Horgan stood in a braced position, tracking the forest line with his mini-gun. Seven other Grymn were doing the same with their SMGs and grenade-launchers. They were silent and listening for the slightest sound of movement. Ingrid was kneeling beside Torek; administering medical aid for a gun-shot wound to his side. He was in pain but would survive.
Suddenly a Grymn to the left of Horgan fired his SMG into the trees and was rewarded with a squeal of pain; quite clearly of Bohkin origin. Further shots were fired by various other Grymn and then quiet again. Horgan looked left and right. It was as if he could sense something was wrong. Intuitively he ducked down as a stream of machine-gun fire parted the air where he had recently stood and whistled off into the distance. Horgan squeezed the trigger and the forest line exploded into a kaleidoscope of debris. Many screams were heard as the onslaught shredded trees, leaves and Bohkin scouts with equal malice. When Horgan relaxed his trigger finger, the sound of fleeing creatures could be heard. It would appear that the Bohkin had retreated for the time being.
Horgan remained where he stood and continued to scan the tree line. He knew that Bohkin were sneaky customers and almost wished that they would prove him right. The group of Grymn had been ambushed but had managed to defend themselves aggressively enough to see off the attackers. Unfortunately, Torek had been hit in the first volley of gunfire and that really annoyed Horgan. He felt that they were not being careful enough.
To the right Horgan heard movement. He swung his weapon to bear and waited. The movement was getting closer and it was as if there was no wish to conceal the noise. In fact Horgan could hear the chirpy noise of the Bohkin screaming at the trees, almost pleadingly. Within moments a wild eyed Bohkin burst in to the clearing in front of him. It didn’t have a weapon but had wild staring eyes that were too busy staring at the trees to even notice Horgan. In fact the screaming Bohkin ran straight at him chirping wildly. In moments it had reached him and had bumped into him as it tried to run past, tripping over Horgan’s leg in the process. Horgan was about to react when the Bohkin leapt to its feet and tore off into the trees on the other side of the clearing. Horgan watched as the creature ran wildly through the undergrowth with no apparent thought for self preservation. A further noise from where the Bohkin had appeared from caused Horgan to turn around. More movement was forth coming, closely followed by more Bohkin. None had weapons and they all looked as terrified as the first one. Horgan watched as they too ran past in panic. He returned his gaze to the entrance point again and immediately felt a wave of nausea flow through him as his weapon fell with a thump, to the floor. He felt his legs buckle and he dropped to his hands and knees as with a huge retch, he vomited. His vision had started to blur but he looked over to the rest of his squad members and saw that they were equally affected. He tried to raise his head to look where he had been a moment previously but was forced to vomit again as a new, more intense wave of nausea flooded through him. He had never felt so wretched in his life. Horgan held his breath and forced himself to look to where the Bohkin had come from. It took a huge effort but he managed to raise his head far enough to see a large pair of two-toed feet in front of him.
Almost as quickly as the feeling had arrived, the nausea disappeared. Horgan reached instinctively for his mini-gun but it was no longer where it had dropped. His training kicked in and he threw himself over to one side and leapt into a fighting crouch. In front of him was a tall figure with a broad crowned head looking at him. Horgan felt a lesser feeling of sickness as his mind was filled with a sighing voice.
“Stand down soldier, your work is done for today” said the voice.
Horgan looked at the face of the figure in front of him and noticed that it had not spoken to him but had projected its voice directly into his head. The face smiled as if it understood the confusion written all over Horgan’s face.
“We come to you as friends” said the voice in Horgan’s mind again.
Horgan passed out.
When he came too, Horgan was lying next to Ingrid. She had applied a cold flannel to his brow and was speaking tenderly to him.
“It’s good to see that you are awake” she said, “We have some new friends for you to meet”.
Horgan sat up and immediately looked into the deep black pits of one of the newcomers eyes. He felt a very slight feeling of sickness as a voice filled his head again.
“We are sorry for the unease that you feel when we speak with you but some are more sensitive than others to our method of communication” it said.
Horgan looked at the creature in front of him thoroughly for the first time. It was exceptionally tall; being almost twice the height of a Grymn, was slender and had the usual pattern of two arms, two legs, a torso and a head. It had bare feet with two fat toes and three-fingered hands. The face seemed friendly enough but was obviously alien and it was crowned with a thick, bony ridge around the top of its skull. All it wore was a cloak, a tabard and a few trinkets on a belt and it carried a staff.
“I am the one called Zuuh’tah and I am known as the walker among tribes” It said “you are known as Huurgaan and you reap the life grains with your death-giver”.
“That is true” said Horgan as he sat upright and propped himself up with his hands on the floor “but I only kill those that mean me harm...Zoota”
“Yes...we have seen this today” replied Zuuh’tah.
“We?” questioned Horgan.
“Yes, we” he replied, calmly gesturing with an open, upturned palm towards a small group of similar looking aliens over near the tree line. Some were dressed as he was and some wore light armour pieces and carried rifle styled weaponry.
Horgan returned his gaze to the alien and asked what they wanted from his squad.
“We wish to be allies with the tribe of Grymmmn” Said Zuuh’tah “it is a small thing to ask...yes?”
“But we don’t know you...how can we be allies until we know that we can trust one another” Horgan replied.
“You may trust us because you live...it would have been easy to make it otherwise” came the reply.
“Fair point...but I am no ambassador” Horgan said “you must meet with our lords to discuss terms of allegiance”.
“At some point, we will discuss terms with your lords but today we are content to have made first contact with your tribe of Grymmmn” it said “and now that we have, it is time for us to depart”.
Zuuh’tah stood and looked thoughtfully at Horgan for a moment, turned around and strolled towards the tree line again. As he disappeared through the undergrowth a whispering voice filled Horgan’s mind again...
“We are watching your tribe and will return when the time is right” said the voice.
Horgan looked over to where the other aliens had stood and of their presence, nothing could be seen.
“What the feth just happened?” queried Horgan, as he spat on the ground nearby.
“I think it was hello” said Ingrid.
“I guess so” he replied.
“Right, lets get packed up and get home...we have to tell the hierarchy what happened here” said Sgt Reiks.
The squad brought itself to its senses and began the bustle of getting ready to move. In a few moments Horgan, the Sgt and the rest of the Grymn were purposefully walking off towards camp. It had been a strange day and some people would be sure to think they were mad but in time, they would see differently.
And so the Grymn met the Delsertis for the first time, knowing that it would not be the last......
Showing posts with label Bohkin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bohkin. Show all posts
Monday, 7 June 2010
Sunday, 16 May 2010
Captivity...
Skali
Skali sprinted for the cover of a shattered wall as fast as his legs could carry him. The sound of battle was all around him. He looked over to his left and saw Lars fall to the ground as his shoulder disintegrated in a shower of blood and plasma. Beyond Lars another trooper, who the fog of battle had rendered anonymous, was felled as his helmet ruptured after a hit from a sniper’s round; brain matter spewing from the ragged exit wound. Skali snapped his head to the front and looked over the wall. He could see hordes of Bohkin all around and suddenly realised that things were not going well. Everywhere he looked, Grymn were falling to the intensity of the incoming fire. Skali snapped off a few rounds from his SMG and was rewarded with two kills. He ducked back into cover, waited for a few seconds and then popped his head up to fire a few more rounds. He didn’t get to pull the trigger.
Skali felt the sharp coldness of water on his face and he choked as it filled his nose and mouth. He spluttered and turned his head to one side, gulping for air. He tried to open his eyes but found that only one would open. He looked around quickly, trying to find out what was going on but his vision was very blurred; he could only make out a few shapes and some movement.
“Prishhonner ish awake!” a voice said. It sounded like it was having difficulty coping with speech, or had some form of dental problem. After the sound of someone sucking teeth, the voice spoke again.
“Prishhonner had nyyche drink? Prishhonner talksh now.”
Skali tried hard to focus and began to get a picture of the speaker. It was a Bohkin; a male Bohkin with beady little eyes, a little button nose and fangs protruding from its mouth; pointing upwards from a jutting lower jaw. It appeared to be smartly dressed in what appeared to be a white doctor’s gown. Skali noticed that he had a small bag with him.
“I wantshh to hear where yooshh from” said the doctor Bohkin.
Skali said nothing.
“I wantshh to hear where yooshh from” repeated the Bohkin.
Skali didn’t say anything but felt a sharp pain in his jaw as something heavy struck him, tipping him over. For the first time he realised that he had been strapped to a chair. He was in such a daze that he hadn’t even thought about moving so it came as a bit of a surprise when he couldn’t arrest his fall and his head struck the floor, making him struggle for consciousness. In moments, the chair had been stood back up and Skali looked into the eyes of the Bohkin again. He felt a dull ache through his jaw and when he tried to tense his muscles he realised that the pain it generated meant that it was broken.
“Shilly chylde” Said the Bohkin “the farshhers mussht be shad that you show shilly”. He reached into his small bag and pulled out a small metal implement. He held it up in front of Skali and said nothing. A moment later Skali felt pain like he never had before. It was so sharp that he had to catch his breath. His fingertips tingled and his legs twitched uncontrollably as fire engulfed his spine. He struggled desperately but could feel the room closing in as his consciousness faded. Just as he was about to pass out, the pain ceased and the room began to return to normal.
“Where yoosh from, shilly chylde?” asked the Bohkin again.
Skali carried on with the silence. He doubted if he could have spoken too much anyway as his jaw was throbbing and his throat was as dry as a desert. He gasped as the pain in his spine returned; this time it was even worse and his arms shook as badly as his legs. Skali drooled uncontrollably as he began to lose control of his senses. He cried out as wave after wave of shearing pain wracked his body and the room started to dim again. Suddenly the pain dimmed as quickly as it had arrived and Skali was brought back to full consciousness with another bucket of water.
“Yoosh very shilly, anshher queshhtion and we shhtop fun”
Skali gazed in the Bohkin’s direction and still said nothing. His head was swimming, his vision was blurred and he was struggling to come to terms with his situation. Without warning, the pain returned and the room went black as Skali finally succumbed to unconsciousness.
Day after day, Skali was shocked awake with water and tortured to unconsciousness. He wasn’t fed very often and was given just enough water to keep him hanging on to life by a mere thread. After a few days, his jaw became infected and along with the throbbing pain came the smell of gangrene. It didn’t stop the Bohkin dragging Skali from his cell, strapping him to a chair and inflicting the scouring pain that he had begun to become accustomed to. Through it all, he said nothing.
Skali lost count of the days he had been in captivity. He knew that he was near to the end of his torment as he was having difficulty breathing and felt the continuous nausea of septicaemia. His vision was blurred and he had become photophobic. He managed an inward, ironic smile as he wondered what sort of state he looked. He was drifting off to dream-world when the door of his cell opened again and he felt the strong grip of two Bohkin as he was dragged off to his chair again. He felt the straps tighten around his wrists and neck again and gazed, bleary eyed, at the Bohkin facing him.
“Yoosh Tired, chylde” said the Bohkin “yoo shay where yoosh from and pain endsh”.
Skali looked at his tormentor. He could feel his own pulse trying to burst from his neck as his heart pounded heavily, in his chest. He could already sense a dimness filling the room and realised that he wasn’t long for the world. He tried to focus and shifted his position so that he could look straight into the Bohkins beady little eyes.
“I am Grymn” he said.
There was a deafening roar as the Bohkin in front of Skali was vapourised in a rush of plasma energy. Chaos erupted as black clad troops burst into the room, killing every Bohkin in sight with the precision of a surgeon. In moments, all was quiet and one of the troops rushed up to Skali and began to release him from the chair. He stopped for a moment and raised his mirrored visor.
“You’re safe now” said the Grymn.
Skali smiled as his vision failed and the room went black.
The sun shone down as brightly today, as it ever had in the past. Standing on the parade ground in front of over a thousand Grymn; in parade order, was captain Torsten. He was dressed in an immaculately presented, white suit of powered armour. On his chest were many medals that were a testament to his martial prowess and bravery. His grey hair was greased flat and his beard was neatly trimmed. Torsten looked up and down the lines of the many Grymn on parade. There wasn’t a single foot out of place or rifle out of position. Every single Grymn was immaculately turned out. They all wore their polished medals and their smartest battledress and Torsten looked upon them with the supreme pride of a parent watching over his children. The parade stood completely immobile and in complete silence.
Torsten cleared his throat and began his speech.
“Today, we have the honour and privilege to celebrate courage beyond the call of duty. Today we stand in the company of giants. What we witness today is a testament to the bravery, martial ability and utter dedication to duty that a Grymn soldier represents. Every one of you should feel nothing but pride as you stand here today”.
The sound of a single trumpet echoed across the parade ground as a party of silver clad Grymn, with high plumed helmets slow-marched onto the square. Their swords were held vertically in an iron grip, their shiny black boots clacked in unison on the concrete under their feet. Between each pair of immaculate guards hovered a casket. On the lid of each casket was laid a helmet and the weapons that the Grymn inside had used while he fought. The first two caskets had twin pistols, the next one had a pulse gun, two more had a pistol and power axe and finally, a few paces further back came a casket with an SMG laid across it.
The casket party solemnly marched towards Torsten and all but the final casket passed in front of him and was set down on a red carpet to the right of him. The Casket with the SMG was set down on a pedestal to Torsten’s left.
“PAAARADE! GENERAL SALUTE...PREEEESENT ARMS!” sounded across the square as the parade officer issued his order.
With incalculable precision the entire parade ground moved in complete unison, presenting their weapon types in a show of respect. The lone trumpet played a short, haunting tune and was silent.
“PAAARADE! ORDER...ARMS!”
Again, the Grymn moved as one and their weapons were brought to order.
Torsten began to speak again.
“Brakki Silvertooth: Order of Bravery...posthumously awarded. Frekki Strongarm: Order of Bravery...posthumously awarded. Gerri Axebearer: Order of Bravery and Star of Valour...posthumously awarded. Anja Firegaze: Star of Valour...posthumously awarded. Olaf Greybeard: Star of Valour...posthumously awarded.” Torsten paused for a moment, turned towards the five caskets, stood to attention and saluted them. He turned towards the parade again and continued.
“Within these five caskets lie the bodies of five warriors. Each one died carrying out their duty to the highest possible standard and with fire in their hearts and bellies. Each one gave their all, for their brothers and sisters who fought beside them and each one made the perfect sacrifice.”
Torsten paused again and slowly walked towards the lone casket. He brought himself to attention and saluted the casket, just as he had done with the other five. He turned to face the parade again and continued his speech.
“Skali Ironfist: Most Beneficent Order of Valour, Iron Cross and medal of leadership...awarded posthumously.”
Torsten steeled himself and continued.
“Among those pillars of valour, there was a giant among Grymn. Not only did trooper Ironfist lead his brothers forward after his platoon and squad leaders had fallen but he also managed to take and hold a critical objective under the most severe onslaught. When the objective was secured, he further advanced into a Bohkin force that heavily outnumbered his unit, providing valuable protection for a pinned platoon and taking a heavy toll of the attackers. He continued to lead his unit valiantly until he succumbed to his wounds and was captured. For seven weeks he endured the humiliation of torture and spoke not a word. Although he was broken of body, his Grymn spirit continued to burn as brightly as a sun. As his rescue was about to begin, his final words were picked up on our monitoring system...I am Grymn.” Torsten stared at the assembled Grymn “No truer words were ever spoken”.
“PAAARADE! PREESENT ARMS!” Bawled the parade officer.
The Grymn snapped through their drill movements in perfect unison. The trumpeter played a general call to arms as the caskets were led away and when they had gone, the parade officer followed up with:
“PAAARADE! ORDER ARMS!”
“March off the officers!”...
Skali sprinted for the cover of a shattered wall as fast as his legs could carry him. The sound of battle was all around him. He looked over to his left and saw Lars fall to the ground as his shoulder disintegrated in a shower of blood and plasma. Beyond Lars another trooper, who the fog of battle had rendered anonymous, was felled as his helmet ruptured after a hit from a sniper’s round; brain matter spewing from the ragged exit wound. Skali snapped his head to the front and looked over the wall. He could see hordes of Bohkin all around and suddenly realised that things were not going well. Everywhere he looked, Grymn were falling to the intensity of the incoming fire. Skali snapped off a few rounds from his SMG and was rewarded with two kills. He ducked back into cover, waited for a few seconds and then popped his head up to fire a few more rounds. He didn’t get to pull the trigger.
Skali felt the sharp coldness of water on his face and he choked as it filled his nose and mouth. He spluttered and turned his head to one side, gulping for air. He tried to open his eyes but found that only one would open. He looked around quickly, trying to find out what was going on but his vision was very blurred; he could only make out a few shapes and some movement.
“Prishhonner ish awake!” a voice said. It sounded like it was having difficulty coping with speech, or had some form of dental problem. After the sound of someone sucking teeth, the voice spoke again.
“Prishhonner had nyyche drink? Prishhonner talksh now.”
Skali tried hard to focus and began to get a picture of the speaker. It was a Bohkin; a male Bohkin with beady little eyes, a little button nose and fangs protruding from its mouth; pointing upwards from a jutting lower jaw. It appeared to be smartly dressed in what appeared to be a white doctor’s gown. Skali noticed that he had a small bag with him.
“I wantshh to hear where yooshh from” said the doctor Bohkin.
Skali said nothing.
“I wantshh to hear where yooshh from” repeated the Bohkin.
Skali didn’t say anything but felt a sharp pain in his jaw as something heavy struck him, tipping him over. For the first time he realised that he had been strapped to a chair. He was in such a daze that he hadn’t even thought about moving so it came as a bit of a surprise when he couldn’t arrest his fall and his head struck the floor, making him struggle for consciousness. In moments, the chair had been stood back up and Skali looked into the eyes of the Bohkin again. He felt a dull ache through his jaw and when he tried to tense his muscles he realised that the pain it generated meant that it was broken.
“Shilly chylde” Said the Bohkin “the farshhers mussht be shad that you show shilly”. He reached into his small bag and pulled out a small metal implement. He held it up in front of Skali and said nothing. A moment later Skali felt pain like he never had before. It was so sharp that he had to catch his breath. His fingertips tingled and his legs twitched uncontrollably as fire engulfed his spine. He struggled desperately but could feel the room closing in as his consciousness faded. Just as he was about to pass out, the pain ceased and the room began to return to normal.
“Where yoosh from, shilly chylde?” asked the Bohkin again.
Skali carried on with the silence. He doubted if he could have spoken too much anyway as his jaw was throbbing and his throat was as dry as a desert. He gasped as the pain in his spine returned; this time it was even worse and his arms shook as badly as his legs. Skali drooled uncontrollably as he began to lose control of his senses. He cried out as wave after wave of shearing pain wracked his body and the room started to dim again. Suddenly the pain dimmed as quickly as it had arrived and Skali was brought back to full consciousness with another bucket of water.
“Yoosh very shilly, anshher queshhtion and we shhtop fun”
Skali gazed in the Bohkin’s direction and still said nothing. His head was swimming, his vision was blurred and he was struggling to come to terms with his situation. Without warning, the pain returned and the room went black as Skali finally succumbed to unconsciousness.
Day after day, Skali was shocked awake with water and tortured to unconsciousness. He wasn’t fed very often and was given just enough water to keep him hanging on to life by a mere thread. After a few days, his jaw became infected and along with the throbbing pain came the smell of gangrene. It didn’t stop the Bohkin dragging Skali from his cell, strapping him to a chair and inflicting the scouring pain that he had begun to become accustomed to. Through it all, he said nothing.
Skali lost count of the days he had been in captivity. He knew that he was near to the end of his torment as he was having difficulty breathing and felt the continuous nausea of septicaemia. His vision was blurred and he had become photophobic. He managed an inward, ironic smile as he wondered what sort of state he looked. He was drifting off to dream-world when the door of his cell opened again and he felt the strong grip of two Bohkin as he was dragged off to his chair again. He felt the straps tighten around his wrists and neck again and gazed, bleary eyed, at the Bohkin facing him.
“Yoosh Tired, chylde” said the Bohkin “yoo shay where yoosh from and pain endsh”.
Skali looked at his tormentor. He could feel his own pulse trying to burst from his neck as his heart pounded heavily, in his chest. He could already sense a dimness filling the room and realised that he wasn’t long for the world. He tried to focus and shifted his position so that he could look straight into the Bohkins beady little eyes.
“I am Grymn” he said.
There was a deafening roar as the Bohkin in front of Skali was vapourised in a rush of plasma energy. Chaos erupted as black clad troops burst into the room, killing every Bohkin in sight with the precision of a surgeon. In moments, all was quiet and one of the troops rushed up to Skali and began to release him from the chair. He stopped for a moment and raised his mirrored visor.
“You’re safe now” said the Grymn.
Skali smiled as his vision failed and the room went black.
The sun shone down as brightly today, as it ever had in the past. Standing on the parade ground in front of over a thousand Grymn; in parade order, was captain Torsten. He was dressed in an immaculately presented, white suit of powered armour. On his chest were many medals that were a testament to his martial prowess and bravery. His grey hair was greased flat and his beard was neatly trimmed. Torsten looked up and down the lines of the many Grymn on parade. There wasn’t a single foot out of place or rifle out of position. Every single Grymn was immaculately turned out. They all wore their polished medals and their smartest battledress and Torsten looked upon them with the supreme pride of a parent watching over his children. The parade stood completely immobile and in complete silence.
Torsten cleared his throat and began his speech.
“Today, we have the honour and privilege to celebrate courage beyond the call of duty. Today we stand in the company of giants. What we witness today is a testament to the bravery, martial ability and utter dedication to duty that a Grymn soldier represents. Every one of you should feel nothing but pride as you stand here today”.
The sound of a single trumpet echoed across the parade ground as a party of silver clad Grymn, with high plumed helmets slow-marched onto the square. Their swords were held vertically in an iron grip, their shiny black boots clacked in unison on the concrete under their feet. Between each pair of immaculate guards hovered a casket. On the lid of each casket was laid a helmet and the weapons that the Grymn inside had used while he fought. The first two caskets had twin pistols, the next one had a pulse gun, two more had a pistol and power axe and finally, a few paces further back came a casket with an SMG laid across it.
The casket party solemnly marched towards Torsten and all but the final casket passed in front of him and was set down on a red carpet to the right of him. The Casket with the SMG was set down on a pedestal to Torsten’s left.
“PAAARADE! GENERAL SALUTE...PREEEESENT ARMS!” sounded across the square as the parade officer issued his order.
With incalculable precision the entire parade ground moved in complete unison, presenting their weapon types in a show of respect. The lone trumpet played a short, haunting tune and was silent.
“PAAARADE! ORDER...ARMS!”
Again, the Grymn moved as one and their weapons were brought to order.
Torsten began to speak again.
“Brakki Silvertooth: Order of Bravery...posthumously awarded. Frekki Strongarm: Order of Bravery...posthumously awarded. Gerri Axebearer: Order of Bravery and Star of Valour...posthumously awarded. Anja Firegaze: Star of Valour...posthumously awarded. Olaf Greybeard: Star of Valour...posthumously awarded.” Torsten paused for a moment, turned towards the five caskets, stood to attention and saluted them. He turned towards the parade again and continued.
“Within these five caskets lie the bodies of five warriors. Each one died carrying out their duty to the highest possible standard and with fire in their hearts and bellies. Each one gave their all, for their brothers and sisters who fought beside them and each one made the perfect sacrifice.”
Torsten paused again and slowly walked towards the lone casket. He brought himself to attention and saluted the casket, just as he had done with the other five. He turned to face the parade again and continued his speech.
“Skali Ironfist: Most Beneficent Order of Valour, Iron Cross and medal of leadership...awarded posthumously.”
Torsten steeled himself and continued.
“Among those pillars of valour, there was a giant among Grymn. Not only did trooper Ironfist lead his brothers forward after his platoon and squad leaders had fallen but he also managed to take and hold a critical objective under the most severe onslaught. When the objective was secured, he further advanced into a Bohkin force that heavily outnumbered his unit, providing valuable protection for a pinned platoon and taking a heavy toll of the attackers. He continued to lead his unit valiantly until he succumbed to his wounds and was captured. For seven weeks he endured the humiliation of torture and spoke not a word. Although he was broken of body, his Grymn spirit continued to burn as brightly as a sun. As his rescue was about to begin, his final words were picked up on our monitoring system...I am Grymn.” Torsten stared at the assembled Grymn “No truer words were ever spoken”.
“PAAARADE! PREESENT ARMS!” Bawled the parade officer.
The Grymn snapped through their drill movements in perfect unison. The trumpeter played a general call to arms as the caskets were led away and when they had gone, the parade officer followed up with:
“PAAARADE! ORDER ARMS!”
“March off the officers!”...
Saturday, 15 May 2010
Air Drop.
Kjaran
Kjaran slammed himself against the rock wall as bullets whipped passed and ricocheted off the loose rubble where he had until recently been taking cover.
“Ana, have you managed to get through yet? It’s getting a bit too warm for comfort around here”.
“Alpha control, this is Alpha one niner, we are pinned down at grid; figures 5165 6734. Multiple hostiles are advancing on our position. We are running low on payback and request immediate extraction; Over” shouted Ana into the microphone of her radio set.
“Alpha one niner, this is Alpha control, negative on extraction, supplies in bound; Out” was the rather curt reply.
“Sorry Sarge, we’re stuck here but control is sending supplies” Shouted Ana.
“Supplies!? What the hell do they mean by supplies!?” was the rather bemused response from Kjaran.
Kjaran ducked down as he saw a Bohkin with a heavy machine gun aim in his direction and fire. A steady stream of heavy calibre rounds slammed into the rock and ground nearby, kicking up great plumes of dust and debris. Nearby there was a curse as Sven took a hit on his shoulder plate and was knocked to the ground; fortunately he was saved from harm by his trusty armour and he climbed to his feet and returned fire. The Bohkin were massing nearby and appeared to be happy taking pot-shots at the Grymn patrol for now. They hadn’t started to close in but seemed to be building up for a push in the near future.
The Grymn patrol was made up of five heavy infantry with an attached sniper. They were armed with extremely effective weapons but were being pinned down as a result of the high level of incoming Bohkin fire. Kjaran was the sergeant in charge and had made sure that all his troops had conserved their ammunition as much as they could but they were beginning to run low and were now getting to a point where they needed some help. They were stuck and things were beginning to look very uncertain for them.
Kjaran was beginning to plan a desperate dash to freedom for his troops, when he noticed the sound of grav motors nearby. He looked to his right and caught sight of a Grymn fast transport flying low over the rough terrain. As it roared towards them, three large pallets fell from the back and hit the ground heavily in a shower of dust.
“Fething hell!” shouted Kjaran as the transport flew over head and disappeared “they’ve dropped the supplies too far away!”
Kjaran was furious. He watched as some of the Bohkin broke off from the attack and started running towards the supplies. His desperate dash for freedom was starting to look like the only option for his troops now.
Suddenly there was a grinding crunch from the supply crates and Kjaran looked towards them. The sides had fallen away and they appeared to be getting taller. Kjaran grabbed his monocular and watched as the contents of the crates began to unfold. First they grew legs; then, what appeared to be a cockpit came into view.
“Sarge! “ shouted Ana “We’re getting comms chat from the supplies and they want to speak to you.”
Kjaran kept low and dashed over to Ana and grabbed the handset...
“this is Alpha one niner leader; send message; Over.” He said as bullets whipped up the dust where he had just been running.
A metallic voice replied:
“Alpha one niner leader; this is Eagle two. It’s good to hear you are breathing; we’ll be joining you shortly; Out!”
Kjaran turned to Ana with a questioning look and she just shrugged her shoulders. Neither had ever heard of call-sign Eagle before. But whatever it was, appeared to be their only hope for survival at this moment in time so Kjaran was happy for any help he could get...no matter where it came from.
Kjaran ducked again as incoming rounds whizzed passed him. He shouted to his troops to start giving more aggressive return fire as supplies had arrived so they could afford to be a little less frugal. He popped his head above cover and fired his pulse gun; punching a fist sized hole through a Bohkin. He was about to fire again when the sound of heavy weapon fire caught his attention and he glanced towards it. Where the supplies had landed there was a great deal of confusion. Bohkin were running away from the area, amidst the sound of anti-personnel rockets and chain-gun fire. Kjaran watched as bodies began to fly into the air as the rockets found their mark, and other Bohkin were being shredded by the concentrated fire from a chain-gun. Amidst the carnage, three metal giants strode; firing in all directions as they moved towards the Grymn position. Of the Bohkin that had gone to investigate the crates, none remained whole.
The Bohkin fire lessened and Kjaran dared to peer above his cover to see what was happening in the Bohkin position. One of the larger Bohkin appeared to be shouting at a smaller one who was pointing at the metal giant’s approach. A number of other Bohkin were looking rather frightened and were fidgeting rather uncontrollably. Kjaran saw his opportunity and with a shout of “Rapid Fire!!” let loose a stream of pulse rounds, felling the confused aliens in their droves. The other Grymn followed suit and the Bohkin began to take better cover and snap out of their bemused state for long enough to return fire. Although there was dissention in the enemy ranks, they still remained fairly effective.
Suddenly the Bohkin position erupted in a huge series of explosions. Kjaran and his patrol flattened themselves against the ground as debris began to fall all around them. The whine of chain-guns could be heard above the din as the multiple impacts found their marks amongst the soft bodies of the Bohkin. After what seemed an age, the noise lessened and ceased. The Grymn patrol remained flat against the ground for a short while and listened for movement. Kjaran was startled by a tap on the shoulder and rolled quickly to bring his weapon to bear. He looked straight into the face of an impeccably dressed Grymn in a jet black flight-suit and helmet.
“Sorry about the delay sergeant, we couldn’t leave until we’d toasted the mission...and we’d run out of mead” said the newcomer as he proffered his hand towards Kjaran; who grasped it and was helped to his feet.
“Sorry, sir...but I don’t recognise your unit” replied a quizzical looking Kjaran.
“That’s alright sergeant...it doesn’t exist” said the newcomer, who winked as he passed a small satchel towards Kjaran.
“What’s this?” asked Kjaran.
“Your supplies of course, sergeant” The officer replied with a smile. He then turned on his heels and walked away.
Kjaran looked into the satchel and found five small pulse-gun power packs and a box of 20 sniper rounds. He looked over towards the officer who was nimbly climbing into the cockpit of an armoured walking machine with various heavy weapons mounted on it. It was painted in matt jet black and had a gloss black eagle, with spread wings, emblazoned across the front. He then looked towards the Bohkin position and could see that it had been completely and utterly obliterated. He returned his glance towards the armoured walker as it raised itself up from the crouched position it had been in, to allow the officer to climb in, and steadied itself on sturdy, armoured legs. From the cockpit the officer could be seen to flip down a monocle and flick some overhead switches before he glanced a look at Kjaran, grinned broadly and looked to his front, before firing up the motors and striding off; closely followed by two other walkers.
The Grymn patrol was left in stunned silence; staring after the walkers as they disappeared into the distance.
“What the hell was that?” asked Ana.
“That” said Kjaran “was a delivery of supplies” and he handed each of his troops the single re-loads that had been delivered.
“Humph!” said Sven “they could have brought some chocolate!”
Kjaran slammed himself against the rock wall as bullets whipped passed and ricocheted off the loose rubble where he had until recently been taking cover.
“Ana, have you managed to get through yet? It’s getting a bit too warm for comfort around here”.
“Alpha control, this is Alpha one niner, we are pinned down at grid; figures 5165 6734. Multiple hostiles are advancing on our position. We are running low on payback and request immediate extraction; Over” shouted Ana into the microphone of her radio set.
“Alpha one niner, this is Alpha control, negative on extraction, supplies in bound; Out” was the rather curt reply.
“Sorry Sarge, we’re stuck here but control is sending supplies” Shouted Ana.
“Supplies!? What the hell do they mean by supplies!?” was the rather bemused response from Kjaran.
Kjaran ducked down as he saw a Bohkin with a heavy machine gun aim in his direction and fire. A steady stream of heavy calibre rounds slammed into the rock and ground nearby, kicking up great plumes of dust and debris. Nearby there was a curse as Sven took a hit on his shoulder plate and was knocked to the ground; fortunately he was saved from harm by his trusty armour and he climbed to his feet and returned fire. The Bohkin were massing nearby and appeared to be happy taking pot-shots at the Grymn patrol for now. They hadn’t started to close in but seemed to be building up for a push in the near future.
The Grymn patrol was made up of five heavy infantry with an attached sniper. They were armed with extremely effective weapons but were being pinned down as a result of the high level of incoming Bohkin fire. Kjaran was the sergeant in charge and had made sure that all his troops had conserved their ammunition as much as they could but they were beginning to run low and were now getting to a point where they needed some help. They were stuck and things were beginning to look very uncertain for them.
Kjaran was beginning to plan a desperate dash to freedom for his troops, when he noticed the sound of grav motors nearby. He looked to his right and caught sight of a Grymn fast transport flying low over the rough terrain. As it roared towards them, three large pallets fell from the back and hit the ground heavily in a shower of dust.
“Fething hell!” shouted Kjaran as the transport flew over head and disappeared “they’ve dropped the supplies too far away!”
Kjaran was furious. He watched as some of the Bohkin broke off from the attack and started running towards the supplies. His desperate dash for freedom was starting to look like the only option for his troops now.
Suddenly there was a grinding crunch from the supply crates and Kjaran looked towards them. The sides had fallen away and they appeared to be getting taller. Kjaran grabbed his monocular and watched as the contents of the crates began to unfold. First they grew legs; then, what appeared to be a cockpit came into view.
“Sarge! “ shouted Ana “We’re getting comms chat from the supplies and they want to speak to you.”
Kjaran kept low and dashed over to Ana and grabbed the handset...
“this is Alpha one niner leader; send message; Over.” He said as bullets whipped up the dust where he had just been running.
A metallic voice replied:
“Alpha one niner leader; this is Eagle two. It’s good to hear you are breathing; we’ll be joining you shortly; Out!”
Kjaran turned to Ana with a questioning look and she just shrugged her shoulders. Neither had ever heard of call-sign Eagle before. But whatever it was, appeared to be their only hope for survival at this moment in time so Kjaran was happy for any help he could get...no matter where it came from.
Kjaran ducked again as incoming rounds whizzed passed him. He shouted to his troops to start giving more aggressive return fire as supplies had arrived so they could afford to be a little less frugal. He popped his head above cover and fired his pulse gun; punching a fist sized hole through a Bohkin. He was about to fire again when the sound of heavy weapon fire caught his attention and he glanced towards it. Where the supplies had landed there was a great deal of confusion. Bohkin were running away from the area, amidst the sound of anti-personnel rockets and chain-gun fire. Kjaran watched as bodies began to fly into the air as the rockets found their mark, and other Bohkin were being shredded by the concentrated fire from a chain-gun. Amidst the carnage, three metal giants strode; firing in all directions as they moved towards the Grymn position. Of the Bohkin that had gone to investigate the crates, none remained whole.
The Bohkin fire lessened and Kjaran dared to peer above his cover to see what was happening in the Bohkin position. One of the larger Bohkin appeared to be shouting at a smaller one who was pointing at the metal giant’s approach. A number of other Bohkin were looking rather frightened and were fidgeting rather uncontrollably. Kjaran saw his opportunity and with a shout of “Rapid Fire!!” let loose a stream of pulse rounds, felling the confused aliens in their droves. The other Grymn followed suit and the Bohkin began to take better cover and snap out of their bemused state for long enough to return fire. Although there was dissention in the enemy ranks, they still remained fairly effective.
Suddenly the Bohkin position erupted in a huge series of explosions. Kjaran and his patrol flattened themselves against the ground as debris began to fall all around them. The whine of chain-guns could be heard above the din as the multiple impacts found their marks amongst the soft bodies of the Bohkin. After what seemed an age, the noise lessened and ceased. The Grymn patrol remained flat against the ground for a short while and listened for movement. Kjaran was startled by a tap on the shoulder and rolled quickly to bring his weapon to bear. He looked straight into the face of an impeccably dressed Grymn in a jet black flight-suit and helmet.
“Sorry about the delay sergeant, we couldn’t leave until we’d toasted the mission...and we’d run out of mead” said the newcomer as he proffered his hand towards Kjaran; who grasped it and was helped to his feet.
“Sorry, sir...but I don’t recognise your unit” replied a quizzical looking Kjaran.
“That’s alright sergeant...it doesn’t exist” said the newcomer, who winked as he passed a small satchel towards Kjaran.
“What’s this?” asked Kjaran.
“Your supplies of course, sergeant” The officer replied with a smile. He then turned on his heels and walked away.
Kjaran looked into the satchel and found five small pulse-gun power packs and a box of 20 sniper rounds. He looked over towards the officer who was nimbly climbing into the cockpit of an armoured walking machine with various heavy weapons mounted on it. It was painted in matt jet black and had a gloss black eagle, with spread wings, emblazoned across the front. He then looked towards the Bohkin position and could see that it had been completely and utterly obliterated. He returned his glance towards the armoured walker as it raised itself up from the crouched position it had been in, to allow the officer to climb in, and steadied itself on sturdy, armoured legs. From the cockpit the officer could be seen to flip down a monocle and flick some overhead switches before he glanced a look at Kjaran, grinned broadly and looked to his front, before firing up the motors and striding off; closely followed by two other walkers.
The Grymn patrol was left in stunned silence; staring after the walkers as they disappeared into the distance.
“What the hell was that?” asked Ana.
“That” said Kjaran “was a delivery of supplies” and he handed each of his troops the single re-loads that had been delivered.
“Humph!” said Sven “they could have brought some chocolate!”
Saturday, 10 April 2010
Sven.
Sven ducked down in the trench and began to shake almost uncontrollably. He jammed his back against the facing wall and put his face down into his hands as the noise of battled roared in his ears. Every now and then there was the stomach churning thud as heavy ordnance struck somewhere on the battlefield and the force could be felt through the earth and up into the body. Sitting opposite him, in the trench was Gregor. Gregor was staring open mouthed at Sven, which probably wouldn’t have been too surprising until you noticed that his entire left side was missing; replaced by a mix of blood, sinew and filth. Gregor was dead, of course. He had been staring open mouthed, wide eyed and with a look of horror for about six hours now. Sven couldn’t even glance in his direction without feeling the inevitable urge to throw up. This really wasn’t what he was expecting when he took his oath and started service in the Grymn army. He felt wretched. His hands were shaking, he was sweating profusely and he was clinging onto his SMG with such force that before he laid it across his knees, his hands had bled from contact with the trigger guard and the cocking handle. Every time there was the sound of incoming fire Sven jumped with surprise, even though there was no surprise to the constant chatter and thud around him. He removed his hands from his face and left bloody streaks where they had been. Grabbing his SMG Sven tried to get to his feet but his legs didn’t want to move. He was completely in the grip of shell shock and he was in no state to be in a battle. His head started to spin and he inadvertently glanced at Gregor with the expected response from his stomach; bile and his last meal exploded through clenched teeth all down the front of his plate armour and fatigues as Sven’s body convulsed. It was the final straw and he couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks as he began to sob like a child.
‘What’s going on in sector three?’ Asked Hella; she was particularly annoyed because her brilliant battle-plan was going extremely well apart from over in section three which was currently collapsing under heavy resistance.
‘The defences are being over-run by the Bohkin assault troops. We need to reinforce as soon as possible’ replied Johan.
‘What do we have available?’ Hella asked.
‘There’s always Kjaran’s heavies’ came the reply as Johan studied the tactical display.
‘Yes...get Kjaran over to reinforce sector three and while you’re at it, arrange for some caffeine; I’m starting to lose my edge’ Hella rubbed her eyes and started pawing at the maps on her table as she spoke.
‘Right you are Ma’am’ he said as he disappeared from the tent.
Sven tried to get up again but couldn’t. He had stopped shaking but had no strength. He could hear the battle raging but felt powerless to make any moves to joining in. He looked at Gregor and felt the nausea building again but managed to suppress the feeling long enough to start to think. ‘What the hell am I doing? I’m a Grymn, for feth’s sake. I should be able to stand on my own two feet!’ he thought, as the feeling of annoyance started to flood his mind. ‘What would Gregor think of me if he could see me now? What would Dad think? I know what he’d think...he’d think that I was a damned coward!’ The annoyance was starting to turn to anger as he stared at his comrade’s shattered form. ‘Fething Bohkin, coming into my sector and killing my mates...they deserve worse than I’m giving them at the moment!’ His hands clenched the grip and stock of his SMG until they were white and he automatically began to stand. ‘I’ll show them!’ Cocking his SMG he turned in his trench, stood on the fire-step and began to blast away at whatever Bohkin he could see. There were plenty around and although his aim seemed to be true and he fired many rounds at them, none of them were falling. Sven was screaming as he fired and was beginning to attract far too much attention as the Bohkin finally realised where the shots were coming from. Suddenly from behind him came the sound of something landing heavily in the trench. Sven turned sharply to see a new Grymn standing there.
‘That’s the spirit lad!’ Said Aylton as he knelt down beside Gregor and gently closed his dead eyes whilst whispering a prayer. ‘Don’t worry about your mate here’ he said ‘there’s nothing here that will hurt him again’.
Sven turned away and continued firing at the Bohkin with more ferocity; the tears were starting to well up and he started screaming with more and more anger because none of the enemy were falling to his barrage.
‘Save some for me will you!’ said Aylton as he joined Sven on the firing step ‘you’ll run out of ammo at that rate!’
‘They won’t fething die!’ he screamed a hysterical reply ‘I shoot and shoot but they won’t die!’ By now Sven was sobbing again and his body was shaking with the effort.
Aylton placed a hand on Sven’s shoulder and carefully disarmed him with kind words and reassurance. He got Sven to hunker down in the trench with him while he inspected the SMG that had been so inaccurate.
‘No wonder they’re not dying!’ He said ‘look at this.’
Sven looked down and could not believe his eyes; the barrel and stock of the SMG were pointing upwards at a gentle slope. It was enough to send the bullets sky-wards without making them jam in the barrel and cause a misfire. Sven couldn’t help himself. He began to laugh through the tears that were coursing down his face. He laughed harder and harder until he thought his chest would burst.
‘They will die then?’ He thought as he laughed so hard he nearly stopped breathing.
Aylton broke into his thoughts with a question: ‘Do you feel like getting a bit even now?’
Sven looked at him and said ‘with what? My weapon is gone’.
‘It seems to me that young Gregor may be able to help’ he said as he brushed the mud from Gregor’s pulse-gun and handed it over to Sven. ‘Have you used these before?’ He asked ‘they kick a bit but work very well.’
‘I’m sure I’ll work it out’ replied Sven through the gritted teeth of a manic smile.
Sven took the pulse-gun from Aylton and hefted it from hand to hand to judge the weight of it. He found the safety catch and checked the power meter; he had seen Gregor do it many times and it currently registered three quarters full. He glanced at Aylton who was now standing at the fire-step picking his targets with the precision of a seasoned veteran. Sven almost felt awe at the sight. Here they were on the battlefield with all the death and the danger around and Aylton was shooting away as if he was on a range; he was even humming a tune as he fired. Sven climbed to his feet again and took up position next to Aylton and began to follow his lead. Things were different to earlier because what ever he shot at started to fall down now. Sven’s confidence began to build and he was starting to return to his senses when Aylton spoke to him.
‘How does it feel lad?’ He said through a broad grin ‘Isn’t it a wonderful thing to be in the heat of battle; wiping out the scum that the Fathers send against us?’ Aylton was studying Sven’s face while he spoke.
‘Aye, it is’ replied Sven almost without thinking.
‘Young Gregor would be proud to see his weapon in such fine form today, don’t you think?’
‘Aye, I think he would’. Sven looked at his feet as he spoke but this time there were no tears because he knew that the new Grymn was right; Gregor would have loved watching his gun killing so many enemies.
‘I’m Aylton by the way’ said Aylton ‘you’ll be young Sven won’t you?’
‘Aye’ he replied.
‘I thought so. You are the very picture of the Sven that Stefan described to me’ he laughed ‘I bet you’ll never think of dropping his precious flamer again!’
‘NO!’ came a rather dumb-struck response (there had been an incident where Sven had been asked to fetch a flamer for Stefan and in his haste to help, he had dropped it and been punched out for his trouble).
‘Well, I wouldn’t worry anymore’ laughed Aylton ‘you’ll be joining my unit when we get back and Stefan would know better than to pick on one of ours!’
Sven looked at Aylton in a state of confusion as he watched him casually shoot at the odd Bohkin that popped its head above cover. Why would he want him in his unit? He was just a green light-infantryman with very little experience.
Aylton glanced over at him and grinned ‘I couldn’t possibly let you out of my sight, now could I?’ He said ‘there’s no knowing what trouble you’d get yourself into!’
Sven didn’t say anything and continued firing at the enemy. The reinforcements had done their job and the battle was starting to turn. All along the sector, Grymn units were gaining ground and had begun to force back the enemy Bohkin. There would be an end to fighting by the following day.
Sven stared at his empty glass. The froth from the final mouthful was steadily sliding down the inside of the glass and through his drunken eyes it almost seemed to dance. He felt his pocket for some more money but found none. He realised that it was time to go to his bed and began to climb to his feet when a great weight pushed down on his shoulder and he was forced back into his chair. He looked around to see Stefan leaning on his shoulder with one hand and carrying two tankards of mead in the other. He placed one of the tankards in front of Sven; sloshing some mead onto the table in the process and sat opposite him with the other.
‘You’ll drink with me lad’ Stefan stated through his drunken stupor.
Sven said nothing. He didn’t know what to do so he picked up the proffered tankard and raised it towards his mouth.
‘Not so fast lad’ said Stefan, staring through bloodshot eyes at Sven ‘you’ve got a duty to undertake’.
Stefan climbed to his feet and in a booming voice shouted ‘everyone shut the feth up will you?!’
The bar went very quiet as Stefan was renowned for causing trouble and no one was ready for that tonight.
‘Young Sven here has a toast’ he said as he gripped Sven under one arm and lifted him easily to his feet. He grinned at Sven and prompted him to speak. Sven thought for a moment and looked into his glass. He thought of the battle and the friend that he had lost. He thought of the loss of all the friendly forces. He thought of what Aylton had said to him and he raised his glass to the heavens.
‘TO THE FALLEN!’ he boomed.
‘TO THE FALLEN!’ was the sombre reply.
‘No one can hurt them now’ he continued and got the same response from the room...but he couldn’t hear them as he began to sob.
‘Now that, lad, was a toast’ said Stefan as he put his arm around his shoulders and led him to his seat to finish his drink.
Aylton looked on and just smiled.
‘What’s going on in sector three?’ Asked Hella; she was particularly annoyed because her brilliant battle-plan was going extremely well apart from over in section three which was currently collapsing under heavy resistance.
‘The defences are being over-run by the Bohkin assault troops. We need to reinforce as soon as possible’ replied Johan.
‘What do we have available?’ Hella asked.
‘There’s always Kjaran’s heavies’ came the reply as Johan studied the tactical display.
‘Yes...get Kjaran over to reinforce sector three and while you’re at it, arrange for some caffeine; I’m starting to lose my edge’ Hella rubbed her eyes and started pawing at the maps on her table as she spoke.
‘Right you are Ma’am’ he said as he disappeared from the tent.
Sven tried to get up again but couldn’t. He had stopped shaking but had no strength. He could hear the battle raging but felt powerless to make any moves to joining in. He looked at Gregor and felt the nausea building again but managed to suppress the feeling long enough to start to think. ‘What the hell am I doing? I’m a Grymn, for feth’s sake. I should be able to stand on my own two feet!’ he thought, as the feeling of annoyance started to flood his mind. ‘What would Gregor think of me if he could see me now? What would Dad think? I know what he’d think...he’d think that I was a damned coward!’ The annoyance was starting to turn to anger as he stared at his comrade’s shattered form. ‘Fething Bohkin, coming into my sector and killing my mates...they deserve worse than I’m giving them at the moment!’ His hands clenched the grip and stock of his SMG until they were white and he automatically began to stand. ‘I’ll show them!’ Cocking his SMG he turned in his trench, stood on the fire-step and began to blast away at whatever Bohkin he could see. There were plenty around and although his aim seemed to be true and he fired many rounds at them, none of them were falling. Sven was screaming as he fired and was beginning to attract far too much attention as the Bohkin finally realised where the shots were coming from. Suddenly from behind him came the sound of something landing heavily in the trench. Sven turned sharply to see a new Grymn standing there.
‘That’s the spirit lad!’ Said Aylton as he knelt down beside Gregor and gently closed his dead eyes whilst whispering a prayer. ‘Don’t worry about your mate here’ he said ‘there’s nothing here that will hurt him again’.
Sven turned away and continued firing at the Bohkin with more ferocity; the tears were starting to well up and he started screaming with more and more anger because none of the enemy were falling to his barrage.
‘Save some for me will you!’ said Aylton as he joined Sven on the firing step ‘you’ll run out of ammo at that rate!’
‘They won’t fething die!’ he screamed a hysterical reply ‘I shoot and shoot but they won’t die!’ By now Sven was sobbing again and his body was shaking with the effort.
Aylton placed a hand on Sven’s shoulder and carefully disarmed him with kind words and reassurance. He got Sven to hunker down in the trench with him while he inspected the SMG that had been so inaccurate.
‘No wonder they’re not dying!’ He said ‘look at this.’
Sven looked down and could not believe his eyes; the barrel and stock of the SMG were pointing upwards at a gentle slope. It was enough to send the bullets sky-wards without making them jam in the barrel and cause a misfire. Sven couldn’t help himself. He began to laugh through the tears that were coursing down his face. He laughed harder and harder until he thought his chest would burst.
‘They will die then?’ He thought as he laughed so hard he nearly stopped breathing.
Aylton broke into his thoughts with a question: ‘Do you feel like getting a bit even now?’
Sven looked at him and said ‘with what? My weapon is gone’.
‘It seems to me that young Gregor may be able to help’ he said as he brushed the mud from Gregor’s pulse-gun and handed it over to Sven. ‘Have you used these before?’ He asked ‘they kick a bit but work very well.’
‘I’m sure I’ll work it out’ replied Sven through the gritted teeth of a manic smile.
Sven took the pulse-gun from Aylton and hefted it from hand to hand to judge the weight of it. He found the safety catch and checked the power meter; he had seen Gregor do it many times and it currently registered three quarters full. He glanced at Aylton who was now standing at the fire-step picking his targets with the precision of a seasoned veteran. Sven almost felt awe at the sight. Here they were on the battlefield with all the death and the danger around and Aylton was shooting away as if he was on a range; he was even humming a tune as he fired. Sven climbed to his feet again and took up position next to Aylton and began to follow his lead. Things were different to earlier because what ever he shot at started to fall down now. Sven’s confidence began to build and he was starting to return to his senses when Aylton spoke to him.
‘How does it feel lad?’ He said through a broad grin ‘Isn’t it a wonderful thing to be in the heat of battle; wiping out the scum that the Fathers send against us?’ Aylton was studying Sven’s face while he spoke.
‘Aye, it is’ replied Sven almost without thinking.
‘Young Gregor would be proud to see his weapon in such fine form today, don’t you think?’
‘Aye, I think he would’. Sven looked at his feet as he spoke but this time there were no tears because he knew that the new Grymn was right; Gregor would have loved watching his gun killing so many enemies.
‘I’m Aylton by the way’ said Aylton ‘you’ll be young Sven won’t you?’
‘Aye’ he replied.
‘I thought so. You are the very picture of the Sven that Stefan described to me’ he laughed ‘I bet you’ll never think of dropping his precious flamer again!’
‘NO!’ came a rather dumb-struck response (there had been an incident where Sven had been asked to fetch a flamer for Stefan and in his haste to help, he had dropped it and been punched out for his trouble).
‘Well, I wouldn’t worry anymore’ laughed Aylton ‘you’ll be joining my unit when we get back and Stefan would know better than to pick on one of ours!’
Sven looked at Aylton in a state of confusion as he watched him casually shoot at the odd Bohkin that popped its head above cover. Why would he want him in his unit? He was just a green light-infantryman with very little experience.
Aylton glanced over at him and grinned ‘I couldn’t possibly let you out of my sight, now could I?’ He said ‘there’s no knowing what trouble you’d get yourself into!’
Sven didn’t say anything and continued firing at the enemy. The reinforcements had done their job and the battle was starting to turn. All along the sector, Grymn units were gaining ground and had begun to force back the enemy Bohkin. There would be an end to fighting by the following day.
Sven stared at his empty glass. The froth from the final mouthful was steadily sliding down the inside of the glass and through his drunken eyes it almost seemed to dance. He felt his pocket for some more money but found none. He realised that it was time to go to his bed and began to climb to his feet when a great weight pushed down on his shoulder and he was forced back into his chair. He looked around to see Stefan leaning on his shoulder with one hand and carrying two tankards of mead in the other. He placed one of the tankards in front of Sven; sloshing some mead onto the table in the process and sat opposite him with the other.
‘You’ll drink with me lad’ Stefan stated through his drunken stupor.
Sven said nothing. He didn’t know what to do so he picked up the proffered tankard and raised it towards his mouth.
‘Not so fast lad’ said Stefan, staring through bloodshot eyes at Sven ‘you’ve got a duty to undertake’.
Stefan climbed to his feet and in a booming voice shouted ‘everyone shut the feth up will you?!’
The bar went very quiet as Stefan was renowned for causing trouble and no one was ready for that tonight.
‘Young Sven here has a toast’ he said as he gripped Sven under one arm and lifted him easily to his feet. He grinned at Sven and prompted him to speak. Sven thought for a moment and looked into his glass. He thought of the battle and the friend that he had lost. He thought of the loss of all the friendly forces. He thought of what Aylton had said to him and he raised his glass to the heavens.
‘TO THE FALLEN!’ he boomed.
‘TO THE FALLEN!’ was the sombre reply.
‘No one can hurt them now’ he continued and got the same response from the room...but he couldn’t hear them as he began to sob.
‘Now that, lad, was a toast’ said Stefan as he put his arm around his shoulders and led him to his seat to finish his drink.
Aylton looked on and just smiled.
Saturday, 13 February 2010
More background.
As I have already mentioned, the Grymn were created by the Sleiti; an alien race that uses bio-technology for many things that other races would use standard, mechanical and electronic technology for. Here is a Sleiti in battle gear:
When the Grymn escaped, the Sleiti were furious because not only had years of worked disappeared but they destroyed the lab and its data-banks before they left. That meant that the Sleiti were forced to start from scratch with their next race of slaves. When they did eventually build a new set of slaves, they called them Bohkin. The Bohkin were made for one reason...to hunt down and capture the Grymn. If they couldn't be captured, they would have to be destroyed. The new race was happy to do this because they were genetically modified to be completely subservient to the Sleiti. Here is a Bohkin leader ready to embark on his next hunting mission:
There are other aliens out there but some are less distinct than others. The Druusch are a race that has been infected by a virus that effectively turns them into zombies. They are made up from all manner of different races but have one common trait...they are infected. There is however, one race that the Druusch infection can't attack and that is the Grymn; due to their extraordinary immune system. Here is a Druusch drone:
Adapted by Inso from original work by Kev White.
When the Grymn escaped, the Sleiti were furious because not only had years of worked disappeared but they destroyed the lab and its data-banks before they left. That meant that the Sleiti were forced to start from scratch with their next race of slaves. When they did eventually build a new set of slaves, they called them Bohkin. The Bohkin were made for one reason...to hunt down and capture the Grymn. If they couldn't be captured, they would have to be destroyed. The new race was happy to do this because they were genetically modified to be completely subservient to the Sleiti. Here is a Bohkin leader ready to embark on his next hunting mission:
There are other aliens out there but some are less distinct than others. The Druusch are a race that has been infected by a virus that effectively turns them into zombies. They are made up from all manner of different races but have one common trait...they are infected. There is however, one race that the Druusch infection can't attack and that is the Grymn; due to their extraordinary immune system. Here is a Druusch drone:
Adapted by Inso from original work by Kev White.
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