Post by Cadian 117 on Aug 23, 2007 20:43:07 GMT -5
OK so to start this wasnt written by me. This was written by a guy by the nametag of CaptainKrane on T40k which is a message board. I asked and he gave me permition to post this sstory so I hope you guys like it I did.
The warm blood cuts rivers through the ice, steaming like my mam’s stew back home. The horizon blurs away, and I avert my eyes, unconsciously heeding the chirurgeon’s warning about “snow blindness”. I get unsteadily to my feet, and look around. Four bodies surround a smoking crated, four, charred smoking bodies that will never return home after this campaign, four men that will never again share a tent, smoking and laughing. Another man, Harin as far as I can tell, cradles the pulverized remains of his left leg. He’s out of the fight for now, maybe for good if he doesn’t get somewhere warm soon. The damned cold on this planet can freeze a man’s blood bit by bit, eventually shredding them from within as the ice crystals grow in size. Not a pleasant way to die, but then again, what way is? The other four remaining squad members rise out of the snow, blinking. It’s almost comical to see the bemused looks on their faces as they pull themselves out of the snow.
Our sergeant, Cindi, crawls towards me, and I notice, as if awakening from a trance, the bright beams of lasgun fire hissing into the snow around the remnant of the squad.
“Get down!” she gasps at me, and I duck down behind a snow drift, wincing as the freezing cold ice is brought to within a few inches of my face. A few seconds later, I'm joined by the rest of the squad, who roll into the snow panting.
“Close one, eh, Cindi?” I manage to pant, realizing that I caught a bunch of shrapnel in my left arm. One good thing about the cold is that you’re so numb you can’t feel any pain, I think to myself grimly. My childhood friends had always said that I was a hopeless optimist, but I disagreed. I was just smart, ‘cause fear and broken spirits had killed more men than guns.
“And yet, you’re still alive, fraghead!” A figure crawls below the lip of the drift, and I can see behind the respirator the familiar face of Krag, an old friend of mine. “The mortar crew is just behind huge drift over there,” he informs us, point roughly in the same direction we were marching with the barrel of his grenade launcher. “We’ll all be killed if we don’t move!”
His words were underlined by a loud crump as another mortar shell impacted near the crest of the drift, spraying us with snow. Probably, by now the crews were adjusting the ballistics to drop the shell right behind us, and the snow drift would be about as helpful as chocolate flak armor.
Cindi looks around at the four of us, Krag, burly and loyal, Scern, small and shifty, Jak, tall and resolute and me, Jevik, Jev for short. We’ve fought together for so long, and realizing that half of our number had died from the mortar that stood just over the next crest, we all knew what to do before Cindi even opened her mouth.
“Scern, you stay back and pick off targets of opportunity,” she starts, and Scern smiles appreciatively, his fingers caressing the long-las he “aquired” a few days ago.
“The rest of us will split into two teams, Jak and I, and Krag and Jev. My team will go to the left, team two to the right. Move on my signal.”
Krag and I move to more to the right, reading to start sprinting. I inwardly curse the lack of support. Unfortunately, this had been just a routine patrol, and our vox operator, Mik, had been one of the casualties.
I feel a knot of fear clench in my stomach. My hands shiver, but from the cold or fear I can’t tell. I grip my autogun, checking that the well-oiled clip wouldn’t jam, patting my chest to reassure myself that my spare rounds are still there. Krag turns around, noticing my last minute preparations.
“Jev, you worry too much!” he exclaims, patting me on the shoulder. I notice distractedly the sooty snow flake off his glove to settle in the icy ground. “I should be the one fussing like old woman. At least you don’t have to carry these,” he states, showing me the bandoleer of ammunition for his grenade launcher.
“Thanks, that just made me feel a whole lot better,” I grin at him. Krag always had a talent for lightening my mood with his black humor, although every time I feel like death will get the last laugh. I hide my feelings though, as I see Cindi give the signal to charge.
“Here we go again,” Krag says, leaping over the drift and running to the right, his feet kicking up clouds of snow. Shaking off the feeling that those might be his last words to me, I clamber out and run after him. Over to our left, Cindi and Jak sprint up the slope, their lasguns hissing through the light snowfall at targets that are out of view. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Krag fire off a frag round at the crest of the nearest drift. After the smoke clears, I see the tops of helmets moving around, and then the barrels of lasguns poke out from the top of the hill.
I roll to the side as a lasgun shot slices through the air where I had been running, the beam hot enough to singe my hair on the back of my neck. The roll sends snow sliding down within my jacket, and I wince at the shock. I get back to my feet and fire off a few rounds, cursing as my bullets are absorbed by the thick snow. My original lasgun had been lost down a crevasse a few days ago, and spare lasguns were few and hard to come by. Another section of the drift explodes as Krag launches another grenade from his weapon. The lasgun shots switch their deadly attentions to him, the snow around him sizzling and melting with all the shots. My warning dies in my throat as I see a beam strike him, throwing him down to the ground.
Again it was done by CaptainKrane of T40k(total40k.com). If this is bad guys remove this post moddisars. if its ok let the people enjoy!
The warm blood cuts rivers through the ice, steaming like my mam’s stew back home. The horizon blurs away, and I avert my eyes, unconsciously heeding the chirurgeon’s warning about “snow blindness”. I get unsteadily to my feet, and look around. Four bodies surround a smoking crated, four, charred smoking bodies that will never return home after this campaign, four men that will never again share a tent, smoking and laughing. Another man, Harin as far as I can tell, cradles the pulverized remains of his left leg. He’s out of the fight for now, maybe for good if he doesn’t get somewhere warm soon. The damned cold on this planet can freeze a man’s blood bit by bit, eventually shredding them from within as the ice crystals grow in size. Not a pleasant way to die, but then again, what way is? The other four remaining squad members rise out of the snow, blinking. It’s almost comical to see the bemused looks on their faces as they pull themselves out of the snow.
Our sergeant, Cindi, crawls towards me, and I notice, as if awakening from a trance, the bright beams of lasgun fire hissing into the snow around the remnant of the squad.
“Get down!” she gasps at me, and I duck down behind a snow drift, wincing as the freezing cold ice is brought to within a few inches of my face. A few seconds later, I'm joined by the rest of the squad, who roll into the snow panting.
“Close one, eh, Cindi?” I manage to pant, realizing that I caught a bunch of shrapnel in my left arm. One good thing about the cold is that you’re so numb you can’t feel any pain, I think to myself grimly. My childhood friends had always said that I was a hopeless optimist, but I disagreed. I was just smart, ‘cause fear and broken spirits had killed more men than guns.
“And yet, you’re still alive, fraghead!” A figure crawls below the lip of the drift, and I can see behind the respirator the familiar face of Krag, an old friend of mine. “The mortar crew is just behind huge drift over there,” he informs us, point roughly in the same direction we were marching with the barrel of his grenade launcher. “We’ll all be killed if we don’t move!”
His words were underlined by a loud crump as another mortar shell impacted near the crest of the drift, spraying us with snow. Probably, by now the crews were adjusting the ballistics to drop the shell right behind us, and the snow drift would be about as helpful as chocolate flak armor.
Cindi looks around at the four of us, Krag, burly and loyal, Scern, small and shifty, Jak, tall and resolute and me, Jevik, Jev for short. We’ve fought together for so long, and realizing that half of our number had died from the mortar that stood just over the next crest, we all knew what to do before Cindi even opened her mouth.
“Scern, you stay back and pick off targets of opportunity,” she starts, and Scern smiles appreciatively, his fingers caressing the long-las he “aquired” a few days ago.
“The rest of us will split into two teams, Jak and I, and Krag and Jev. My team will go to the left, team two to the right. Move on my signal.”
Krag and I move to more to the right, reading to start sprinting. I inwardly curse the lack of support. Unfortunately, this had been just a routine patrol, and our vox operator, Mik, had been one of the casualties.
I feel a knot of fear clench in my stomach. My hands shiver, but from the cold or fear I can’t tell. I grip my autogun, checking that the well-oiled clip wouldn’t jam, patting my chest to reassure myself that my spare rounds are still there. Krag turns around, noticing my last minute preparations.
“Jev, you worry too much!” he exclaims, patting me on the shoulder. I notice distractedly the sooty snow flake off his glove to settle in the icy ground. “I should be the one fussing like old woman. At least you don’t have to carry these,” he states, showing me the bandoleer of ammunition for his grenade launcher.
“Thanks, that just made me feel a whole lot better,” I grin at him. Krag always had a talent for lightening my mood with his black humor, although every time I feel like death will get the last laugh. I hide my feelings though, as I see Cindi give the signal to charge.
“Here we go again,” Krag says, leaping over the drift and running to the right, his feet kicking up clouds of snow. Shaking off the feeling that those might be his last words to me, I clamber out and run after him. Over to our left, Cindi and Jak sprint up the slope, their lasguns hissing through the light snowfall at targets that are out of view. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Krag fire off a frag round at the crest of the nearest drift. After the smoke clears, I see the tops of helmets moving around, and then the barrels of lasguns poke out from the top of the hill.
I roll to the side as a lasgun shot slices through the air where I had been running, the beam hot enough to singe my hair on the back of my neck. The roll sends snow sliding down within my jacket, and I wince at the shock. I get back to my feet and fire off a few rounds, cursing as my bullets are absorbed by the thick snow. My original lasgun had been lost down a crevasse a few days ago, and spare lasguns were few and hard to come by. Another section of the drift explodes as Krag launches another grenade from his weapon. The lasgun shots switch their deadly attentions to him, the snow around him sizzling and melting with all the shots. My warning dies in my throat as I see a beam strike him, throwing him down to the ground.
Again it was done by CaptainKrane of T40k(total40k.com). If this is bad guys remove this post moddisars. if its ok let the people enjoy!
