When it is just too dangerous...

...don't send in the troops...send in the robotic clones (Beetle-Bots):


Grymn are too important to waste in actions that require the 'long haul' so they have come up with a cunning solution to the problem. Their technicians and scientists have perfected a way of copying a soldier's thought patterns and imprinting them on to a manufactured neural net. This neural net can then be placed into the skull of a robot and that will give the robot the personality and ability of the donor Grymn.

The good thing about the system is that it can be done in a few minutes, the Grymn is completely unharmed in the process and, unlike a clone, the robot is battlefield ready in as long as it takes for the new programming to get used to the robot body. Add to that the robot taking on board the training and experience of an existing soldier and you have a great way of putting fully battle-ready troops on the battlefield without running the risk of losing lots of lives...

Cpl Jenssen slowly lowered his head into the headrest of the special chair. Once he was comfortable the nurse tightened the restraining strap over his forehead and asked if he was ready.

Cpl Jenssen said that he was and the seat slowly lowered to a roughly horizontal position. Once it was there, a robotic arm raised a laptop sized scanner and adjusted it so that it was about three inches from Jensses's face. There was a click and about ten seconds of a barely audible hum before the arm withdrew the scanner and the seat began to raise to the normal position.

"All done!" said the nurse.
"Was that it?" Jenssen replied.
"Yep. Robot Jenssen will be waiting outside to meet you".

Jenssen left the small room and walked into a small collection area. Standing on a big yellow spot in the corner, was a blue/grey coloured robot who looked at Jenssen as soon as he entered. Jenssen stopped and looked back at the robot.

"Now that is just weird!" they both said together.

..."This will take a little getting used to" they both thought...

There are a few things to think about though...

What happens if the donor Grymn dies?...
Once the battle is over, will the robot-clones be 'de-programmed'?...
Does sending in robot-clones lead to Grymn getting lazy?...
Do the Grymn donors meet the robot-clones or are they kept separate?...
What if the robot-clones decide not to go and fight?...
What if the robot-clones decide to take over?...

Can you imagine going to war with a bunch of robot clones...say ten...all programmed with your brain patterns? Can you imagine the arguments?

So many things to think about...not even treading the paths of the moral implications of it...but that is the beauty of Science Fiction.

Stan's Journey...

It isn't always fighting that keeps the Grymn army busy...sometimes there are more mundane tasks that they have to undertake...baby-sitting is one of many...

Stan was standing, bleary eyed, in a hangar bay; gazing at the row upon row of makeshift beds that were strewn across the floor. He rubbed his eyes, looked at his watch and realised that there must be further delays to the transport schedule. He had been on the go for over eighteen hours. He had travelled by grav-carrier from his home base for over nine of those hours and had been expecting to arrive at the terminal and jump straight on the shuttle to the orbiting cruiser. Stan was feeling a little let down because the original shuttle was cancelled and his regiment had been told that there was a five hour delay…that was nine hours ago. Most of the assembled Grymn had unpacked their sleeping bags and mattresses and were chilling out waiting for further news but some were bustling about in various states of anger or despair; impatience was bound to be a problem.

“Attention” A strong female voice spoke through the loud speakers “the shuttle bound for Orin’s Dagger will be arriving in thirty minutes for a departure one hour later…end of message”.

Stan’s shoulders drooped at the prospect of another hour-and-a-half delay but he Knew he had no control over it so went to a food dispenser to grab a snack. He was now very tired and just wanted to get up to his new bunk; ready for the journey to begin properly. He was due to travel to a distant planet to help colonists defend themselves while the terra-forming could be completed and even with inter-space drives, the trip would take the convoy nearly seven months.

“And they couldn’t even get the shuttle here on time” Stan thought to himself.

After the hour-and-a-half was up and a further hour delay had passed, Stan’s regiment were loaded onto the shuttle in orderly lines of marching troops. He was in amongst them; being just a trooper and was happy to be boarding at long last. As they all filed up the boarding ramp he looked left and right as they entered the shuttle; marvelling at the size of the ramp-struts and pistons and the vast array of pipes and conduits that decorated the inside of the shuttle walls.

“EYES FRONT TROOPER!!!” Shouted Bargil; senior leader of Stan’s platoon.

Stan quickly stopped looking around and snapped his gaze forward.

Once inside the shuttle, the troops were halted and directed towards their respective seats. Once they were all seated, various vehicles, containers and pallets were loaded into the hold and the huge doors were finally closed. After a couple of minutes, the engine noise began to grow and there was a jolt as the shuttle lifted off the deck and began to ascend to the waiting cruiser.

The trip to the cruiser was uneventful. There were no windows in the cargo area where all of the troop seats were fitted so there was no chance of seeing the outside. The assembled Grymn just sat and chatted together while they waited to arrive at their new home. Fortunately, the shuttle trip was only forty minutes long so there wasn’t too much time to wait before the shuttle landed inside the waiting cruiser and began to offload all of its cargo. As soon as the Grymn were all off-loaded, they were hustled into a briefing room where they were welcomed, had a role call read and were issued with rooms and orders for the following day. Once they were all dismissed, they dispersed to their rooms to get settled and bed down for the night.

Stan found his room, went inside and found that his kit-bags were already waiting for him. He was in a four Grymn room so there was a pair of bunk beds. Each bed had a name, barcode and serial number and Stan found his and began to unpack his kit into the associated locker. He was the first to arrive so had a little time to take in his surroundings without too much interruption. It was a relatively small room but there was enough space for four lockers, the bunk beds, two small desks with chairs and a separate area with a sink. On the whole, Stan was quite impressed with the room but was holding judgement until he knew who his room-mates were. He needn’t have worried because they were three of his squad members who had been chosen for their weight and also because they had a similar psychological and social profile to Stan (in other words, the top brass asked the regiment commanders…who asked the platoon commanders…who asked the squad leaders to make a list). He was sharing with Jooks, Norm and Gunnar and they had always got on like a house on fire. When they arrived, they were all talk and the lights eventually went out at almost one in the morning…the following days briefings started at six…it was going to be a long day.

The morning brief was a general repeat of everything they had been briefed, prior to boarding the cruiser. After a few extra bits of safety and warning information had been passed on, it was time for the midday meal. Luckily, the briefs were all finished and the whole regiment were stood down for 48 hours to relax, recuperate and find their way about so after they had eaten their meals, Stan and Jooks wandered off to do a bit of investigating while Norm and Gunnar went back to their cabin.

The Cruiser was vast. The shuttle that they all flew up on was only one of a dozen in the hangar and the shuttle was big enough for a regiment! Stan thought that he could happily fit his entire settlement inside the hangar and still have space for a strike-ball stadium. As Stan and Jooks wandered around the passed biospheres that contained plants, grazing animals and even aquariums filled with various types of fish. Along other corridors were shopping areas, entertainment areas, a dentist, barbers, doctors surgery and many more interesting things to see…and there were a small number of drinking establishments that served alcohol…but in limited quantities. There was also a library, armoury, gymnasium, stores area (for uniform related equipment) and a school. The further the two Grymn walked, the more in awe of the cruiser they became.

After their brief stand-down, the Grymn troops were all required to report for duty. Once they were all in position and had been set their tasks, the cruiser began preparations for the journey ahead. After that, the engines fired and off they went…into the void of space towards the new planet they were going to settle.

Grymn Characters - Silvia and Edgar

Silvia and Edgar are two Grymn you wouldn’t expect to see together. Silvia is a picture of Grymn beauty, with stunning looks a perfect physique and eyes you could drown in. Edgar is an aging, war weary, grey-haired veteran of the Grymn armed forces. If you were to ever see them together in their civilian attire, it would not only be exceptionally rare but they would also appear completely at odds with each other. However, when they are in their military fatigues, they are as much a picture of solidarity as they are a highly effective and professional team. The reason for this is that Silvia is a natural and very gifted sniper. It was said that, during her training, Silvia could shoot the tip off a pencil at ranges in excess of 500 metres but since then her expertise has become so great that the Grymn high council decided that she needed to be protected and cosseted so they chose someone to act as her spotter and her protection. Edgar was perfect for the role. He was a veteran of many wars, had high tactical awareness, was a talented leader and also had the patience of a saint. He immediately stepped in as Silvia’s mentor, protector and spotter and since they first met they have been like a father and daughter team.

Silvia and Edgar have become a dedicated assassination unit. They have been highly trained in the use of camouflage, concealment, communications, survival techniques and the use of most weaponry. Edgar will act as Silvia’s link between the high council and the jobs she has to carry out and shadows her every move in the field. As effective a sniper Silvia is, Edgar is a bodyguard beyond compare. Once the team is in position, Edgar will spot for Silvia and keep an eye out for enemy forces while she concentrates on the assassination. When it comes to extraction, Edgar takes the lead and ensures that they escape in the required manner. They are a team beyond compare and as a result, will only be used when a specific target needs to be eliminated and it is of the utmost importance to get the job done correctly, in the right time frame and with the correct precision.

Using Silvia and Edgar in your army

Edgar and Silvia make up a single unit and must remain within two inches of each other at all times.
Silvia will have normal trooper stats and will be equipped with a Grymn pistol and sniper rifle.
Edgar will have a veteran’s stats and will be equipped with a Grymn pistol, SMG, comms and scanners/binoculars.
Both will have the ‘Camouflage and concealment’, ‘Move through cover’ and ‘Specific target’ special rules. Silvia will have the ‘Sniper beyond compare’ special rule and Edgar will have the ‘Bodyguard’ special rule:

Camouflage and concealment

When in their chosen position, Silvia and Edgar become more or less invisible. They cover themselves with camouflage netting, IR reflective material and have all manner of jamming devices that mask scanners. When deployed, you do not need to tell your opponent where they are on the table. You can deploy them anywhere on the table but you must have a map with their position marked clearly on it so that when they are revealed, you have proof of their position. Silvia and Edgar will be revealed whenever they move or fire. Once this happens, they are visible for the rest of the game.

Move Through cover

Silvia and Edgar are adept at moving through cover. They may move through wooded areas and over broken ground without any penalties for movement.

Specific Target

Silvia and Edgar are chosen to carry out specific orders and then to return safely to their designated extraction zone. They are far too valuable to be risked in ‘run of the mill’ actions. At the beginning of the game, the controlling player may choose up to two specific targets. Each of these targets can be any model on the table. If Silvia or Edgar manages to kill the target(s), they will not only receive double the victory points for doing so but must also begin to withdraw to the army deployment zone (or a pre-determined safe/extraction point). They must do this once the targets are eliminated and they must do it in a characterful manner, using cover and speed but still returning fire as they withdraw. Once in the safe zone, they will play no further part in the battle.

Sniper beyond compare (Silvia only)

Silvia is literally, a sniper beyond compare. She is able to blank out the clamour of battle and pick her targets with precision. She is able to target vulnerable spots in armour and can calculate trajectories and wind-age with the skill of a savant.
Silvia can target any model on the table without restriction. If she has a line of sight, she can target any individual model in range whether they are basic troopers or army commanders. She can also double the range of the sniper rifle she carries with no penalty. If she does this then she may NOT use the following ‘additional penetration’ rule.
Additional penetration – if Silvia scores a hit (within normal range), then role a d6. On a roll of a 5 or 6, she will get double the strength of the weapon (to represent hitting a vulnerable point on the target). If the rule set doesn’t give the rifle a strength value then this rule will give you a 5 or 6 chance of wounding in addition to the normal rules (some common sense will be required so as to not make this too powerful a rule).

Bodyguard (Edgar only)

As long as Edgar is within two inches of Silvia, he will leap in front of any shot targeted at her and will fight any opponents in hand to hand that try to attack her. Simply switch Silvia for Edgar and work out the results normally.



Footnote: I have made this unit a little bit more vague than 'Lucky' because it has the possibility of being a game winner if used in the manner it should be.

I would suggest that this unit would only be used in a game where there was a specific commander or specialist that would reasonably be considered a major target. If there isn't a major target, Silvia and Edgar wouldn't even get out of their rooms.

Once the targets are eliminated, the next objective for the team would be to get to their extraction point. It may be necessary to either reward them for getting there or penalise them for not getting there. How about making them lose the 'double victory points' if they don't reach their extraction point...or even removing all of the victory points? It is characterful for these two to act in a professional manner and once they had carried out their duty, they would move to the extraction point straight away...it is their next objective after all.

Again...it is all food for thought and any comments are welcomed.

Grymn Character - 'Lucky' Lund Thorsen

Trooper Lund, Thorsen was a soldier in the Grymn army. He was a fairly run of the mill soldier who went through training in an un-extraordinary way; only just achieving the results that enabled him to join the infantry when he graduated. In fact, you could almost have said that he was completely average in every way; almost. You see, Lund started out his time in the Grymn army with a shiny metal hand.

When he was a child, he had been playing with his friends when he was involved in a car accident that saw him dragged down the street for a hundred metres...only coming to rest when his hand was ripped from his wrist. It took him many months to get back to his full strength but his hand couldn’t be saved so he had a bionic one grafted on in its place. All who knew him, said that he should have been killed and that it was a miracle he survived; let alone returned to full strength.

Once Lund had finished his military training, he was deployed on operations in the desert regions where he saw lots of action fighting Bohkin infiltrators. Many times he fought and many times he was injured but no matter how bad his injuries, he was patched up and sent back to duty after ‘miraculously’ surviving wounds that would have seen other Grymn dead.

Over time, he gained a number of extra bionics, including an eye, an arm (the opposite one to his metal hand) and a foot but still he survived and returned to his unit. After a while Lund’s unit began to see him as a bit of a mascot and gave themselves the nickname of ‘Lucky-Lund’s Lads’ because every time they managed to rescue Lund, they managed to win victory, achieve their objectives or escape where there should have been no escape.

You may have thought that Lund was destined for greater things but all through his career, he showed absolutely no aptitude for leadership and had no wish for it either. He was happy doing his duty as an ordinary foot-soldier and completed his 20 year service as trooper ‘Lucky’ Lund, Thorsen.

Using ‘Lucky’ Lund, Thorsen in your army

Any single, normal trooper in your army may be replaced as ‘Lucky’. When you do this, he gains the normal stats for that trooper, keeps the same weapons and gets the same equipment that the trooper would normally get. In addition, the following rules apply:

Lucky

While ‘Lucky’ is still alive and able, the unit he has joined will receive a bonus to their leadership. This will add one level to the leadership of the whole unit (depending on the rules system)

Rescue the muppet!

If ‘Lucky’ falls, he is considered wounded and not killed. He has miraculously survived but plays no further part in the battle. Any member of his unit will be responsible for rescuing the poor chap and must move into base contact with him. The rescuer will not be able to shoot for the remainder of the game but will be able to defend himself during hand-to-hand-combat, if he is attacked. The whole of the unit will become immune to leadership tests and will gain an extra level of weapon skill and shooting skill while ‘Lucky’ is being rescued but they will no longer be able to advance towards the enemy. They may remain where they are or retreat but they place keeping ‘Lucky’ safe, above their normal objective. If they return to their deployment area and drop him off then the unit returns to the fight with their basic stats as if ‘Lucky’ was just a normal member of their squad who has fallen. Of course, lucky will end up being healed and will be able to return in future battles to fight as normal.

If by the end of the game, 'Lucky' has not been returned to his deployment area, the unit he is with is counted as destroyed for the sake of victory points or objective reasons. If 'Lucky' is injured, the unit he is with may not claim objectives...unless they have already returned him to the deployment area and dropped him off.

Extra Equipment

‘Lucky’ gains bionics as extra equipment for no extra cost. He has a Bionic eye, hand, arm and foot and this will need to be taken into account depending on which rule-set you are using (with the relevant bonuses applied if applicable).



Footnote: You can see from this example how easy it is to add a lot of flavour to your army by just adding a bit of narrative to a normal soldier.

When 'Lucky' is injured, you have the big decision of standing in place and getting all of the extra bonuses (risking his life in the process) or returning him to the deployment area and ending up with the basic stats again...

...that means risky, power-gaming or fighting with a narrative...

The choice is yours.

Characters.

In all stories and legends, there are great heroes, villains and leaders; those who fight beyond the call of duty and beyond the boundaries of normal endurance. These heroes instil courage and fervour in their followers; leading them to great victories and on to greater glory than they could have possibly achieved through their own endeavours.

These are the characters that add colour and a little bit of bite to any army and the Grymn armies should be no exception.

Where to start

The starting point should always be at the bottom. Why? Because there is always the tendency to have characters and leaders that are super powerful and indestructible. That is completely inappropriate and can also completely unbalance the army that the character has been created to join.

Of course; once you have started building characters, you can build up to the more powerful ones but you will do so after understanding the strengths and weaknesses of those lesser characters and that will help you build a better, higher level character that will not unbalance your army but will enhance it.

When building characters there is a need to set them apart from the normal, run of the mill NCOs and officers of the army. These characters will have unusual characteristics or be able to do unusual things that a normal leader won't be able to. Just think of the British leader, Winston Churchill. He was just a man...but put him in front of a mass of people and he could turn them into an unstoppable army just by talking to them and inspiring them to greater things. Storming Norman Schwartzkopf instilled pride in his men by being in the field and leading from the front. Montgomery, Rommel, Colonel H. Jones and many more, inspired their troops to great deeds...but they were just men. They weren't super heroes and they weren't wearing powered armour or being protected by force fields...

...but the men who followed them would follow them to the sun and fight on its searing surface as a result of the pride they held in their inspirational leaders...

Private Baharry...an inspiration to the country. He was just doing his duty but had such drive that he fought off wounds that would ground a normal man and rescued members of his unit before succumbing to unconsciousness. He was just a man...but in a word, he is a hero and would make an excellent basis for a character in an army.

I have posted this as a forward to some character ideas that will follow on. They will range from the lowly leader to the Grymn who originally escaped from the Sleiti and led his people to freedom in the stars. There will be great generals, powerful orators and strategists beyond compare.

Watch this space...

A Chance Encounter

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......

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!”...

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!”

Drop Zone

Agnar

Agnar sat with his eyes closed, listening to the drone of the anti-gravity motors. He could feel the motion of the drop-ship as it fought its way through the turbulent air currents that surrounded their objective. His stomach lurched with every bounce and he longed for the feel of the ground beneath his feet. He opened his eyes to see how the others were coping and noticed that one of the seats was empty. He looked around and noticed that Karla was leaning against the frame of the cockpit access aisle, talking to the co-pilot whilst holding her unfastened helmet on her head. Karla was one of the lieutenants on the trip and was currently asking for an estimated time of arrival to the drop-zone. After a few moments she turned to face the troops in the cabin.
“Drop-zone in three minutes; prep your kit” she said flatly. Without looking around, she wove her way to her seat and began to strap on her jump-pack. Agnar was already prepared so he watched her as she fastened the straps on her helmet and began to check her pouches to make sure she had enough ammunition. She bent down and started to rifle through her satchel and Agnar couldn’t help but marvel at her shapely physique.
“Seen enough yet?” came a voice from his left. Agnar turned and saw Ana looking in his direction.
“...And I thought I was your sweetheart!” she said as she feigned a hurt look.
Agnar grinned broadly “you know you’re the only one for me Ana” he retorted.
Just then a klaxon sounded and a red light appeared over the exit ramp.
“Places everyone!” shouted a heavy set, gnarled veteran who everyone knew through personal acquaintance, action and deed.
“I expect no mercy and I will give no mercy!” he shouted while looking into the faces of all the Grymn present “the spilt blood of our brothers and sisters will be avenged this day!” He paused for a moment and finished “today we will fight like wild tigers!”
From behind him a booming voice roared “WHOSE TIGERS?”
In answer to Thor’s question the cabin was filled with the cries of every single Grymn present “TORGE’S TIGERS!”

Torge stalked to the back of the drop-ship. He closed his eye-shield and thumbed the button on his power-axe; making it glimmer to life as the energy played over its metal surface. Thor, an OGrymn of immense power, followed him doggedly. He had to crouch as he walked because the drop-ship wasn’t really designed for his giant size. Either side of them, so as to make a diamond formation, were two more heavy set, veteran Grymn. All four of them were wearing the colours of the white tiger and all four of them had glowing power weapons. Once the four of them were in place, two lines of Grymn made their way towards the rear of the drop-ship to join their leader and his retinue. In amongst the lines of orange painted tigers there was the occasional white of a sergeant or lieutenant who also had a powered weapon. There were now forty Grymn; poised for battle.

The light flashed amber as the ramp began to lower. The smell of the desert rushed in, along with the heat and the dust. The drop-ship was at about two hundred feet above the ground when the ramp finished its traverse and the light switched to solid green. Without a single word or shout, Torge stepped off the ramp and was gone. His retinue were gone a heartbeat later. In a rushing stream of boots and silence, the two columns of Grymn dashed towards the rear of the ramp and disappeared. The ramp rose to a closed position and the drop-ship returned to base.
Agnar felt alive again. He felt the rush of the wind against his face as he plummeted towards the ground. He kept his arms crossed and had a pulse-pistol in each hand. He gripped them tightly and rejoiced as the freedom of falling engulfed him. Suddenly he was brought to his senses as his jump-pack fired to position him in a feet-first drop. Then a longer burst meant that the ground was nearly ready to meet him. He braced himself as he watched the closing ground and a second later a violent burst from his pack slowed his fall to a standstill and his feet touched the earth as lightly as a feather.

On landing, Agnar immediately took up a defensive position and looked around the drop-zone to locate the rest of his squad. In the centre of everything was the towering form of Thor who bellowed “RE-ORG!” With that all the Grymn began to reform their squads and again take up defensive positions. Once the squads were united and everyone was accounted for, the leaders went to meet Torge and get a briefing. Agnar tried to listen but instead of hearing what they were saying he heard a humming sound. The sound was getting louder and Agnar shouted “ENGINE NOISE TO THE SOUTH”. With that, the briefing ended and the squad leaders returned, forming their squads into the correct positions.

The Grymn waited...

They were in a gully but that meant nothing as their jump-packs could put them on a hill instantly. Agnar looked over at Thor. He looked terrifying. He had a set grin on his face and he was flexing his huge, gauntleted hand as he glared at the rise of the dune, in the direction of the engine noise. The power hammer he carried in his left hand was three times the height of a normal Grymn and Agnar watched the little sparkles of energy dance around its head. Thor suddenly looked towards Agnar and winked. There was a keen glint in his eye and it meant that the enemy were really going to meet their makers today.

The first of the buggies crested the dune, broke hard when the driver noticed the awaiting Grymn, steered to one side and promptly rolled; throwing the top gunner from the vehicle as the driver was crushed when the roof collapsed on him. Three more light buggies followed over the crest but gunned their engines when they noticed the Grymn and began to fire their weapons as they sped towards them. Following the buggies was a caterpillar-tracked, armoured vehicle with two others just like it.

The squad leaders barked orders and Agnar heard Karla’s order to assault the left buggy. He was about to fire his pack when a huge battle-cry was heard and Thor took to the air, with Torge and the two veterans in hot pursuit. Agnar fired his pack and followed his squad towards the buggy. It was destroyed before they’d even got there as a lucky shot from Ana’s pulse-pistol had pierced the fuel cell and ignited the vehicle; taking the crew with it. The squad landed close by and noticed that all the other targets were being successfully engaged so they took up a defensive stance and watched for further threats.
Without warning a huge explosion erupted from the earth behind the squad, throwing debris high into the air and scattering it far and wide. Agnar snapped his head around and looked towards the rise in the dune. Where there had been nothing before, a huge armoured vehicle crested the rise. It had a massive battle-cannon and a multitude of smaller weapons mounted in little armoured turrets. As Agnar watched, the cannon fired and everyone hit the ground as the massive shell hit the wreckage of one of the buggies, spitting molten metal fragments in a wide arc. Amongst the Grymn, Agnar could hear the sounds of grenade launchers firing but he doubted that their small munitions would penetrate the armour of this enemy behemoth. His doubts were answered as the grenades hit their mark but barely scratched the paintwork. The position looked bad and Agnar expected to receive the order to fall back. Instead he heard the scream of a large jump-pack as it roared over head...closely followed the lesser roar of three more, normal sized, packs.

“Agnar, keep the squad defensive!” Shouted Karla as she fired her jump-pack and roared after the veterans. All around, other squad leaders were doing the same. It was like a small snow flurry as the white tigers from all the squads fell upon the enemy vehicle, amidst the crackling of small arms fire from the small turrets. Agnar set his squad to ground and watched as the cream of Torge’s Tigers landed on top of the huge vehicle and began to cleave at its armour with blades wreathed in energy. The battle-cannon fired again but was just as inaccurate as before as the shell whizzed overhead and exploded a fair way from their positions, in an empty patch of desert. Slowly the smaller turrets were being destroyed but the big gun remained a threat. Torge realised this and pointed at it. In moments the hulking form of Thor was next to the barrel. With a mighty bellow and a face of absolute wrath, he swung his mighty power-hammer. When it struck the barrel there was the sound of thunder and an almost unbearable peal, as if from a massive bell. The weapon was no match for the power of Thor and the barrel split along its entire length, rendering it useless. Thor hadn’t finished and swung again, this time at the base of the barrel; smashing the mantle and opening a rift in the front of the turret. The white tigers saw their opportunity and began throwing grenades into the stricken vehicle before firing their packs to get clear of the expected explosions. They soon came and the hulking form of the enemy armour heaved as the power of the grenades ripped through the superstructure, killing all those poor unfortunates inside.

After the explosions had ceased, there was silence.

“WHITE TIGERS!” roared Thor.
“Torge’s Tigers!” roared the Grymn army.
“RE-ORG!” shouted Torge.

The flight back was a buzz of excitement. Torge had ensured that every Grymn now had a mug of mead and was currently stood in front of them all, in preparation for the toast. He raised his mug and silence followed.
“The fallen” he whispered.
“The fallen” was the whispered response from all those present.
Torge turned and walked towards the officer’s cabin. He looked tired and full of woe. He walked inside and was followed by two of his veterans. Thor stood watch at the door and looked towards the rest of the Grymn. He spotted Agnar and grinned “well met Agnar” he said.
“Aye, well met sir” Agnar responded.

Agnar strapped himself in as the drop-ship bubbled across the turbulent sky. He was looking forward to walking on the solid earth. He looked over to where Karla was sitting cross legged on the ship deck. He smiled inwardly as he watched her press a power pack into the hilt of her pulse pistol.
“The chance would be a fine thing” he thought to himself as he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the nausea that the flight was causing.

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.

Silvia

Silvia sat at the bar. Her hair was bunched into two auburn pony tails; her flawless complexion was accented with a neutral lipstick and the merest hint of blusher; her perfect, hour-glass figure was tightly enclosed in a green, silk mini-dress with a plunging neckline and enough support to produce a cleavage that every male in the bar was currently wishing they could dive into. All eyes were on her as she sipped her soft-drink while spinning her beer-mat; carefully lining up each edge with the edge of the bar before turning to the next one. It was almost 20-00hrs when Silvia looked towards the opening door at the person entering. The new patron was dressed in standard Grymn fatigues, minus the armour plates and was rather dusty with a grimy face and hair matted with oil. Silvia waved and the new arrival came over, kissed her on the lips and sat down next to her. It was Hella and as she sat down, most of the males watching sat open mouthed as the sound of broken hearts echoed around the bar.
Hella and Silvia had been friends ever since they enlisted. Neither of them was happy with all the attention they were getting from their male counterparts so they came up with a way of avoiding it. They pretended to be lovers and then dealt with the only males fool-hardy enough to push their luck by using the chain of command and the rather brutal equal opportunity laws that existed in the Grymn armed forces. After basic training, the two girls followed different paths; Hella joined the light infantry and Silvia went for special operations and trained to be a sniper; a good one at that.
As Hella and Silvia sat chatting at the bar; occasionally touching an arm or brushing a cheek; the door opened again and in walked Edgar, in full battledress. He walked over and stood next to the girls and quietly cleared his throat.
“Silvia, there’s a job on” he said.
“When?” replied Silvia.
“Now, I’m afraid. You’d best say your farewells and come with me”.
Silvia did as she was asked and left Hella at the bar.
“What is so important that you feel the need to drag me away from a night out?” she asked.
“How does (he glanced over a shoulder to make sure no one else could hear) a Sleiti sound?” he said, with a glint in his eye.
“Really?!” she said, almost exploding with excitement “here?”
“Yes and yes” was the reply.
They walked hurriedly towards the barracks and began the preparations for the job.

Silvia slid her rifle into its bag; it smelt strongly of gun oil after its recent clean. She packed her armour piercing rounds in with the standard Grymn-stopper rounds in her webbing pouches and made sure she had enough clothing, provisions and miscellaneous equipment in her pack for the job ahead. She carefully checked her communications equipment before clipping it to the yolk of her webbing and tucking the headset into her pouch for the journey. While she packed, Edgar briefed her on the location of her target, how they were going to get there and when the target was expected to be viable. He showed Silvia a few of the most recent pictures of the Sleiti dignitary that was to be disposed of and she smiled; she had never been given the honour of assassinating a Father before and she relished the opportunity.

Edgar and Silvia jumped from the grav-vehicle and ran into the cover of the trees before it rose into the air and darted off, keeping below the tree line for cover. By now both of the Grymn were fully camouflaged with a full body leaf-suit and cam-cream covering any flesh that was bared to the elements. They began to trot towards the target zone with weapons ready, just in case they were expected. They moved as stealthily as they could; using every bit of cover and making sure that they left as little trace of their passing as they could. As they neared the snipers nest (the nick name for where the sniper lies in wait), they slowed down, switched to hand signals for communications and kept as low as they could to ensure that they weren’t spotted. Edgar had his scanner set to full range and he was starting to pick up the blips of the enemy forces in the camp that they were approaching (they were surprised that there weren’t more, especially bearing in mind the dignitary that was present...they must not have been expecting any trouble). Soon the final hand-signal came and Silvia ducked into the cover of some dense scrub and started setting up her firing position while Edgar kept watch, scanning the area for any threats. Once she was happy, Silvia signalled to Edgar and he broke communication silence to inform army command that ‘the bird was in the coop’.

Silvia settled down and with the help of Edgar and his scanner, pin-pointed where the Sleiti was expected to appear. It wasn’t too difficult as his field shelter had been elaborately decorated with gold symbols and silk hangings (the Bohkin were extremely foolish to bring such attention to their honoured guest...they must have thought that they were immune from attack or something!). As Silvia spied the tent through the magnifying scope of her sniper rifle she was almost startled as the rigid fabric door slid open and her target appeared, carrying a bowl of what appeared to be steaming water and a towel. He placed the bowl on a small foldable table and stretched; his bare, grey torso shining with sweat in the evening light. Through the scope, Silvia could see his jet black eyes and his pointed ears very clearly and there was no disputing that this was a Sleiti Father. She felt a kick from Edgar and she came to her senses. She carefully loaded a clip of armour piercing rounds into her rifle and took aim. She slowed her breathing and prepared to take her last breath before firing. She relaxed, aimed directly at the side of his head and took her last breath. Carefully, she started to squeeze the trigger. She could see the vein in his temple throb through the powerful scope of her rifle. She squeezed further and just before the rifle fired, the Sleiti turned to face her directly and smiled. He knew she was there; he knew what was coming and as the armour piercing round left the barrel, he didn’t flinch or make a sound. He was still staring at her when the impact hit him cleanly in the top of his forehead, taking out the rear of his brainpan in an explosion of gory mist and debris. He slumped forward onto the table, sending the bowl flying as the legs gave way and he tumbled onto the ground as the blood pumped arterially from his body. Silvia quickly and mechanically, switched to the laser designator setting of her rifle and aimed it at what appeared to be an ammunition dump and gave the signal to Edgar. He acknowledged the signal and said into the communicator ‘eerie one, fire-flash’. Suddenly there was a low whine coming from behind them. From her position in the nest, Silvia could see little commotion from the Bohkin camp; they seemed to be wandering around aimlessly as if stunned by the loss of their Sleiti master. As the whine became louder a few of the Bohkin came to their senses and began issuing orders but they were too late as a Grymn grav-tank squadron loomed up from behind the sniper’s position and trained their weapons on the designated target. As one they opened fire with rail-guns and heavy pulse weapons; annihilating the ammunition store in a blaze of brilliance.

Silvia threw herself upright and screamed. Her nightshirt was soaked with sweat and was clinging to her shapely form in see through patches. She stared at her hands until she realised that she was awake and looked at the clock. It was 02:00 hours; the same time as she had awoken every night that month and in much the same manner. She climbed out of bed and walked to her sink, switching on the small lamp above it. She stared at her gaunt and weary looking face in the mirror and ran some cold water into the sink. When she had finished she looked down from the mirror and at the water; in its surface she could just make out the jet black eyes and the smiling face of the Sleiti father. It seemed to laugh at her as her fingers broke the surface of the water and as she splashed her face the image splintered into a myriad of shapes and disappeared.

Silvia knew that it would return.

Some things aren't just black and white.

Mikkell.

It was cold; so cold that the tips of Mikkell’s fingers were starting to get numb and he was wondering how long he could keep up with his current actions without dropping his SMG. The icy water was up to his chin and as he carefully waded through it, he cautiously looked around to try and spot any unusual movement. To his left were three more Grymn light –infantry troopers with the look of being as frozen as he was. To his right were another six; including Sgt Freidl. Together, the squad waded slowly towards the river bank, trying not to make a sound or ripple in the water that would give their presence away. Although it was slow progress, they soon reached the bank and scraped themselves out of the water on their bellies; quickly finding cover in the bushes along the edge of the river bank. With a signal, one of the troopers was sent out into the darkness to scout the area while the rest of the squad kept low and maintained an all-round defence. After a few moments, the trooper returned; reporting that the area was clear and that they could relax their guard a fraction. Sgt Freidl looked around the squad and whispered “it’s about time we got a brew on lads...Mikkell, you can take first watch”. Mikkell hefted his SMG and, crouching low, took up a position nearby where he could keep a look out for any danger.
Staring out into the darkness, Mikkell wondered what he was doing there. He had been brought up by a loving family, had been well schooled and had even been offered a well paying job at the local gunsmiths but he had decided to throw caution to the winds and join the army. Mikkells father was extremely proud of his decision to serve in the Grymn forces but the rest of his family had been horrified. They just couldn’t understand why he would want to leave the security of his home and go and put himself in harms way while serving in the military. Mikkell had explained that there was minimal risk involved, especially because there had been no malicious contact from Sleiti or Bohkin forces for generations now but his family were very sceptical about the whole business...well, as it transpired, they had been right. Although there were no Sleiti or Bohkin involved, there had been multiple incursions into Grymn space by other alien foes. These new foes were especially problematic because they seemed to want to steal everything they could get their hands on and remain hidden while they stole. When they had finally showed themselves, they proved to be highly proficient fighters; utilising low tech ballistic weapons and sharp blades to good effect. The Grymn forces didn’t know what they were really called but they had been given the nickname of Noblins.
Noblins were small, green skinned aliens with an almost skeletal face and small beady eyes. They spoke in sharp, shrill voices and had a keen desire to keep hold of everything that they had stolen. They were usually finely dressed in high collared trench-coats and sturdy boots. Their sharp claws and teeth meant that they were also a menace when unarmed and they would keep fighting even if their cause was hopeless. They had even been known to chew off their own hands to escape bonds of confinement so muzzles were a common sight on captured Noblins. At the current time, the Grymn council had no idea as to how they had arrived in Grymn space as no star-ships had been detected during the various Noblin incursions. The council had agreed, however, that the Noblins represented a moderate threat to Grymn security and they were to be either wiped out, incarcerated or forced to leave the planet. That was why Mikkell now found himself sitting in the bushes, shivering with cold and staring out into the blackness of night with a readied SMG for company.
“Shift’s up mate” said Durin, disturbing Mikkell’s concentration “the brews are on as well.”
“Cheers Durin, it’s been quiet here...let’s hope it stays like that.”
Mikkell quietly made his way back to the rest of the group; leaving Durin to carry on the watch. He quickly found his squad clumped together around a lightless stove drinking tea from small tin cups. He crouched low and quietly scampered towards them. He nodded to those present, unshipped his small day-sack and removed his mug, tea and whitener from it. He also found a small packet of fruit biscuits to go with his drink. Pouring the hot water into his mug, Mikkell crouched low, shivering due to being so wet. He could feel the warmth filtering through the mug and stirred the contents until they resembled tea. He then sat down next to Fria and cupped his mug in both hands whilst taking small sips of tea.
“You look frozen solid!” whispered Fria “come here and snuggle, I’ll soon get you warm”.
“Cheers mate!” he whispered in return as he shuffled over to her and allowed her to put her arms around him to get some heat through his chilled muscles. Fria rubbed his arms and hugged him close while he sipped his tea and he began to feel the chill lessen slightly. He looked around and noticed that most of the squad were in huddles just like he was but he had been lucky as there were only two girls in the unit and he had managed to be on the receiving end of hugs from one of them. There was no impropriety involved but he would rather be hugged by a girl than a boy any-day.
“You’re chilled to the bone” whispered Fria “you seriously need to get some meat on your bones!”
“You’re telling me!” he replied “I eat like a Devourer yet still I never put on weight...I could really do with a thick layer like Djoord has” he whispered while looking towards a rather portly Grymn sat next to the lightless stove. Djoord looked over and grinned at him, he had seen that Mikkell was in the embrace of young lady and raised an eyebrow in mock disdain.
“Feth!” cried Durin from where he was hiding on watch “in-coming!”
The squad of Grymn dropped their mugs and grabbed their SMGs, quickly positioning themselves for all-round defence again. They could hear a stumbling approach through the undergrowth from Durin’s direction. They all braced themselves as a small, trench-coated Noblin burst from the cover of the bushes, drew two sharp swords and charged straight at the nearest Grymn. Garyt managed to snap-fire a couple of rounds before the Noblin piled into him, knocking him to the ground. Garyt fell back and was desperately defending himself with the stock of his rifle as wild flurries of sword blows reigned down on him. The furious Noblin was screaming away in its horrible, chittering voice while darting malicious glances around those Grymn present. Moments later, Durin burst through the same bush as the Noblin had and brought the butt of his SMG down hard on the top of the evil thing’s head with a loud crack. It fell instantly unconscious and landed across Garyt with a thud.
“Cheers guys” said Garyt, looking around at the rest of the squad “it’s good to know that I can count on you lot”, the irony in his voice was almost opaque.
“What did you want us to do?” sneered Djoord “shoot at you both?”
“Well...you could have done something” he replied, a bit crestfallen.
Sgt Freidl climbed to his feet and surveyed the still body of the Noblin. “Mikkell, get some ties and bind its hands and feet...Durin, do you have a muzzle on you? If you do, muzzle this devil”.
In moments the Noblin was completely bound and considered to be in a safe enough condition to leave in a corner. Durin was relieved by Gunar and along with the rest of the squad; quickly did a perimeter search to make sure that there were no more Noblins nearby. Once things were deemed to be clear, the squad returned to their mugs and continued warming up again. As the evening wore on, the Grymn began to sort things out so that they could bed down for the night. A guard roster was drawn up, bivvies were erected and night time routine was sorted. Those that were able to go to sleep went to bed and those that were due to take on a guard duty, stayed up and chilled out by the stove. Everything settled down and the Noblin remained silent in the corner where he was left.
Morning came as quietly as the night had been. The few Grymn that were awake, had started cooking breakfast and stirring the rest of the squad from their slumber. Sgt Freidl climbed out of his bivvy, stretched and went over to see how the Noblin was getting on.
“Oh fething hell...” he cursed “where’s the fething Noblin gone?”
On the ground in front of him was a muzzle and some ties but no Noblin.
The squad immediately grabbed for their SMGs...Except for Djoord...
“Has anyone seen my SMG? I left it by my bivvy and it seems to have gone” he said.
“Where’s my pack gone?” asked Gunar.
“...and my Binoculars have walked!” intoned Marise.
After a brief search it was discovered that on top of an SMG, pack and binoculars, various other things had disappeared; including rations, some dog-tags and a few items of spare clothing.
Freidl held his head in his hands...
“I bet they never had this problem when fighting Bohkin” he said “this will be fun to explain to the boss when we get back”.
Freidl sighed and ordered the camp to be cleared ready for the move out. He gave Djoord his pistol and suggested that it would be a very bad idea for him to lose it. Once every thing was ready, the squad was assembled, formed into a standard patrol formation and began to march off into the trees. They were going to have to head back to base and report what had happened and replace the kit that had gone missing. Freidl was downcast as he knew that his squad would be a laughing stock for allowing a fully trussed Noblin to not only escape but to take a bunch of kit with it. He was not looking forward to walking into the Sgt’s mess after work either.
“Fething Noblins!” Cursed Freidl as he turned the squad towards the direction of base and tried to think of a way of making his embarrassing little experience sound less of a comedy...but he couldn’t.
From the bushes, a pair of beady eyes watched the squad depart. A grin formed on an almost skeletal, green face as it began to look through Gunar’s pack. It had been a good night’s haul for the Noblin. The boss would be very happy with his new treasures...

It's not all action; you know?!

Egil

Egil tensed as his head was wrenched to one side and he braced himself for the bump that he expected to come. Sure enough, he felt a firm jolt as his head got wrenched back the other way. He gripped the overhead hand rail tightly and shifted his weight slightly in his seat. Considering all the technological advances that the Grymn had made, he was extremely disappointed with the amount of effort put into the bench seat he was now precariously perched on. Over the roar of the engines he listened to the comms chatter that was continuously flowing from Fredrik’s head-set but could garner little information from it. Egil wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve, after tilting his helmet back for easy access and looked around the cramped compartment. Off to his left was the door to the drivers compartment and he could see the back of Rork’s helmet-clad head through the open view-hatch. He also had Fredrik and Logar on his left. To his right were two more Grymn and opposite him, on a bench seat similar to the one he was on, were five more. There was so little room in the compartment that they barely had space for their weapons and packs between them. It was cramped, hot and smelled of sweat and other more unpleasant odours. Egil was beginning to tire of the journey. They had all been shut up together for a good four hours and during that time they had traveled a fair way cross-country; something that Egil was beginning to feel down to his bones due to the poorly padded seat. He could see that he wasn’t the only one getting fidgety. Torla had a look of complete despondency on her face. She looked over at Egil and instead of her usual smile; she rolled her eyes to the armoured ceiling. Yet still the engine roared and still the jolts and bumps continued. There didn’t seem to be an end to it.
All Egil heard through the comms chatter was “CONTACT” and the continuous garble ceased almost immediately. Everyone in the compartment looked towards Fredrik and instinctively began to put their SMGs in an easier to reach position. The headset remained quiet...
...Suddenly the sides of the armour rung with the clatter of small arms fire and the tone of the engine went up a notch as the driver gunned the throttle to get a bit more pace. After a few more clangs, the impacts from outside ceased and Sgt Tomas leaned forward and began to question Fredrik. Fredrik just shrugged and began to flick through the channels to get more information but found none. Sgt Tomas looked around and copied Fredrik’s shrug; he only knew as much as his comms operator but he had the added stress of being in charge of the unit...with nothing to tell them. Rork’s orders had come from higher up the chain of command so at present, Tomas and his squad were at the mercy of the driver. Sometimes Egil pitied Tomas; it couldn’t be too easy having to look after a squad of Grymn and he was glad that he hadn’t been in the service long enough to have to find out.
Without warning, the comms chatter returned and Fredrik swapped information with Sgt Tomas in brief shouts and extravagant gestures with his free hand. Once Tomas had the gist of what had gone on, he told the rest of the squad. Apparently, the lead vehicle had run a Noblin road-block and had cleared the way for the rest of the column. The small arms fire was a result of the contact. Fortunately the Noblins didn’t have anything that could break through the armour so they were ignored for the primary objective. That was it...nothing special.
The journey seemed much smoother now so Egil assumed that they were now traveling on a road of some description. He checked his watch; it was nearly 18:00hrs and that meant that they had been traveling for nearly seven hours. He was bored, tired and aching. He gazed at his boots and shifted his weight on the seat again. His hips complained as he moved. He rotated his shoulders inside his body armour and stretched out his fingers to try to help with the aching and lack of circulation. Still staring at his boots, he thought of other things he could be doing at that moment and every one of them were better than his current activity...or lack of it.
Without warning, the engine roar lessened and Egil felt the reaction of the vehicle slowing down. Sure enough, a loud squeal from the brakes and the dipping sensation caused by the suspension meant that the vehicle was slowing to a stop. Egil saw Rork gesturing through the view-hatch for a moment and then the engines roared again, lifting the front of the vehicle slightly as the engine torque powered them forward again. After a few moments the squeal of the brakes brought the vehicle to a stop again.
“Right then, squad; prepare to de-bus” ordered Sgt Tomas “make sure you grab all your kit”.
With that, the rear ramp slowly dropped and bright sunshine shone in from outside. They all grabbed their kit and began to leave the vehicle. As they stepped outside they were met by a stern faced Grymn who shouted for them to form up into a squad. To Egil’s surprise, Sgt Tomas immediately hustled them into formation and stood at the front facing the Stern looking Grymn.
“SQUAD...SQUAD: SHUN!” shouted Tomas and almost instinctively, the squad came smartly to attention. Tomas then saluted and returned to attention.
“Welcome to Camp Cash. My name is Captain Grim and I am responsible for your training and welfare while you are here” Said the stern looking Grymn “if you don’t train as hard as I think you are able, you will get no welfare”.
From that moment on, the seven hour trip from basic training to mechanised-combat training seemed almost pleasant...
...Egil slung his SMG over his shoulder as he walked briskly up the tail ramp of his Glaive armoured personnel carrier. It was something that he had done many times before, especially in the two and a half years since leaving Camp Cash as the star pupil. Today, however, things were different. As he took the seat opposite the comms operator, Egil looked down at the front of the helmet he had placed on his knees and smiled. Subtly marked in black were some Sgt’s stripes below his name. He had come a long way since the trip to Camp Cash.