Post by Deleted on Jan 18, 2007 11:00:18 GMT -5
Not exactly an IG Story, but on inspired by Imperial Guard for sure.
Marc Reed lay prone in a field of tall yellow grass. Cut lengths of the grain were tied to the webbing on his khaki and olive green fatigues to add to his camouflage. With his left eye squinted shut and his right eye peering down the through the iron sight of his Mk. 4 rifle, he was waiting for his target to show himself. The rest of Reed’s squad was all around him hidden in the field of khaki wild grass. They were set in an ambush position for the next squad of Ostorn troops on patrol to come down the road. About three kilometers south of them was a small town by the name of Bareundale. They had been laying in wait for three hours for a patrol that Intel suggested was near by. A bead of sweat trickled down from Reed’s forehead onto his eyebrow. Just as he reached up to wipe it away, the first Ostorn trooper, in khaki body armor over black standard issue uniform, came into view. Four more troopers right behind him. Reed was waiting to unleash a shot with deadly accuracy as his sergeant breathed the command to hold. The Ostorn patrol was totally unaware of Reed and his Katorian comrades prepared to strike.
Reed’s sergeant opened fire with a quick three-shot burst from his Tiger III assault rifle. One of the Ostorns, the point guard, dropped to the ground in a heap. Reed took aim for the next man in the line. With a heavy recoil, his Mk. 4 barked out a .50 caliber round that burst into the chest of his target. In a cloud of bloody vapor the man grunted and crumpled to his knees before falling on his face. The rest of the Ostorn patrol scattered into the tall grass as they came over the hill and fanned out on both flanks. Return fire answered, whizzing by overhead. Reed slammed the bolt action on his rifle and searched for another target. He noticed as the enemy squad scrambled for the available cover that one of them had what seemed to be a rifle, but with an odd bulbous tank on the side and a stubby looking point that had a small blue flame at the end of the barrel. Suddenly, flames spewed across the road into the grass. Screams rang out as half of Reed’s squad mates rose and fled, some of them with brilliant swirls of fire rolling off them. Those that started running were gunned down by automatic fire.
Reed rose on one knee and aimed his rifle; he always regarded himself a rather good shot. One of the Ostorns jumped to his feet to hurl a grenade but a bullet pierced the tender skin of his throat and exploded out the back of his neck leaving a cavernous hole. The man staggered and fell backwards clawing at his throat in his throes. The grenade dropped from his hand among his fellow soldiers. An explosion roared as the grenade detonated sending shrapnel and dirt flying over Reed’s head. Rifle and machine gun fire blazed and ripped up the remainder of the Ostorn patrol. The signal was given for all clear and Sergeant Mayne and the rest of the men from Reed’s squad gathered in the road. There were seven of them left.
“Damn fine shootin’ Reed!” said Sergeant Mayne. “Willie, signal for pick up on the comm.”
A few minutes after Willie had radioed for pick up, an olive green half-track sporting a .75 caliber Titan machine gun came barreling down the dirt road and swerved to a stop spinning 90 degrees as the driver slammed on the breaks. The gunner looked down at Mayne through his glassy tinted black goggles.
“Load up quickly. We got an Ostorn column of armor supported by a company of light infantry about 3 miles from here coming up this road.”
Reed’s squad took up seats in the back of the half-track. Soric, one of Reed’s squad mates, leaned forward and pointed his head at the driver.
“Can we make it back before they catch us?” he asked the driver.
“Son,” said the grizzled faced driver, “this here Hellcat can outrun just about anything. Just don’t talk to me while I’m drivin’.” With that the driver gunned the idle engine and the Hellcat leaped around and raced towards Bareundale.
As the Hellcat entered Bareundale, Ostorn artillery was just beginning to fall. The half-track made a sharp left turn and skidded to a halt in front of an old office building.
“A’ight, let’s go! Thanks for the ride,” yelled Mayne as he jumped down to the street with his squad following. He slapped the armor plating of the Hellcat twice as a way of saying good luck to the crewmen for courtesy and chased after his squad which was heading into the building.
The old three-story building had been turned into Battalion Headquarters. Dozens of orderlies were running back and forth sending orders to troops in the field. A fat Sergeant Major, serving as security, walked up to Sergeant Mayne and talked quietly for a minute. Reed shouldered his rifle and took his olive and khaki splattered cap off to wipe his hand through his dark brown sweaty hair. It had been a year since he had trimmed his hair and now the length of it was down to his shoulders. It was uncomfortable under the cap, but the cap was required by regulations so he wore it. It was still hot even inside.
“Must be no air conditioning,” he mumbled to himself. He brushed his hair back and slapped on his olive cap brim first, and then took a swig from his canteen. Damn, but was it was hot. Mayne rounded on his squad and glared at them with his war weathered face and Reed grimaced in his mind. That was Mayne’s way of announcing a tough assignment. As they walked down the steps of Battalion HQ, Mayne told them the details. Falcon Company, their company, was to hold up in the north end of town. Great, Reed thought to himself, the bombed-out shopping district. That was six blocks away and had already received quite a hammering from Ostorn arties so far. A whistle sounded over head.
“Take cover!” An artillery shell smashed into the building across the street. Rubble came crashing down and scattered around them.
Staying low, Reed and his comrades ran to Falcon Company Headquarters. He and his five squad mates waited outside the khaki field tent as Mayne went in to report to Major Galentine. Mayne stepped out of the Major’s tent slapping a new patch on to his right sleeve.
“Sir?” asked Reed, “our orders?” Mayne looked down at the three patches still in his hands.
“Alright, here it is. I’ve been promoted to Left-tenant and placed in command of 6th platoon. Their loading me up with fodder so I need 3 combat veteran squad leaders.” He handed out the patches as he called their names. “The new Sergeants are Vosticov, Willie, and… Reed.” Reed took the patch in his hands. It had a black background with three green chevrons and a blue “3” for 3rd squad. He stuck it to his sleeve with much satisfaction. Reed and his former squad reported to their positions in the shopping district to meet with their new men.
6th Platoon, under Lieutenant Mayne, was held up in an abandoned mall. Reed met up with his thirteen new troopers in an old apartment store on the second floor. They were all just kids, fresh out of Boot, but he was only two years older then most.
“We don’t have time for formal introductions so state your name and if you’re a specialist, what you specialize in.” He quickly memorized their names; Hent, Ken, Lando acting sniper, Ray, Zisor on comm., Jones, Matt, Harel and Mac on .75 caliber Titan, Semi, Bill, Dodson, and Nedri. Reed explained what to do. Harel broke the corner window to the east, while Mac set up the .75 Titan on its tripod. Lando, Jones, and Semi climbed a rope through a shell hole in the ceiling out onto the roof. Everyone else he sent to the windows of the north wall. Farthest to the right was Mac and Harel to watch the road. Everyone else watched the empty parking lot and the tall grass field beyond. The Ostorn artillery had ceased firing several minutes before. Now storm clouds drew in over head and the low grumble of thunder was heard rolling across the amber evening skies. Reed strained his eyes to watch the yellow field of grain. The field was about 150 meters from their position with an empty parking lot between. Darkness from the storm clouds did not help. Suddenly Reed thought he noticed movement. Some of the men around him jumped at a roaring blast from over head. Lando, thought Reed.
“What’s that noise?” asked Ray from the left. A slight rumble could be heard under the rain. “Is that thunder?”
Mac’s Titan started ripping off round after round. The large barreled machine gun spat out fire, roaring like the legendary creature it was named after, tracers flying through the night. The tracers could be seen bouncing off something in the distance on the road.
Mac eased off his fire long enough to shout, “We got light armor! J-43, incoming!” and then continued firing. Reed pulled out his N.V.O. scope, attached it to his MK. 4 and peered towards the road. There it was, a slanted rectangular body covered in armor plating over tracks, with an angular turret atop aiming a long thin 120 mm cannon. It was headed down the road followed by two half-tracks and a nuts load of infantry. They had used the storms cover of darkness to make a full frontal assault.
“Everyone, switch to Night Vision Optics!” yelled Reed as he pulled the bolt on his Mk. 4. Rifle fire from the roof was causing some casualties in the Ostorn. Reed aimed his rifle using his N.V.O. and let off a roaring shot. The Mk. 4 was a .50 caliber rifle, it could cause damage. Reed’s shot punched through the driver’s visor panel on the first half-track. Everyone else opened fire, some with automatic Tiger III’s and others with the bolt action Mk. 4. Downstairs on the first floor were Lt. Mayne and 1st and 2nd squads firing from cover into the Ostorn column.
The J-43 burst through the north wall and shuddered to a halt. The beating it had taken from the Titan had turned it in to a crushed rolling tin can with hundreds of dimples all over it. It was still smoking. Soaked Ostorn Storm-troopers, in khaki and black battle dress, stormed in through the opening unleashing small-arms fire and the occasional ball of fire from flamethrowers into the Katorians in cover. Reed could hear the belching of fire being thrown about below him.
Flames engulfed three of Vosticov’s men as he turned and jumped through a glass display window into a hallway of the mall. With shards of glass all around him as the fiery forms of his friends sprinted past him in cries of agony, Vosticov rolled on to his back and started spraying the store he had once been in with ferocious firepower from his Tiger III. Two, battle-armor clad, Ostorn Storm-troopers fell as they ran towards him. Dropping his spent Tiger, he scrambled forward and wrenched a flamethrower from one of the bullet riddled Ostorns. Squeezing the trigger, a sheet of blue fire swathed out in the direction of the hole the Ostorns were floundering through.
Reed was training his rifle on the second enemy half-track as it pulled off the road into the parking lot just as a hot blast of fire washed out of the opening made by the J-43 underneath them.
Marc Reed lay prone in a field of tall yellow grass. Cut lengths of the grain were tied to the webbing on his khaki and olive green fatigues to add to his camouflage. With his left eye squinted shut and his right eye peering down the through the iron sight of his Mk. 4 rifle, he was waiting for his target to show himself. The rest of Reed’s squad was all around him hidden in the field of khaki wild grass. They were set in an ambush position for the next squad of Ostorn troops on patrol to come down the road. About three kilometers south of them was a small town by the name of Bareundale. They had been laying in wait for three hours for a patrol that Intel suggested was near by. A bead of sweat trickled down from Reed’s forehead onto his eyebrow. Just as he reached up to wipe it away, the first Ostorn trooper, in khaki body armor over black standard issue uniform, came into view. Four more troopers right behind him. Reed was waiting to unleash a shot with deadly accuracy as his sergeant breathed the command to hold. The Ostorn patrol was totally unaware of Reed and his Katorian comrades prepared to strike.
Reed’s sergeant opened fire with a quick three-shot burst from his Tiger III assault rifle. One of the Ostorns, the point guard, dropped to the ground in a heap. Reed took aim for the next man in the line. With a heavy recoil, his Mk. 4 barked out a .50 caliber round that burst into the chest of his target. In a cloud of bloody vapor the man grunted and crumpled to his knees before falling on his face. The rest of the Ostorn patrol scattered into the tall grass as they came over the hill and fanned out on both flanks. Return fire answered, whizzing by overhead. Reed slammed the bolt action on his rifle and searched for another target. He noticed as the enemy squad scrambled for the available cover that one of them had what seemed to be a rifle, but with an odd bulbous tank on the side and a stubby looking point that had a small blue flame at the end of the barrel. Suddenly, flames spewed across the road into the grass. Screams rang out as half of Reed’s squad mates rose and fled, some of them with brilliant swirls of fire rolling off them. Those that started running were gunned down by automatic fire.
Reed rose on one knee and aimed his rifle; he always regarded himself a rather good shot. One of the Ostorns jumped to his feet to hurl a grenade but a bullet pierced the tender skin of his throat and exploded out the back of his neck leaving a cavernous hole. The man staggered and fell backwards clawing at his throat in his throes. The grenade dropped from his hand among his fellow soldiers. An explosion roared as the grenade detonated sending shrapnel and dirt flying over Reed’s head. Rifle and machine gun fire blazed and ripped up the remainder of the Ostorn patrol. The signal was given for all clear and Sergeant Mayne and the rest of the men from Reed’s squad gathered in the road. There were seven of them left.
“Damn fine shootin’ Reed!” said Sergeant Mayne. “Willie, signal for pick up on the comm.”
A few minutes after Willie had radioed for pick up, an olive green half-track sporting a .75 caliber Titan machine gun came barreling down the dirt road and swerved to a stop spinning 90 degrees as the driver slammed on the breaks. The gunner looked down at Mayne through his glassy tinted black goggles.
“Load up quickly. We got an Ostorn column of armor supported by a company of light infantry about 3 miles from here coming up this road.”
Reed’s squad took up seats in the back of the half-track. Soric, one of Reed’s squad mates, leaned forward and pointed his head at the driver.
“Can we make it back before they catch us?” he asked the driver.
“Son,” said the grizzled faced driver, “this here Hellcat can outrun just about anything. Just don’t talk to me while I’m drivin’.” With that the driver gunned the idle engine and the Hellcat leaped around and raced towards Bareundale.
As the Hellcat entered Bareundale, Ostorn artillery was just beginning to fall. The half-track made a sharp left turn and skidded to a halt in front of an old office building.
“A’ight, let’s go! Thanks for the ride,” yelled Mayne as he jumped down to the street with his squad following. He slapped the armor plating of the Hellcat twice as a way of saying good luck to the crewmen for courtesy and chased after his squad which was heading into the building.
The old three-story building had been turned into Battalion Headquarters. Dozens of orderlies were running back and forth sending orders to troops in the field. A fat Sergeant Major, serving as security, walked up to Sergeant Mayne and talked quietly for a minute. Reed shouldered his rifle and took his olive and khaki splattered cap off to wipe his hand through his dark brown sweaty hair. It had been a year since he had trimmed his hair and now the length of it was down to his shoulders. It was uncomfortable under the cap, but the cap was required by regulations so he wore it. It was still hot even inside.
“Must be no air conditioning,” he mumbled to himself. He brushed his hair back and slapped on his olive cap brim first, and then took a swig from his canteen. Damn, but was it was hot. Mayne rounded on his squad and glared at them with his war weathered face and Reed grimaced in his mind. That was Mayne’s way of announcing a tough assignment. As they walked down the steps of Battalion HQ, Mayne told them the details. Falcon Company, their company, was to hold up in the north end of town. Great, Reed thought to himself, the bombed-out shopping district. That was six blocks away and had already received quite a hammering from Ostorn arties so far. A whistle sounded over head.
“Take cover!” An artillery shell smashed into the building across the street. Rubble came crashing down and scattered around them.
Staying low, Reed and his comrades ran to Falcon Company Headquarters. He and his five squad mates waited outside the khaki field tent as Mayne went in to report to Major Galentine. Mayne stepped out of the Major’s tent slapping a new patch on to his right sleeve.
“Sir?” asked Reed, “our orders?” Mayne looked down at the three patches still in his hands.
“Alright, here it is. I’ve been promoted to Left-tenant and placed in command of 6th platoon. Their loading me up with fodder so I need 3 combat veteran squad leaders.” He handed out the patches as he called their names. “The new Sergeants are Vosticov, Willie, and… Reed.” Reed took the patch in his hands. It had a black background with three green chevrons and a blue “3” for 3rd squad. He stuck it to his sleeve with much satisfaction. Reed and his former squad reported to their positions in the shopping district to meet with their new men.
6th Platoon, under Lieutenant Mayne, was held up in an abandoned mall. Reed met up with his thirteen new troopers in an old apartment store on the second floor. They were all just kids, fresh out of Boot, but he was only two years older then most.
“We don’t have time for formal introductions so state your name and if you’re a specialist, what you specialize in.” He quickly memorized their names; Hent, Ken, Lando acting sniper, Ray, Zisor on comm., Jones, Matt, Harel and Mac on .75 caliber Titan, Semi, Bill, Dodson, and Nedri. Reed explained what to do. Harel broke the corner window to the east, while Mac set up the .75 Titan on its tripod. Lando, Jones, and Semi climbed a rope through a shell hole in the ceiling out onto the roof. Everyone else he sent to the windows of the north wall. Farthest to the right was Mac and Harel to watch the road. Everyone else watched the empty parking lot and the tall grass field beyond. The Ostorn artillery had ceased firing several minutes before. Now storm clouds drew in over head and the low grumble of thunder was heard rolling across the amber evening skies. Reed strained his eyes to watch the yellow field of grain. The field was about 150 meters from their position with an empty parking lot between. Darkness from the storm clouds did not help. Suddenly Reed thought he noticed movement. Some of the men around him jumped at a roaring blast from over head. Lando, thought Reed.
“What’s that noise?” asked Ray from the left. A slight rumble could be heard under the rain. “Is that thunder?”
Mac’s Titan started ripping off round after round. The large barreled machine gun spat out fire, roaring like the legendary creature it was named after, tracers flying through the night. The tracers could be seen bouncing off something in the distance on the road.
Mac eased off his fire long enough to shout, “We got light armor! J-43, incoming!” and then continued firing. Reed pulled out his N.V.O. scope, attached it to his MK. 4 and peered towards the road. There it was, a slanted rectangular body covered in armor plating over tracks, with an angular turret atop aiming a long thin 120 mm cannon. It was headed down the road followed by two half-tracks and a nuts load of infantry. They had used the storms cover of darkness to make a full frontal assault.
“Everyone, switch to Night Vision Optics!” yelled Reed as he pulled the bolt on his Mk. 4. Rifle fire from the roof was causing some casualties in the Ostorn. Reed aimed his rifle using his N.V.O. and let off a roaring shot. The Mk. 4 was a .50 caliber rifle, it could cause damage. Reed’s shot punched through the driver’s visor panel on the first half-track. Everyone else opened fire, some with automatic Tiger III’s and others with the bolt action Mk. 4. Downstairs on the first floor were Lt. Mayne and 1st and 2nd squads firing from cover into the Ostorn column.
The J-43 burst through the north wall and shuddered to a halt. The beating it had taken from the Titan had turned it in to a crushed rolling tin can with hundreds of dimples all over it. It was still smoking. Soaked Ostorn Storm-troopers, in khaki and black battle dress, stormed in through the opening unleashing small-arms fire and the occasional ball of fire from flamethrowers into the Katorians in cover. Reed could hear the belching of fire being thrown about below him.
Flames engulfed three of Vosticov’s men as he turned and jumped through a glass display window into a hallway of the mall. With shards of glass all around him as the fiery forms of his friends sprinted past him in cries of agony, Vosticov rolled on to his back and started spraying the store he had once been in with ferocious firepower from his Tiger III. Two, battle-armor clad, Ostorn Storm-troopers fell as they ran towards him. Dropping his spent Tiger, he scrambled forward and wrenched a flamethrower from one of the bullet riddled Ostorns. Squeezing the trigger, a sheet of blue fire swathed out in the direction of the hole the Ostorns were floundering through.
Reed was training his rifle on the second enemy half-track as it pulled off the road into the parking lot just as a hot blast of fire washed out of the opening made by the J-43 underneath them.
