on sight."
Torres had originally been a fiery demagogue preaching Jovi's philosophy of freedom and independence. Obviously, the Tyrant didn't like that, so he had him arrested and tried for treason. On the way to his execution, the SFL had swooped in on a daring rescue, and he had helped us ever since. Delan had also been a criminal in the Tyrant's eyes, being a master of a forgotten archaic magic called chemistry – and hence bomb-making. A spate of explosions and arson had prompted the Ginasians to persecute Delan, who had fled to the SFL.
Alaris nodded laconically. He turned to us, and asked, "You people willing to help me? It's just planting some bombs and getting out. Nothing too serious."
Jane and I looked at each other. Not dangerous? Not serious? Isn't that what people say when they want you to run screaming at a tank armed with a sharp stick? No way, buddy. We shook our heads in unison, sick of fighting.
The marine sighed, unsure on how to motivate us. He beckoned to us, motioning out towards the sky outside. He pointed out towards the stars, in particular a rather bright one which seemed rather close.
"The battle barge Drops of Jupiter. A fine vessel, made in the shipyards of Jupiter. My ship," he commented. "Has a payload of a hundred drop pods. Now watch a standard Astartes drop pod launch pattern."
He pressed on the side of his ear, and spoke. "Helmsman, do you copy? Do you copy?"
A pause. Then a voice crackled on, awash with static. Atmospheric conditions were great that night. "My...ord. What is yo...ommand?"
"Prepare the drop pods for orbital insertion, Helmsman. Don't worry if they're unmanned, just launch them in Alpha-Two-Four formation."
A crackle of static as the man in the sky processed the information. "My lord, tha...is...manned launch patte... Isn't th...waste?"
"Helmsman, remember who is your captain. I will not ask again," he snapped back, annoyance clear on his craggy features. His expression softened, and he explained, "We're getting a shipment of new drop pods from Mars next month. Better ones, I'm told."
"Yes sir. Affir...tive. Launching...ow."
The captain turned to us, satisfied. "This is a standard Astartes drop pattern for a quarter of a battle company. Five hundred men in theory, supported by ten or so dreadnoughts. Highest concentration is in the centre of the drop zone, surrounded by a lighter scattering of drop pods around the periphery. The centre, is of course Ginas," he informed us, voice grim. "However, if the stories are true, the city of Ginas has a functioning STC Kraken pattern atmospheric las defence system. That is why none of my men dropped into Ginas."
I was about to ask what was an STC when the sky blew up. We gasped as the shining star blossomed red, as drop pods erupted from the orbiting ship. They streaked down, their distinctive screaming audible even from sixty kilometres away. How could anyone fight that? It was like Armageddon was coming down on Ginas. The marine watched in silence, pale blue eyes tracking the pods' progress.
All of a sudden, the sky erupted in flame, as white pillars of light crackled from Ginas, flaying the night sky. More and more beams appeared, their light blinding. Alaris watched on, impassive, as one by one the pods were cut apart by concentrated pillars of light. A few of the pods managed to land in the outskirts, their tiny shapes clear from the glowing-hot metal of their outsides. The laser beams mercilessly stabbed across at them, obliterating them with mechanical precision. Slowly, the pristine brightness of the lasers faded, darkness once more filling the night.
A shocked silence. Jovi damn, that was a lot of lasers. The space marines were in trouble, I thought.
The captain broke the silence. "That is why we need to destroy those defence systems. A land assault would also be completely destroyed, as the fate of the drop-pods that landed indicated. We – I cannot do it myself. I humbly request your assistance."
It obviously pained him to ask this of us. I guess if you were a god you had to have a pretty big ego. It must have taken a lot to ask some hapless kids for help.
He continued, "Without the Imperium to help, the Tyrant will continue to stain this planet."
Delan spoke up, voice stuttering a little. "I heard th – that the Imperium could use orbital b – bombardment."
Alaris nodded. "That would be the case, but the Mechanicus is loath to destroy the city. It was once a centre of technological advancement."
So, the marines couldn't get to Ginas. That meant I couldn't get at Grevan, that dog. I turned to Jane, telling her, "Jane, you don't have to go, but I wanna get at Grevan and the Tyrant. Enough people have died already"
I got up to join Alaris, but Jane tugged at my sleeve. I turned to face her. "I'm going with you, Lister. I want to get at Grevan as bad as you do," she demanded, eyes blazing. She got up to join me, not waiting for an answer.
The captain nodded, remarking, "Vengeance is a gift."
…...
The next few hours were a blur, as Delan showed us how to arm and detonate his bombs. No longer in the marine's presence, he was a whirl of manic energy, cradling his bombs like one would cradle a baby.
"Red, blue, green. Cross like that to arm. The timer will start after that. You have twenty minutes after that to get out," he instructed, deftly arming and re-arming his bombs. They looking decidedly dangerous, with a matte black exterior. A timer was taped onto the front, linked to a trigger that would cause the bomb to level the building it was in.
Next was Torres. He gave us Jovi's customary blessing, and proceeded to instruct us on how to infiltrate the laser defence bunkers.
"According to our intelligence, the Ginasian troops are fairly disorganised. The influx of troops from the outlying military bases has resulted in great confusion. You people should be able to sneak into the city like you did at the tank facility. However, nothing is known of the security of the laser defence silos or their coordinator silos. We assume they are fairly well guarded, and have contingents of Jaegers," he growled.
Jaegers! They were a legend among the people of Ginas. Mothers would scold their misbehaving children, saying that 'A Jaeger will get you if you don't stop!'. They were the Tyrant's elite soldiery, standing eight feet tall, armed with silver clawed hands that crackled with a nimbus of energy that could cut through virtually anything. It was said that Jaegers were made from Ancient machinery that invaded the brain and spinal cord of a corpse, twisting and changing it to turn the cadaver into a bloodthirsty war machine. All that remained after the transmogrification was a primal hunting instinct and a desire to kill. It was said that once a Jaeger caught someone's scent they never forgot it, forever stalking and hunting their prey. I wondered how the space marines would fare against such foes. Rumble in the jungle!
Torres nodded and strode off as the marine approached, the ground shaking ever so slightly. He had a load of weapons clipped to his belt, two bolters clipped to either side and other gear as well. A sword hung at his side, an odd contraption that had chainsaw-like teeth jutting out from one side. The stump of his right arm had been cleaned and sealed, a cap of metal over the wound. A piece of truck armour plate had been welded onto it as a makeshift shield, and a bandolier of bolter ammunition was strapped across his chest. The guy looked like a tank. With an attitude.
Noticing our stares, he remarked, "Never go into battle without a helmet, a teacher of mine once said. Failing that, take some protection!"
He jumped up and down, testing out his newly healed legs. The clipped-on weaponry made no sound at all. Freaky. I didn't know a marine could be quiet.
Sammo crashed in, equipment strapped over his trademark jacket. Underneath, he wore a Ginasian PDS uniform, the current fashion being hurriedly sown-up bullet holes and half-cleaned bloodstains. Jane and I also sported such uniforms.
"We ready to roll?" he asked, checking that the arrangement of his ethano bottle caps hadn't been disturbed. That jacket was worth more to him than his life.
The captain looked us over and shook his head amusedly. "You're the galaxy's pinkest orks," he commented, smiling at our ramshackle kits and taped – together equipment. Hey! I knew what those guys were!
"Aren't orks the little green men of the planet Ullanor?" I ask. Legend said that they were a peaceful alien race which delivered presents at the end of every year.
The captain made a disapproving face. "Green, yes..." he replied. "But now is not the time to dwell on greenskins. Let's go."
We gave our equipment one last check, and we were off to Ginas.
…...
Jane had slipped into a rumbling convoy ten kilometres from the outskirts of Ginas. Confusion was apparent in the Ginasian soldiers as they all tried to get into the safety of the city. All over Sayre, military bases were being abandoned as the entire military might of the Tyrant came to defend the city against the imminent marine invasion. Once again, our truck was coloured gun-metal grey and the stubbers taken off, this time permanently. There was no need, seeing as we had to leave most of the crew behind. Only the older kids could blend in at the laser silos, which left me, Jane and Sammo. The space marine we had stashed in a compartment in the floor, which he had grudgingly obliged.
"I am not a squat," he had grumbled, irritation clear on his face. No one got his joke. Luckily he had seen the logic of our thinking, queezing into the space. I don't think we'd get a great reception if we rolled in with a marine on our truck. They were supposed to be invading the place.
We were waved through the city gates by a group of harried soldiers, too busy to bother checking for identification. Lucky thing too, since the only photo we had was one of Sammo busy getting drunk; half-naked. He was twelve then, so that might have struck any interested guards as a tad shifty.
"Which way to the nearest coordinator silo?" called Jane from the driver's cabin. Sammo and I were sitting in the flatbed, trying to look military. I looked at the crude map that Delan had drawn, on which he had had drawn beautifully-coloured lurid explosions that denoted the silos. I pulled out my compass and twiddled with it.
"Five blocks straight ahead, turn left!" I yelled back. A column of soldiers marched past, their sergeant bellowing out orders as they marched their evolutions on the riotous road. We hurriedly ducked down, hoping that no one had noticed us. What a bunch of idiots. No one did.
Jane pulled up at the gates, barred by a lowered traffic bar. A slightly more professional soldier hurried out.
"Purpose of entry?" he demanded. "Papers?"
Oh no. Not good. I felt the marine slowly shift through the floor of the flatbed, readying for action. I leaned over the side, ready to pull out my revolver. Luckily, Jane had other ideas. She leaned out of the driver's window, eyelashes fluttering. I saw in the mirror that she had put on the mascara. The effect was devastating. The guard's jaw had hit the pavement below. I could just imagine him drooling.
"Oh sorry, sir! I'm so sorry! We were attacked, sir, by those horrible rebels!" she simpered, using a high, girly voice that I had never heard her use. It sounded like something off the holo-vids. She started to sob dramatically, covering her eyes so the guard couldn't see them. Her eyes flicked towards me, radiating silent amusement. Gasping theatrically, she continue to cry, "I lost the papers! They fell out, sir! I'm – I'm so sorry! I'm taking some laser charge boxes in! Sir, please, don't get me in trouble!"
The guard's heart had obviously melted, because he was making soothing noises and patting her on the arm. What a great guard. I could tell he wanted to get into her pants.
"Alright, alright. Look, I'll let you in this time," he said, opening the gate. He walked over to chat. "So...what's your name?"
Jane shone a fake-looking smile down at him, while scratching her armpit. "Hi! I'm Gertrude!"
The guy's face twisted slightly at the ugly sounding false name and her uglier hygiene issues, obviously quickly losing interest. He walked away, shaking his head in disappointment. Jane twisted back at me and grinned. Luckily she didn't really scratch her armpit like that.
We drove into a loading bay, which seemed oddly quiet. Jane parked the truck in the darkest corner, and killed the engine. Quietly opened the door and hopped into the flatbed.
"Let's go. Lister, you take the bomb," she whispered. "Sammo, take that damn jacket off."
A knock from the floor startled all of us. The floor pushed upwards, and Alaris emerged. "Do you need me?" he queried.
We shook our heads. "They don't know that we're gonna bomb this place," I replied. "We'll leave you the radio, we'll for if we need bailing."
He nodded, accepting the bulky radio. "With speed, friends!" With that, he popped back underneath the floor. Sammo hefted the other radio, stashing it in his backpack.
"OK, Jane, you've got the shirt with sergeant stripes, so you'll be 'leading' us," Sammo said. "Me and Lister here will carry the laser charge boxes. Hey Lister, put the bomb in there." He pointed at the heavy black case, which was filled with the heavy charge boxes the defence silos used to power their lasers. We heaved in unison, and carried the box towards the entrance.
"Charge box delivery?" came the tired voice of the night guard. "Storage is three corridors down, next to the cogitator system room. Don't go into the office, or else the colonel will have your head."
We nodded in thanks, Jane barking out orders as we marched to the indicated room. The corridors were practically deserted, with only the night shift patrolling the facility in their coffee rooms. We stumped into the store room, and gaped. This wasn't a room. It was a warehouse. Thousands upon thousands of charge boxes hummed and moaned, each linked to the central mainframe that supplied power to the defence silos across Ginas. A myriad of small green lights was the only indication of the sheer power trapped within these nondescript boxes. Apparently laser charge cells exploded when their containment failed. Our bomb was going to turn this place into a crater, and everything five blocks away as well.
"Can we get away in time?" I turned to Jane.
"Depends on the traffic," muttered Jane, already planning our escape. We walked into the centre of the maze of boxes, so our bomb wouldn't be discovered.
"We run, straight after this. Just run!" I prepared to cross the wires in Delan's prescribed combination. "Ready? Annnd...run!"
We pelted as out of the storage room, the timer already counting down. "Sorry! Got another delivery at the other silo!" I yell at the soon-to-be dead night guard, who waved us through laconically.
We piled into the truck. Alaris emerged from under the floor, saying, "Everything go to plan?" We nodded in answer. "Where did you place the bomb?"
"In the charge storage room," we replied, hastily getting ready to go.
The space marine blanched a little, and said, "Let's get out. This place is about to get a double serving of Exterminatus."
We agreed, wheels squealing in our haste to leave the facility.
Five minutes later, we were stuck in a traffic jam, three blocks away from the soon-to-be crater. I could hear Jane drumming at the wheel in the front. Sammo and I felt the tension too, fingering our weapons and tapping our feet. The marine? He was deathly still under the floor, patiently waiting. It was damn unbearable. I prayed to Jovi for our salvation, hoping the god wasn't busy somewhere else.
I don't know whether it was divine providence, or my over-active imagination that did it. I stood up suddenly, yelling, "Space marines! They're attacking! Down the road!" Instantly there was panic, the congested road milling and rippling as terror spread through the ranks. The road cleared slightly, as the confused Ginasian soldiers scrambled for cover or escape. I heard a fist punch on the metal of the cabin; Jane's hearty thanks coming through. Sammo grinned at me as we started to move again, weaving through other trucks and tanks, narrowly missing several soldiers who had decided to run across the road in fear. From the swerving and sudden accelerating I could swear Jane was playing chicken with them.
The truck sped up as we cleared the worst of the congestion. Sammo breathed a huge sigh of relief as drew away from the predicted blast zone. Jane called from the cabin.
"So...um...where's the next silo we need to blow?" she asked. In our panic we had forgotten to head to the next target. Damn. I pulled out our crudely drawn map, spinning it around until the top aligned with north.
"Ah, I think its about twenty blocks down, straight down the road, then turn left," I mused, not too sure about its location. The space marine was muttering underneath, seemingly in communication with his ship above. The floor plate shifted and he poked his head out, a satisfied smile on his face.
"My legion has arrived in system," he announced. About time. "They will arrive in around three hours."
We gave a small cheer, glad that the Tyrant was hours away from being deposed. But first we had to nuke two more coordinator silos. A few minutes later we pulled up at the second base. A guard hurried out to meet us. Jovi damn. The guard was female. No luck this time.
"No papers, no entry," she snapped tersely. "The marines are attacking. Never know, you might be those stupid Leaguers, eh?"
We did our best to not look guilty. Damn! Of all the stupid things to stop us, it was one measly guard. Jane called her thanks and reversed out from the barred gate. We stopped a block away, driving into a dank alley.
"What the hell!" cursed Jane. "How the heck are we going to into the compound now?" Bummer. Stuck up the creek with no canoe.
A series of deep thumps sounded as the captain climbed out of the truck. A look of irritation crossed his face.
"Stealth has failed, it can only take you so far," he commented, pulling out his chainsaw-sword. "Let us finish this – the space marine way."
Get blown up? Get your appendages lopped off? Sure! We were screwed.
