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So yesterday and today I've written my first 40k fluff!! Though I'm not that good at english grammar.... If you find any mistakes (I'm sure you will!), you can keep them,



The History of the Rough Raiders

Somehow it was very comforting for Private Fred Benton to have a tight grip around the handle of an assault cannon. It made him feel safe. Though with a bunch of Grey Knights on your heels, you never were safe. An open battle would mean certain death, and the men hiding out in the burnt remains of a forest knew that, they had seen the Space Marines fight. It was tough to see your former allies turn against you, especially if the allies in question are the Imperiums finest warriors. They had armor with wich you could swim through a lake of lava unharmed, and guns that could tear apart a building. They were the gods on the battlefield.

That was why the remains of the 42nd Sauvagian wouldn't give them a battlefield. Rather a forest full of booby traps and desperate soldiers. The Knights had suffered even more casualitys then the Sauvagians, only a handful remained. A hundred Guardsman could beat a handful of Grey Knights, Fred thought, provied they got the time to set up an ambush. And they had gotten that.

Finally the waiting was over, Dogbreaths vox told them. So Sarge Kurz had managed to get the Greys on his heels. The plan was for Kurz and his squad to attract their attention and lead them towards the barrel. The barrel had once contained gas, but now 3 demolition charges, half as dozen meltabombs and a igniter controlled by a remote control filled the insuspicius piece of metal, half obscured by branches and mud. Kurz' men were past it now, still far ahed of the foe, running south.
Freds team hid a few hundred meters west of the barrel, the other team east of it, and the Inquisition was coming for them from the north. Kurz had tried to make sure that the shortest route for his hunters would lead them over the barrel, but they were too far of anyway. Judging by their current route, they would pass some 100 meters east of it- the detonation would not harm them too badly. They had to be led near it....

Fred knew what he had to do. He made sure that the ammo-chain was in its place and the tripod of his assault cannon was properly adjusted, before he switched the six barreld monster on. It began to turn faster and faster, gaining momentum. The sound it made turned from a slow hollow humming to a high-pitched whine, and that told Fred he could pull the trigger.
When he did, he thought he'd turn deaf. The gun roared like hell as the ammunition chain raced into its side, and white flames exploded out of the muzzle. He could not see anything, but he held it leveled at where he thought the foe. After near a minute, the barrels were bright red and steaming, and the bullets had run out. The air was full of biting somke, but he could see them. They were alive but for the one who had'nt worn a helmet. Fred knew better than to imagine how his face looked now.

But he had succeded. They were coming for him now. Bullets were tearing apart the trees around him, but he lay on his belly and didnt move. Then came the detonation. The shock wave pressed the breath out of his lungs, and it was so loud he tought the planet itself was be torn apart. A few moments after the echoes had faded, rubble, earth and other things started rainig dowon on them. When they finally dared to rise and look at the place where the barrel had been, they knew they had won. There was nothing to be seen. A huge crater marked the place, filled with ashes and molten stones. There were no more Grey Knights who could harm them now.

As the others danced and hooted happily, firing shots in the air and hugging each other, Freds thoughts were on he battlefield of yesterday again.....


They had been all laughther and jokes when they had marched into the belly of the gigantic Space Hulk, wich had been there bring them to an unknown destination. They had been boausting about how many foes each of them would kill, and how the Imperium would praise their victorys. That was different now that they had arrived, because battle was no fun at all. Especially not against the vile servants of Chaos, who could take on ten man each with horrifying ease. Instead of laughter, the cires of the wounded and dying now filled the air, and the jokes had given place to pleas for mercy.

But the warriors of Khorne would have none of it. The word „yield“ was all but unknown to them, and nearly all men in the regiment knew that. Yet some fools still hoped to be spared for throwing down their weapons, but they learned otherwise in a manner of a few seconds. Others were smarter and hugged a grenade when the red devils piled into their trenches, taking one or two with them with a small but powerful detonation, but that required a kind of courage only few possesed. Those who tried to fight in melee, clumsy lasgun trying to parry the blows of leathal hellblades and diamond-toothed chainswords, lost their lives as quickly as those who fled the trenches and were seen by a Comissar; incidents like these were marked by the loud barks of bolt pistols.

This war against a small host of Chaos Space Marines, wich were supported by the even viler Deamons of the warp, was worse then a nightmare. The planet wich they were on had to be defended against the invaders. The enemy objective was not to win the planet, nor was it anything with reason. It was merely to cause fear and terror, death and destruction.

The man were being wasted defending hopeless positions, and the Generals in their backfield-trenches would not hesitate to send a hundred poor souls to a certain death, if that action had the chance of maybe killing a handful of the ones on the other side of the battered and damaged defence-lines; In the HQ-tent you didnt count the lives of men, but of platoons, and many soldiers knew that now. Morale had hit rock bottom weeks ago, and it seemed as if someone had brought a jackhammer, because it was getting worse all the time.

The only chance you had to kill one of the bastards was to shoot them while they ran towards you from afar, and even then it took the fire of a dozen lasguns to bring one down, shots bouncing off the thick iron hides of the deamons and the admatium suits of the Space Marine traitors all the same. One man was worth nothing in this war, and they were very well aware of that. Fancy guns, on the other hand, could actually waste a few of the suckers before they reached you, if you knew how to use them.
Every man had been trained to use all different kinds of leathal contraptions, ranging from simple grenade and missile launchers to deadly meltas and extemely dangerous plasma weapons, wich often malfunctioned and turned the wielder into boiling puddles of gore that looked just like the foes who were hit by it before the weapon overheated. But as much as every man wanted to carry a „special“ gun, or be put in a weapon team to man the really big ladies, the supply was very limited. Only those few who had proven themselfes worthy were given the rare honor of wielding one, and they were the ones who saw to the enemy casualitys, few as they were.

But those chosen soldiers died all the same when the enemy reved up their chainsaws and jumped into the trenches, and that left the odd grenade launcher or Boltgun ownerless. That was how Fred got his assault cannon. The comissars did not care who was responsible for the heavy weapons, and taking them from the fallen without permission was about the only crime you didnt get shot for. Because it required at least two pairs of arms to carry it around, the Platoon commander had attached another man to the cannon, a young chap called Carl. He was a coward though, so whenever it came to actually firing the gun while enemies were around, he curled himself up and waited until the battle was over. It was a miracle that he hadnt been shot for that jet.

He was hiding and shivering again now, while Fred put on his earmuffs. A Vast horde of Deamons and Chaos Marines was closing on them, and death hailed on their evil from all sides. It was not enough though, and Fred knew that his six-barreled friend wouldnt make much of a difference. Somnehow he wasnt afraid of death right now. At least he would take some of the fethers with him, he thought. But as he fired up the cannon and began to send some deamons back to the warp, a metal Gunship flew over their heads and landed right in the middle of the approaching tide. Out of it jumped Space Marines, but Fred couldnt quite tell from wich chapter they were. They wore bare metal aromor, and he didnt know their insignia. As a child he had learned a lot about the Space Marine chapters, so he was confused now. They began slaughtering their way through the deamons the same way as the deamons were about to do it with him and his companions, but then, a huge monster erupted from the ground.
It looked suspiciously like the other ones, save the fact that it was over 30 feet tall. It seemed to Fred that Khorne himself had simply adjusted the odds. It fell on the Marines with a booming warcry, swinging a huge sword of molten iron, and began to play with them. It cut three man in half at once, squished another one under his clawed foot and ripped of the heads of two more. At the end of the fight, only 6 of the Marines remained of the 20 that had come. A hit in the face with a gigantic thunder hammer had put an end to the giant Deamon, and the rest of the horde was dealt with with ease. One after one, the Marines closed the invisible warp-portals that had been sending waves after waves of Deamons at them, supported by the Sauvagians. The endless battle was finally over; The marines had accomplished in a few hours what a full regiment of Guardsman had failed to do in weeks. Now the regiment was down to a quarter of of strengh, the rest killed in the numerous battles.

Later that day, the leader of the Knights questioned their Commander. A handful of servitors wrote down all the words that were said, and the questioned man seemed more than uneasy. Fred was watching from the distance, and he could'nt quite understand the words that were said. He did however get one sentence, because it was delivered in a loud, commanding voice. „We are done here, brothers. Purge this regiment!“

At first he failed to understand the meaning of that, and then the Grey Knights opened fire. They harvested their one-time allies like weed, cutting them down with their murderous guns one squad at a time. In the end, only Freds platoon had managed to escape. They went into the burnt forest....



Done for now, will get stuff added....

What do you think of it?

hmm, this isnt getting too many views....

Not to come accros as a gramar nazi, but some spacing would be nice. Would make it easyer to read. But I like where this is going thou, we dont see many Traitor guard pices of fluff here on Dakka

Trondheim wrote:Not to come accros as a gramar nazi, but some spacing would be nice. Would make it easyer to read. But I like where this is going thou, we dont see many Traitor guard pices of fluff here on Dakka

yeah, ill try to fix it....

fixd

A good story, though the logic fails to come to me. You are a good writer, but "balance" seems to be flawed. First, about that

Others were smarter and hugged a grenade when the red devils piled into their trenches, taking one or two with them with a small but powerful detonation, but that required a kind of courage only few possesed.

With "red devils" it is unclear whether you mean daemons (bloodletters?) or Berzerkers. if it is Berzerkers, then you should know power armour is proof to all but a direct hit from a frag grenade (IMO; you can portray CSM as weak as you like, but I won't)
if it is bloodletters, then you should know that Daemons are not made of normal mass; they are raw energy. This means that they do not take damage as such, but as they get torn apart they get sendt back to the warp, part after part. This means that they should survive a grenade, but be "wounded" (partially returned to the warp)
other than that, your story is intriguing and well written, with one big exception.
Gk's are one of the deadliest fighting forces of the imperium. each is like a captain, with psychic powers and even better wargear. This means that they should lose a squad, or even a marine, to guardsmen ludicrous. Compared to other races, humans are very weak really. No offense on your story, but compare this to my prologue. How did it go for the guardsmen attacked by traitor marines?
Still, good story. Can't wait for next part!

thanks for the reply!

BrotherHaraldus wrote:

....... taking one or two with them with a small but powerful detonation.......

With "red devils" it is unclear whether you mean daemons (bloodletters?) or Berzerkers. if it is Berzerkers, then you should know power armour is proof to all but a direct hit from a frag grenade (IMO; you can portray CSM as weak as you like, but I won't)
if it is bloodletters, then you should know that Daemons are not made of normal mass; they are raw energy. This means that they do not take damage as such, but as they get torn apart they get sendt back to the warp, part after part. This means that they should survive a grenade, but be "wounded" (partially returned to the warp)

well, i know that deamons don die from an explosion; but as you said, they get sent back to the warp, wich serves the purpose of removing them from the field of battle;
also, i mentioned somwhere that they were fighting a small hot of csm supported my deamons.....

BrotherHaraldus wrote: Gk's are one of the deadliest fighting forces of the imperium. each is like a captain, with psychic powers and even better wargear. This means that they should lose a squad, or even a marine, to guardsmen ludicrous. Compared to other races, humans are very weak really. No offense on your story, but compare this to my prologue. How did it go for the guardsmen attacked by traitor marines?

yeah, i see your point here. But as opposed to the guardsman in your story, the one in mine didnt charge headlong into the enemy; they set up a trap. I think i even mentioned that in a normal fight, the guardsman wouldnt stand a chance. But I guess a barrel full of meltabombs should do for them good enough (have you read about the marine in the sm dex blowing up a bridge with 2 meltabombs? it says that the explosion was heard from miles of. So i guess that they must do some serious damage.)
It also says about sm (yeah i know, not Gks...) that they are very vulnerable against foes that hide and shoot from cover, because marines are only used for direct attacs. So I thought that, with a little luck involved, my dudes could waste that handful of Knights....

And thanks for saying that im a good writer, keeps me at it!

I somehow forgot to update this thread..... I only poted the rest of the fluff in my blog.

here it is:
The Rough Raiders; Chapter Number Two

The 3rd was the last platoon that remained of the 712th Sauvagian Infantry Regiment, and it was nearly down to half strenght. The men were starved and exhausted, full of fleas and lice and other small multiple-legged pests, and half of them were wounded or had caught something. Three had died a day ago from Gutrot, and the stench of old sweat clung to every one of them.
But for the first time in weeks, nobody tried to kill them. That would soon change though, would the Imperium ever discover what they had done. And even if the Inquisition didn't find out, they propably would be purged anyway, since that was what the Astartes had been trying to do when the Guardsman had ignited the dozen meltabombs and demo charges suffed into that rusty gas-barrel.

Nobody knew why they needed to be purged though, but Fred was sure it was beause they had seen something they werent supposed to see. If it were the Demons or the mysterious power armoured men, nobody could tell.
The comissars had all died but for one, Mauritus von Reichfeld. He had'nt been with the others when the Comander had been questioned, so they hadnt been able to kill him. He had been in a scary mood since then, because his oh-so-beloved Imperium had abandonned him.
Having served it all his life with unquestioning loyality, it must have been a hard blow for him when they had tried to terminate him. He spent his days walking in circles or leaning against a rock, filling the air around him with silence, or sometimes muttering something to himself. It ended when he suddenly drew his heavy Bolt pistol, executed the three soldiers nearest to him while shouting „Traitors“ at them in a high, shril voice, before he blew himself away with the last round in his gun.

When only a terrible mess remained of their last loyal man, something changed in the rugged survivors. With the respected and feared Lord of Reichfeld about, they still had felt some measure of guilt about killing the Marines, but they had had no choice but to defend themselves. Now they only felt relieved that the thread was terminated, and they all agreed on one thing: They would not return to the Imperium.

That descision soon led to a new problem wich needed to be solved. Where to go? Staying on the world they were on right now was not an option; It was burnt and dead, and soon the Inquisition would order it to be exterminated.
But where should they go? And how should they get there? Sure, the transport hulk was still where it had been all the time, 20 miles to the south. But the crew would not as much as fart if the order didn't come from „above“, as the Imperial Headquarters were usualy referred to.
„We have to take it by force“, Platoon Commander Mance decided after a few hours of consideration. „'cause they'll sure as hell not let our sweat-stinking arses in there if we ask politely!“

Agreement was audible all over the camp. „But how do we get in? As far as I know, they've nailed everything close. Might be we've seen the last of them when we left for here, and they've been ordered to abandon us“ Gruff shouted. „Naw, more like the Astartes were planning to visit them too, just we messed their plans up a little“ someone else said, his words accompanied by his comrades' laughter. „So I think they're still there, waiting for orders that won't come“

„But imagine the arses in HQ know what happened to the Grey Knights“, Mance said. „If they learn that this planet has been cleaned up by us, there's no reason for them to wait with the big bomb any more. Then there'll be no more ship, nor anyone to get abord. And if we don't act now, theyll sure as hell find out that more happened to the Astartes that a broken comunication device. They'll come sniffing around, find us and put an end to our small rebellion. And if we manage to defeat them, we're due for the bomb. So we'd best storm that fething ship NOW!“
Storming the hulk would prove to be quite hard a thing to do, because blowing a big hole in its side and walking in would'nt serve. If they damaged it, they'd have to repair it too in order to use it, and they had neither the time nor the knowledge to do that.
The job had to be done secretly. Someone would have to sneak in and open the gates, and they had to leave some of the crew alive, or there would be nobody to pilot the ship.

„Who's gonna take that damn ship then? Someones got to do it!“ Gruff shouted again. That made Fred wonder. There were no „leaders“ left among the survivors, save Mance, and HE wouldn't go sneaking into some ramshackle air-conditioning system. There was Sarge Kurz, to be sure, but Mance disliked the man. He often srewed up, like last time when he had to lead the Knights over that barrel. If it hadn't been for Fred, the whole story would have ended with a pile of dead guardsman. While he looked around for another man fit for the job, he saw that Mance was looking at him.....


The night was as dark as it would get, and Fred Bentons team was as close to the ship as they would get. Backs pressed against the gigantic hull, they slowly moved towards the closest of the many „feet“ of the hulk. These monstous pillars were placed all around the structure, stabilizing it. Everytime the ship landed, they would grow out of the hull, one foot at a time, accompanied by a deep, rumbling sound.

Freds team reached it in a few minutes. It was about a hundred feet to the hole form where the foot had come out, and where things come out, others can go in.
The surface of the structure was not flat, it was full of cables and giant rivets, wich would made it very easy to climb.

Fred had been given command over these ten man because Mance had the imression of him being somewhat smarter and more courageous that some others. After looking at „weird“ Jake and some other questionable characters among them for a little while, Fred agreed with him in that matter. He had even killed an Astartes by himself, thought that had been mere luck. And besides, anyone can pull the trigger of an assault cannon. Still, he had killed a Space Marine, and men who can kill Marines can also take a Hulk at night, Fred hoped.
So there he was, taking a hulk at night. Or climbing up its stabilizing feet at night, to be sure.
The taking itself hadn't yet begun.

Up they went, eleven man in black clothes, with blackened faces and loaded guns on their waists and backs. Fred had picked a shotgun and a silenced pistol, and so had the others. In addition, Hurf had been given a flamer and Bud had a whole backpack filled with al kinds of explosives.
By the time they went past the hull and into the engine room that worked the stabilizer, Fred ccould see the first light of the new day. The days were short on this planet, one lasted only a few hours. Light was the last thing they could have wanted outside, but that didnt matter now that the firts part of the job had been done. They were in the ship.

Sure enought, there was a kind of door to the maintainance tunnel, only it was sealed from the inside.
There went a krak grenade, its flat, magnetic side clinging tight to the door, timer set for 20 seconds. The men huried into cover, lying flat on their bellies, hands crossed over their heads. The explosion left a peeping noise in Freds ears, and had propably alarmed every single man in the ship. Well, that couldnt be helped. Soon, someone would come snifing around, expecting some kind of broken generator. They were in for a surprise, Fred would make sure.
He hoped the ship was as badly guarded as Mance had told him it would be. The Platoon leader was sure of having heard some high-nosed nob with a commanders badge ordering evrey available man into the trenches, even the ones stationed on the ship. Only a handful were to remain, just enought to maintain the most important machinery and press a few buttons to open the gate.

Fred figured there to be about five to give the orders and pilot the hulk, and another 15 to do the work. That was the generous guess, because judging by the size of the thing, „a handful“ could also be fifty men.
But even if it were fifty, Freds team had the surprise effect and the guns. Most of thes ships guns were fixed onto the hull, to drop the odd bomb, missile or spray of large calibres onto some advancing foe, but inside were ony old men, mandatorily armed with laspistols. After all, the young lads had all been herded into the trenches to delay the advancing horde with their deaths.

The ripped open door led them into a tight tunnel, and soon there was a crossing. To the left was a ascending stair, to right there wasnt, so left they went. Fred ordered Bud to set up a frag mine, in case someone came from the right, looking for the source of the explosion. With the mine waiting on the crossing, nobody would be able to spot their custom entrance hole and ring the alarm afterward.
The team moved up the stairs as quiet as they could. Fred could hear someone approaching, so he grabbed his silenced gun and ordered the rest of the team to stop moving. When the man came around the corner, tool box in hand, Fred took him out with two well placed shots.
On they went, moving towards the main gate. If they managed to open that, the other 30 men who were hiding about one mile from the ship, could come in as well.
They only had to remove the resistance first and capture the captains, and they had to hurry up with that; soon, someone would miss the man he just shot, and then the alarm would go off.
Fred led his men further up, intedning to capure the valuable individuals fist, before either wasting or capturing the others.....



and the third part:
Fred led his men further up, intedning to capure the valuable individuals fist, before either wasting or capturing the others. Maybe they'd even be willing to join the traitor platoon, who knows?
The team moved higher still, getting closer and closer to the controll room where the capatain should be. It was the mans duty to always be ready and close to the command bridge, so he slept and ate there, never leaving his post exept when ordered to.
That would make him easy to capture.

On their way up, two other men passed the team. They were both old, well past sixty and not armed, so fred ordered his men to take them alive.
„What? Hey!“ was all the two could say before they were knocked to the ground, tied together with some nylon rope. They got some cloth to eat, that would keep them quiet. Marv stored them in a tool locker nearby.
Fred told his men to remember which locker it was, so the two could be found again later. Time to move on.
When they finally got to the upper level, their luck suddenly ran out. Someone must have found the door or the dead guy, and sounded the alarm. Every crewman would rush to the main hall now, take one of the lasguns from the storage container, and then they'd comb the ship in groups of at least ten men each. Though if the renegades were lucky, the ship only held enough crew for 3 teams.

Around the next corner, they finally found the entrance to the command segment. The door was massive, and would not be broken easily. They could slap a meltaomb on it, to be sure, but that would cause some serious damage not only to the door, but also to much of the surrounding, including Freds team and the captain. Meltabombs were murderous devices, capable of degrading the most gigantic battle tanks to molten slag and steaming piles of rubble.

No, a demolition charge should suffice. Bud took his time to attatch it properly, then set the timer. They quickly left the tunnel and took cover in an adjacent one, cowering on the floor behind a corner.
The detonation was brutal. The shock wave hit the men violently, driving the breath from their lungs and leaving a painful stinging in their ears. It took several moments for the dust and rubble to settle, and the guardsman waitet another half minute before they struggled back to their feet.
The door was gone, as were the nearby walls and much of the floor. Fred could see the room below them, and the ones revealed by the missing wall. The section they wanted to acess was also open to them now, though some climbing was nescasary. One man nearly fell down into the room below, but he managed to grab a water pipe wich poked from the torn wall.

Safely in the captains quarters, Fred repeated the command he had given before; „If any of you gaks lose a shot at the captain or the other men in here, I'll blow your brains out myslef. They wil be taken alive! Do you understand?“
„Yep“, „will do that, Fred“ and other similar expressions were audible. Fred was annoyed. Back when they had been soldiers of the Imperium, the understanding of an order would have been expressed with a unison „Yes, Sir!“. Did the man think that with abandoning the Imperium, they had also abandonned discipline?

„What was that? Do you understand!“
This time he raised his voice considerably, intending to inflict fear and respect. It was better to be feared than liked as a leader, that much he had learned from the Comissars.
Suddenly, the soldiers remembered the phrases that had been drilled into them for months back in their training days, and they replied with the term Fred wantde to hear.
„Yes, Sir!“ they said, obedient.

The words had scarcely passed their lips when the captain appeared in the back of the room. A middle aged man with a snobby look, he had two crewman at his back, one of them a muscular brute.
„what the hell are you suckers doing here?“ the bear demanded, and the captain drew his sabre. „Who dares enter my ship without my leave? I'll gut you scumbags!“
Dripping of arrogance, pride and self-importance, he waved his sword at the intruders and charged, his companions at his heels.

At once, Freds men flew at them, waving their weapons like clubs, meeting the assault half-way. The brute knocked one with a single crunshing blow at the face, and the other crewman drew a laspistol. He dropped another attacker before Fred bashed the butt of his shotgun in his stomach, and his head after that. The captain was the most dangerous, with his sabre. He buried in Buds ribcage, and slashed at Jakes face after pulling it out again. Judging by the look of him, that was Jakes last fight. Back to back with the big thug, they swung their fists and steel at the encircling men, and another one had to die before the renegades managed to overwhelm the two.

Badly beaten by rifle-butts and iron shod boots, the captain and his tough guy were eating floor. They had lost some teeth and blood, and gained some broken bones and bruises, but they were alive. That was all that counted. Freds team had lost Bud, Jake and Hurf. Karlson had tasted the thughs giant, hairy fist, but he might still be alive, even though his face was a ruin.

Down to six, not counting Fred, the team now would have to hlod their ground against the rest of the crew. But they were on the highest point of the ship, and had hostages. With luck, they might even be able to turn the crew.
Intending to do just that, Fred grabbed the captains shirt at the neck and dragged him to the console. He left a trail of blood behind him, but that came only from his nose, and there was no need to be concerned about the mans life.
„Y'know, all those speakers you have in your shiny ship? I want to talk to your crew. Turn them on, and show me where the microphone is. Now!“
The Captain did not want to cooperate, though. Even threats did not really help, but a nice beating soon had some effect.

Bleeding all over the board, he pressed the nescasarry buttons and produced a microphone from a half hidden box.
Before he handed it over, he had some words with the crew himself.

„This is Captain Jerome Albus Maximilius.“ what a weird name, Fred thought. These nobs sure were strange. „our ship has been stormed and taken“ he blurted into the microphone. „Their leader wants to talk to you. Do not listen.....“ Wait a sec, no messing with my speech! He shoved the weak ruin of a man away and grabbed the micro.
„Crewman, listen to me. The name is Fred Benton, and I have taken your ship, as your noble Captain has already told you. Come to the command bridge without your weapons, and we will let you live. Disobey, and you will die. I will now open the gate and let the rest of our platoon enter. You cannot beat us. I repeat, come to the comand bridge at one!“

When he was done, he ordered his team to take Hurfs flamer, since he had no further use for it, being dead. The men took a defensive position at the entrance, to be ready should the crew decide to try funny bussines.
When the situation was secure, he grabed the captain again and pulled him up. He put on his meanest face and tried to sound as dangerous as possible. „Open the gates, you smear of gak! I'll tear your balls of if you dont!“
That seemed to be very convincing, because the man didn't waste any time to press the nescasarry buttons.

After a few seconds of silence, the ship began to vibrate and a deep moaning indicated that the heavy gates were being lowered.
Things were going better that expected, Fred thought.

The only problems that needed to be solved now were herding the crew together and getting the captain to cooperate. The last one might prove to be difficult, but Fred would not have to solve that my himself; Mance was on his way, ready to relieve Fred from command. He had not had it for a day, yet he was already growing tired of it; all this responsibility was causing him a headache. There were so many things that could go wrong, and any of those could mean his end.
Since there was nothing to do but waiting, Fred figured he could have another word with that arrogant Captain, who was busy lying on the floor bleeding and pitying himself.
A kick below the ribs got him halfway to his feet. Someone had tied them together though, so he stumbled and fell. Fred felt almost sorry for the man.
„Dont bother getting to your feet, Jerry. I just wanted to make sure you were listening“

Jerome Albus Maximilius was a very proud man, and he sure didn't like being referred to as Jerry. But he could use some degrading. Arrogant as he was, he would not make a cooperative companion.
„Do you know why we are here?“ Fred asked.

Maximilius looked at him as he might look at a pile of waste and gak. „Why are you asking me, deserter? You deserve a firing squad, remove yourself from my ship!“
feth, that guy is stupid, Fred thought. Even when he was smearing the floor with his own blood, he still had the impression of being able to command „lesser“ beings like Fred and his men.
„And do you know what they'll do to you? You let us in, there was no fighting. By imperial law, you are our complice. You are dead meat as well, should they get us.“
„gak! He's right!“, the mans facial expression seemed to shout as realization came to him. „Liar!“ he said. „They won't execute me!“

„They hanged a noble-blooded Commander for having ten melta-guns stolen from his storage container. What do you think they'll do to a man who lets a fething TROOP CARRIER go amiss? Huh?“
Judging by the look of his face, te Captain did not want to think about it.

„What do you want from me anyway? You have the ship, now go play defend-the-fortress and get killed. I dont care really. They'll be marching up on us within the next few days, you are worse than dead already!“
„Defend-the-fortress? Oh no, we are not staying on this planet. Besides, the rest of the army is dead, killed by our former allies, who we killed in return. We are the only survivors on this wasteland, and YOU will bring us away from here!“
The look on the Captains face as he understood the meaning of Freds words was hilarious, and Fred would have laughed out loud had the situation been a different one.

The fluff is good, but you need to learn about the enter-button. Seriously my eyes hurt. I don't want to come off as harsh, but as Trondheim earlier has pointed out, spacing is king.

Yes, Enter is your friend. same is space. It makes for a much more enjoyebal reading experience. And I suggest using some manner of spelling device in the text program you are using. but except from that I enjoyed it

I agree with above posts.
Still, good story.

Oh yeah, sorry guys, I'll apply the power of the mighty enter.....

When I read massed texts here on dakka, I usually hold ctrl and scroll up, wich makes the text bigger and easier to read..... so I'm not bothered by massed texts, and didnt think about you

fixd!

YaY much better now! Keep it comming