"Dear B.B.,
After a month enroute, my regiment finally arrived at our destination, the planet Lietuvos. Looking at it out of one of the windows, it reminds me of the jewel on your engagement ring; a beautiful orb of emerald and sapphire, glimmering in the darkness of space. It's hard to believe what Colonel Sharps says about the situation down there, but I guess it's not exactly visible from way up here.
According to the Colonel, the planet's in a state of civil war, with many different factions fighting amongst themselves and destabilizing the planet's economy. There's the legitimate government, they've taken refuge in orbit around the planet while the remaining loyalist PDF elements hold the planet's one spaceport; there's a rebel movement led by other PDF elements attempting to overthrow the government, a couple PDF brigades following charismatic heretical cults and half a dozen smaller factions carving out their own petty dominions in all the chaos.
We're being sent in as part of a larger Imperial Guard army group under General Alexander Holst to bring order to the region. If we fail here, the whole world and all 12 billion people on it could fall prey to xenos or heretical attacks. That would leave the greater Imperium open to attacks by the Tau (or as we call them in the Guard, "Bluies") and other alien threats. None of us want a repeat of the Occupation, which is why I'm gonna fight for the both of us and come home safely.
From Lietuvos with love,
- Specialist Andrew Franklin, 08th MST"
The night was ominously silent as Staff Sergeant DaCosta studied the enemy camp through his magnoculars, slowly shifting his gaze from one watchtower to another, watching the enemy soldiers eat, make jokes he could not hear and make token attempts at maintaining a vigilant watch over the frontline base that DaCosta's platoon were tasked with eliminating. Funnily, it wasn't so much a base as a couple pre-fabricated buildings and enough tents to shelter an infantry company surrounded with chain link fence and barbed wire, which made it an easy target for 1st Platoon, Alpha Company of the 08th Corvis Mobile Strike Tactics Regiment.
"How does it look out there, DaCosta?" came the voice of Lieutenant Halder from behind. DaCosta turned to face his commanding officer as Halder climbed out of the top hatch of the command Chimera, with a steaming tin mug in his hand as he made his way over to his subordinate sitting in the turret.
"They appear to be unaware of our presence, sir," DaCosta replied, "I haven't seen any significant movement since they changed guard shifts half an hour ago."
"Sounds like they're all tucked in and sleeping soundly," Halder remarked as he took a sip from his mug, then started slightly. Noticing this sudden movement, DaCosta darted back to his scope and frantically scanned the camp for movement. "What is it, sir?" he asked as his search failed to turn up anything out of the ordinary. Halder chuckled slightly as he looked into his mug.
"This coffee's pretty good," he remarked as he breathed in the warm, soothing steam wafting up from the liquid, "I put a little less of the bitter and more of the fine ground in this time, and I'm pleased with the results." DaCosta sighed with relief.
"Lieutenant," a third voice called from within the armored vehicle, "Master Sergeant Davis just reported in. His team's in position, sir."
"Well, I guess my coffee's a good omen after all," Halder declared as he quickly drank the rest of his brew and made his way into the Chimera's interior. Inside the vehicle, drowned in red light, stood a chart table and another table shoved into a corner with coffee-brewing equipment atop it. Four soldiers stood to attention inside, each clad in the gray armored shell worn by all Corvis infantry. DaCosta soon entered the passenger compartment and began to help Halder into his own suit. As DaCosta was finishing up, Halder turned to his musings again. "It's funny," he said, "six months ago, I would have called those men out there our allies. Ah, well. We have our orders, now we need to carry them out. Send the Angels the go signal, DaCosta. It's time to go fight a war."
DaCosta pulled the vox-horn off the wall. "Angel Squadron, we are go for launch. Repeat, we are go for launch. All weapons free."
Six large winged shapes screamed over the forest surrounding the enemy encampment. With no light to speak of to illuminate them, they were almost invisible against the night sky. Inside each Valkyrie, its cargo of highly trained and well equipped Guardsmen memorized battle plans and mission objectives as they shot towards their unsuspecting target.
The first indication that something was amiss was the faint, distant whine the guardsman on watch heard as he looked up occasionally from his dirty magazine, pretending to pay attention. As far as he was concerned, if the enemy was going to attack, he'd have heard the rumbling of tanks and the rustling of bushes as enemy soldiers attempted to infiltrate by now. A faint whine meant nothing to him as he went back to gazing at the lustful images in his hands.
That faint whine soon became a loud scream seconds before a well-placed lascannon blast reduced him and the watchtower he occupied to a flaming pile of debris.
One of his companions in an adjacent tower had the sense to sound the alarm before he and his tower rapidly shared the same fate. The wail of klaxons caused men to spring to action, hastily grabbing for weapons and throwing on armor in the chaos. Spotlights abruptly flashed on, scanning the surrounding forest for the source of the attack. Occasionally, a soldier would panic and fire a few rounds into shadows he mistook for an enemy soldier, but the attacker's location and identity remained a mystery.
All of this changed when a single hellstrike-type missile sailed into the command building and reduced it to ruin in a single explosive blast. The same fate befell the motor pool moments later. Further chaos and disorder ensued when a pair of gray Valkyries, bearing an insignia of a sword between a pair of white angelic wings on the side doors and wings seemingly dropped out of the sky and unleashed death from above with their rocket pods before coming to a stop mere meters off the ground. Their nose-mounted multilasers mercilessly gunned down fleeing men as gray-armored soldiers rappelled down from the Valkyries' three hatches, unleashing yet more fire into unprepared bodies. A pair of Vendettas soared overhead, blasting squads of traitorous guardsmen into sprays of blood and guts as their door-mounted heavy bolters chanted a litany of death, spitting round after explosive round into the masses of panicking men.
One of the first squads to set their boots on the ground, Bravo Squad, took up defensive positions in what was left of the command building. Some of the enemy had managed to get themselves into organized squads and found cover from which to shoot at them. Sergeant Lukas pried a lasgun from the smoldering arms of a dead traitor and took aim at a pair of young soldiers, perhaps no older than fifteen, working hastily to set up a heavy bolter behind their cover. Frag it all, he thought to himself as he decapitated one of them with a clean shot to the boy's neck, Why the hell can't I have a rifle like the rest of my men? It would make things so much easier... His second shot missed the other one, who frantically began to spray fist-sized explosive death in their general direction. To his left, PFC Floyd's torso seemingly burst in a spray of red and incandescent orange as he took a hit to the chest. "Get down!" Lukas shouted as large chunks were blown out of the plascrete wall they were hiding behind.
Within moments, he heard a clicking sound, almost drowned out by the fighting engulfing them. Figuring that the enemy was out of ammunition, Lukas seized his chance and popped up out of cover to snap off a couple shots at the bolter gunner. The lad and his gun were quickly engulfed in a bright ball of electric-blue energy, causing Lukas to turn around in confusion, only to see Specialist Furst pointing her smoking plasma gun in the general direction of the enemy, grinning widely. "Great minds think alike, Sarge," she said boastfully, "Too bad I got there first!" She wasted no time in picking off a couple traitors who decided that standing up to throw grenades was a good idea, while Lukas turned back to target hunting. Spotting what looked like the squad leader, he promptly burned a hole through the man's temple, throwing the enemy in his immediate location into disarray. Some shot back, others dove for cover, but regardless of what each soldier did, he was acting alone, without any central authority to guide him.
"Sam, call our angel!" Lukas shouted at the squad's vox operator, "We need an airstrike, pronto!"
"Angel Two, this is Bravo Squad," Specialist Samwell said into his vox unit, "Requesting air support at AoE 15 by 62, we have entrenched reds in enemy comm room, repeat, air support at Alpha-Oscar-Echo one-five by six-two, hostiles in enemy comm room."
Samwell's request was answered by a hail of rockets fired from one of the Valkyries into the room the enemy was holed up in. Those who weren't killed by the explosions were cut down by fire from Lukas' squad. "It's all yours, Bravo Squad," replied the pilot over the vox, "Go get 'em." That was all the confirmation Lukas needed.
"To the objective!" he ordered, "Let's move, move, move!"
Bravo Squad got up from their cover and quickly made the dash over to the comm room, taking up positions by the door. PFC Newmann signaled to three with his hands before kicking the door in and storming into the room, supported by the rest of his squad. Immediately after he did so, however, his face was torn to shreds by buckshot fired by a young, terrified girl hiding behind a desk, clutching a combat shotgun in her small hands. As Newmann's lifeless corpse dropped to the floor, Lukas and PFC Allan filled her with holes as they sprayed las bolts in her direction. Taking up positions, the rest of the squad filed in. After securing the room, Samwell spoke into his vox again. "Base, this is Bravo Squad," he reported, "Objective secure."
As Samwell made his report, Allan examined the girl he and Lukas had just killed. She was a pitiful sight; Allan guessed that she was around thirteen, clad in nothing but a now blood-soaked nightgown and had hair that looked roughly and hastily cut, possibly with a combat knife or machete. Her eyes were bloodshot and wide with terror, a sight that he was certain that he wouldn't forget any time soon. In a gesture of kindness, he closed her eyelids and placed her arms over her chest, so she at least looked like she was at peace with the Emperor and all.
"It's sobering, ain't it?" Allan heard Lukas say from behind him, "She certainly doesn't look like a soldier." Lukas knelt over her and patted her neck and shoulders down. "No dog tags," he muttered, "Probably taken from one of the nearby villages." He stood up again. "Girl didn't have a choice, most likely. That's the saddest part of all..."
Lukas' attention wandered over to a drawer left lying half-opened. Inside, he found a sheaf of papers bound with a wire spiral. The cover simply said, "Operation Victory" in block lettering. He held it in his left hand and turned to the vox operator. "Samwell," he said, "relay this to the L.T.:"
"Base, this is Bravo Squad. Objective secure."
"Alpha Squad here. The north gate is ours."
"Charlie Squad, We have the south gate. They're not going anywhere."
"Delta Squad reporting. We confirm seventeen enemy prisoners."
"Golan here. No hostiles escaped."
Listening to all of the vox chatter, Lieutenant Halder took a contented sip of his coffee. Mission accomplished.
No comments:
Post a Comment