Chapter II: Faith in Firepower
The planet Command planned to deploy us on was closer than I thought. The last three hours consisted of the mission briefing and preparation. Our job along with all the other stormtrooper squads is to deep strike into and sabotage an ork infested manfactorum. All the while a main battle force consisting of several armored battalions and infantry companies will attack from the outside. Apparently since our objective is inside one of the larger deserts of this world we were administered desert camouflage.
I go through one final weapons check in hangar bay. I figure my custom M40 Armageddon Pattern Autogun named Pepper II could use a little tweaking. I adjust the rifle scope that has replaced the top hand grip. Next I tap my two specially made 40 round drum magazines on my tan colored helmet to clear any bullet jams. I slap a magazine into my bolt pistol and holster it loosely on my side, so I can use it to can fill an greeny's snout full of lead when the time comes. Finally I test how quickly I can whip out my knife, the blade being as long as my arm.
As I sheath my pointy friend I take notice of what my squad is doing. Sergeant Clye slings his hotshot lasgun over his shoulder as he begins speaking to our current Valkyrie pilots. Trostkov flexes her armor testing the firmness and takes out a rag to give her sniper rifle a final wipe down. Spike spins the cylinder chamber of his grenade launcher and latches it into place then turns to face me. I know behind the thick, black gasmask he is grinning his "we are probably going to die" grin. I hear someone answer loudly in a stern tone before Spike can pull a joke out of his ass.
"Apex Squad as requested madam," the Commissar states as all four of us turn to face him. The first thing I notice is that it's the Commissar from our briefing, then I see the man is addressing someone with her hand on the hilt of her chainsword.
"Thank you Commissar Belken, that will be all," the Acolyte says, her heuristic, green eyes flit in Apex Squad's direction.
"Ten minutes until we enter atmosphere!" informs one of the pilots with a wild tone. While making our descent I go over in my head why the black and white armored blondie is on our Valkyrie. Sarge was right about an Inquisitor on the ship and though I thought it seemed strange, but it ends up the heartless bastard is leading the attack against the orks. The Inquisitor decided to assimilate his cadre into our ranks which lead his apprentice picking us to be her chaperons. I suddenly feel the ship rumbling and brace for the orks' welcoming gifts.
"EMPEROR ALL MIGHTY!," screams one of our pilots as the craft veers to left.
It was probably another Valkyrie going up in flames. The co-pilot must be a rookie because this happens all the time. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if half the fighting force was shot down before reaching the ground.
"Touchdown in five minutes and boy does that L.Z. look scorching, so get ready!" orders the more seasoned aviator.
"When we move I want a tight X Formation with Acolyte Porcia in the center, Trotskav on the right, and Normand and Slateman, you're in the back, understand!" demands Sergeant Clye.
We all say our words of confirmation except the Acolyte who simply nods as the Sarge looks at her. The Valkyrie briefly hovers over a structure allowing us to zip line down. When I hit the cement roof I hear deafening noises of every kind of weapon imaginable invading my muffled ears. We begin firing from our vantage point the moment we spy a small mob of greenskins.
I hear the creatures yelling oaths as I fire indiscriminately. The brutes fall in twos and threes as Troskav's rifle blows what little brains they have out their skulls. Sarge orders Spike and I to work our way down while he and Trotskav provide supporting fire. I catch a glimpse of the Acolyte jumping from the roof revving her chainsword before descending. We run down metal steps into an area where a Sentinel is being constructed by robotic appendages. Several orks wearing orange and black direct their attention to us. I notice some are slavers with whips for the smaller ones who were busy manning the machinery until Spike and I walked in. The little maggots started to screech, run, and hide while their masters rushed us drawing rusty cleavers and large, crude hammers. I'm able to gun down a couple with three bursts each, shredding their skulls into pieces. Spike messily blows off the head and shoulders of the few that get close. Blood and smoke flow out as their carcasses hit the floor. Sergeant Clye enters alone as I pull out my knife and track down the snot colored midgets.
"Acolyte Porcia and Trotskav are killing off the stragglers outside," declares Clye as I gut a whelp that hit me with a wrench.
"I got the boomsticks whenever you feel like it Sarge," spouts Spike, jerking his thumb to his backpack.
"No, we save those charges for the main fueling depot," replies our commanding officer.
"Can't we use this Sentinel?" I ask noticing the thing is already finished.
"Sure, why don't we hold up a sign that says shoot me please," retorts Spike while imitating holding a sign above his head.
"Normand we need to move quickly and that thing will only get in the way," explains Clye while operating a control panel.
"Roger that," I answer in response. After regrouping the five of us exit the building and gradually move toward our objective.
Around a sharp corner we encounter a Nob and his hunting party.