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Hey guys this is just a first chapter of a story that I came up with at work today. Sorry if the ending is a bit odd, I'm catching a cold or something and couldn't really think of anything. Don't worry there will be lots of action, just leading up to it is all . Let me know what you think, criticism is appreciated! Not sure how many chpaters I'll be able to do, Im thinking maybe two chapters a week or so. Well hope you enjoy chapter one of Death Squad.



Chapter One

I

The room was dark, silent, and stank of sweat. The walls were a dull grey and void of any decorations. In the corner a desk had been pushed up against the west wall, perhaps bolted would be the better way of describing it. On the desk lay twelve rows of Mk V power cells which had been dumped on the desktop. A mud-caked boot lay on its side by the left leg of the desk, its laces still tied. The bed was tucked into the north-east corner of the room where a mud-caked boot had left a print trail to the bed, before losing itself in the tangle of sheets.

The figure on the bed was wide awake.

Gaz Domand could never fall asleep after a mission, no matter how much his body screamed at him for rest. He was fakked in the head and he knew it, though Domand denied this on a daily basis. Nights always made him edgy and alert. He never felt safe even though the bunker he was in was part of an Imperial Stronghold which was three kilometers underground, topside the base covered nearly fifteen kilometers with reinforced plasteel walls which stood fifty meters tall. Not to mention the base was staffed by twenty seven thousand forty-two auxiliary crew, guarded by sixty thousand Imperial Guardsmen with the support of sixty armoured divisions.

The question he asked himself was, We all fit?

Even so, he was not safe. The pulse in his head told him to be ready.

Domand did just that.

He sat up with his back to the east wall and gazed at the desk. He could barely make out the power cells scattered across its face and his eyes scanned the room till he was staring straight up at the ventilation cover over his head.

"Enemy Infiltrators slip in through the South-west wall at 21.37 after the patrol has passed, which leaves a four point five-seven second window to dash to the wall to avoid the lights, walls easily scaled since reinforcement leaves plenty of good grips and foot placings, once on the wall unsuspecting bastards are killed as the fakk about, enemy slips into vent system, crawls around for Emperor knows how long till they-"

Domand leapt out of his bed, the muddy sheet was sent flying across the room. He grabbed the stock of his las gun as he executed a perfect roll and his back came to rest on the wall, the las gun aimed up at the ventilation grill.

"-then they die to rapid fire las fire." Domand smiled to himself.

The lights in the room suddenly flared to life.

The fan in the vent hummed to life pushing somewhat fresher air into the stale room.

Domand moaned, "Fakkin'...who the hell!" The door to his room slid open like it did everyday at 06.32 Imperial Standard Time.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, a figure stood in the doorway which drove more fear into him than being woken up by a horde of genestealers.

The knife bitch again...

Veloska Sekov stood in the doorway peering down at Domand his her round grey eyes. She wore a black body glove which sucked to her every curve. Her hair hung dark and loose halfway down her back. A small smirk stretched across her cold face.

"What are you doing on the floor silly boy?" she asked in a flirtatious tone which Domand had not heard of since joining the Imperial Guard. "The monsters getting at you again?"

"No," said Domand. Fakking women! Fakking combat women! He couldn't turn his gaze away from her perfect body. Emperor! have her join me on the floor..."just keeping my wits sharp."

Veloska stalked over to the grounded Domand, her body glove revealing her hips every movement. She held out her hand to help him up. Domand's trance was shattered at the gesture. He quickly stood up towering well a head and a half above her. "Not happening." Domand said rudely.

Veloska retracted her hand as quickly as she presented it. "Men!" she shouted in digust in his face and stomped out of the room.

Domand shook his head and walked over to the desk. He scooped up one of the Mk Vs and inserted the steel cell into the cell port, armed it then let the rifle hang loose on his shoulder on its strap. He grabbed his pack with webbing attached and dumped the remaining cells into the pack. DOmand put his arms through his webbings arm slots and buckled all the fasteners. He shecked that the las pistol in his shoulder holster under his right arm was charged and ready for action. As he finished up equipping his kit, Domand grabbed the butt-less shotgun he kept in the south corner of the room. He made sure it was loaded before locking it on under the barrel of his las gun.

Domand smiled.

Now he felt safe.



II

The Mess was also quiet and empty. Cooks sat on the stoves in the back kitchen, bored. The chefs in the front sat up on the counters and quietly talked to each other. A few were attempting to play a game of regicide with various ingredients. It was just to pass time till 08.00. The dreaded hour, some were actually afraid of it since it was when-

The doors to "The Grunt Trough" burst open and soon the mess was filled with thousands of troops from the 47th Cadian Infantry. The troopers swarmed the lines like flies on leftovers.

The grunt Trough was soon filled with loud talking, swearing, and orders from the Corporals which went unheard in the screaming mass of the Infantry troopers.

But this was not what the Chefs were bothered about. It was only 07.59, the one they dreaded came in at exactly 08.00. Exactly.

The doors opened again as six adepts of the Mechanicus strode into the mess to bless the kitchen machines to work in over time. The Enginseers spoke amongst themselves as they went into the back kitchen.

Though the tech priests spoke in their language of binary, this did not bother the cooks either since they only inspected the equipment every other week. It was now 08.01 Imperial Standard ans still no sign of-

Out of nowhere the man appeared. He simply seemed to have manifested himself in front of Chef Dawson, like he did each day for the last thirteen weeks. Dawson felt his spine shudder as he looked at the man before him. The man wore a black cloth which was wrapped across his eyes and wore a simple dull black robe. Dawson had no idea who the man was in front of him other than he's part of some special unit. He always felt cold when the man entered the mess. The man with the wrapped eyes always smiled to Dawson and showed him simple courtesy, but there was just something about him that Dawson couldn't trust. Something he'd never trust.

The man with the wrapped eyes smiled, "Good morning Chef...Dawson was it?" he asked.

"Y-yes thats me," Dawson stammered trying not to look at where his eyes would be, "just the usual sir?"

The smile remained stretched across the man with the wrapped eye's face, "Yes. Please, though if you could add a bit less salt, that would be much appreciated."

"Of course sir. I'll see to it myself."

The man with the wrapped eyes nodded, made the sign of the aquila, then melted away into the frenzied Guardsmen.

Damn it. Now I have to get harassed by those fakk head commandos.



III

Kiv materialized back into his seat.

"Make the head chef piss himself again Kiv?" asked the hulking beast of a man known as Dirt.

The psyker turned his wrapped eyed gaze to face the man-giant, "It would seem that way." Kiv said with his cool, slow voice, "They all despise my existence. They do not trust me."

"Thats because their used to seeing the Black Ships descend from the sky when the first fakk head civilian screams 'Witch!'"

Kiv managed a slight chuckled before turning his gaze down at the thousands of Guardsmen on the lower level.

"I sense one hundred thirty-five down there," Kiv siged.

Dirt turned his attention down at the masses, "Potential psykers?" he asked.

Kiv nodded, "Indeed. Though their power will most likely never awaken."

"Heh," chuckled Dirt darkly, "Till one of their heads burst open and a daemon leaps out and slaughters them all."

Kiv became slightly annoyed whenever the brute would make snide remarks about psykers. It was his fault for mentioning the one hundred thirty-five potentials to Dirt anyways. As Kiv turned his attention back to Dirt he sensed that Chef Dawson enter the room.

The chef presented them with a platter of various foods, some steaming and sizzling, while others leaked the sugary fluids of temporary paradise. "Anything else?" the chef asked.

"Yeah, change your fakking trousers," sneered Dirt.

Dawson glared at the commando before he briskly nodded and walked out of the room.

Though Dirst couldn't see it, he knew Kiv was giving him the 'grim look.'

"I didn't do nothin'." remarked Dirt as he bit into one of the sizzling meats.

They only dread me because they know they have to come up here and deal with you," spat Kiv.

"Don't worry Kiv, it's just character building is all, "one of the fruits exploded in Dirt's mouth and the juicy liquid rolled out of his mouth, "plus we wouldn't want these guys to go around and act like those tech priests, just husks and no emotion what so-"

"Just like psykers?" Kiv said angerly.

Dirt sighed a sympathetic sigh, "Hey you know thats not where I was going with that."

Annoyed by Dirt's arrogance, Kiv got up and left the room.

+Briefing at 08.30. Do not be late.+ Kiv's psyche voice stabbed into Dirt's mind like a thousand ice shivs.

"Gah! Fakk!" Dirt wailed, "I said I was sorry!"

+No. No you did not.+

Dirt flopped out of his chair and as his skull connected with the floor the last thought to pass through his mind, Damnit Kiv! Now I'm going to be la-

He lost consciousness as his body finally met the floor.




Well there's chapter one, I hope you guys liked it!
So so far we've got the gunslinger, the "knife bitch," a psyker (who seems to be quite the complainer about how he is viewed by others. Get over it!), and well the donkey-cave I guess.
I hope to have more of this up but now its time for bed and to try and kick this cold before it settles.

That "Just like psykers?" comment seemed a little forced, and the wanton display of power unproffessional. Still, I enjoyed it. Please, do continue.

Chapter II

I

The dull red light filled the Valkyrie's hold with a dark glow that suited the unfriendly mood in the air. For the most part the eight figures sitting on the benches kept to themselves. Floating around in the air of unfriendliness was the strange awkward silence; as though someone wanted to smash the ice with conversation.

We're a fakked up group, Dirt thought as he took a long drag off his lho stick and leaned back. Pitching his head to the left he saw Kiv with his head bowed; his left hand held his powerful runestaff and an aquila in his right. In all his one-hundred two years annihilating the enemies of the Emperor, Dirt had never met a more devoted man than Eshaan Palomas Kiv. Sure, he had met his share of over-zealous Inquisitors and soap box-mounted Ecclesiarchs, and none of them met the quarter of pure devotion Kiv gave to the Emperor. Dirt had never met a more powerful psyker than Kiv either, unfortunately with his power came the fear that his body would be torn open, spilling out a warp daemon hell-bent on the destruction of all. Kiv had told Dirt that he did not feel the temptations of the warp like other psykers do, he had said his gift was bestowed by the Emperor, and in return used every bit of down-time to pray to Him. Since he fully believed in the God-Emperor, Kiv had explained that his faith formed a sort of spiritual armor; an Armour of Contempt he called it. But that is when Kiv went on about some big-wig Inquisitor, a handful of dog troopers, and their commissar being immune to chaos taint and warp temptations. Or something along those lines.

The psyker turned his veiled gaze and nodded once to Dirt. He returned the gesture.

+How's your head?+

Throbs like I've been drinking for a week. Dosen't help much when you make it feel like my brain is being impailed by knvives.

+I was...out of line earlier.+

Dirt shrugged.

+At least you were not late to the briefing+

Dirt's obnoxious laugh shattered the silence attracting the eyes of the other six. The red cloaked head of the tech-priest whirred back to looking straight ahead as quick as it turned to observe. In the corner the convict shifted his eyes and observed the laughing hulk with predator eyes. Across from Dirt the two Kasrkin gave each other puzzled looks under their face masks. To Dirt's left Velsoska Sekov watched him carefully as the blade of her boot knife scrapped across the whetstone in her right hand. To her left, Gaz Domand placed his left hand on his shoulder holster; his head forward and shifty eyes looking off to the right.

+About time someone broke the silence. Glad that someone was you.+

Dirt's laugh died down, "Sorry, I remembered a joke an old buddy of mine told me about a group of Sororitas getting stuck in a Guard Mess." The eyes shifted away as quick as they had turned.

+You have always been good at that.+

Dirt took another drag of lho smoke before resuming his thought-talk. Good at what?

+Getting unwanted attention.+

Yeah, the attention you ping on me.

Kiv's shrill laughter filled the compartment.



II

The Valkyrie's engines slowed before going into hovering pattern thirty meters above the tree tops. Inside the hold the red light flashed as the ramp was lowered, blowing fresh air and sunlight into the dank compartment. The eight 'specialists' stood up and shuffled over to the ramp. Two thick para-ropes descended down into the ominous shadows of the trees. Keryn Nihila; the Kasrkin sniper, stepped forward and grasped the para-rope with her small gloved hands. Next to her the pale-skinned Convict stepped up and took ahold of the second rope. Keryn glanced over at the heavy-tattooed man. He wore a simple black Guard Issue flak vest, with olive trousers, and high brown boots. On his left boot a jump knife was strapped tightly. An old M-73 autogun was locked across his chest. He wore a standard issue Guard equipment belt with every pouch filled with spare magazines with a strip of dark red tape on the bottom. As she brought her gaze around, she noticed he had a 'XIII' scared into his flesh under his right eye.

A heavily gloved hand patted her right shoulder twice. Keryn turned her head.

Kasrkin Sergeant Novess Candon gave her the 'thumbs-up,' meaning her gear was secure and ready to go when the pilot flipped on the green light. She thanked him with an affirmative nod.

Keryn felt the anxiety welling up inside her. Throw on the fraking light already! They were exposed just sitting here. What are they waiting for? She wondered.

After what felt like an eternity (in reality it was only fifteen seconds since the ramp had been lowered), the light flicked to a bright green. "Give those green bastards hell Death Squad," the pilot's voice crackled over the wall vox.

Candon's deep, commanding voice filled her ears, "Go go go!"

Her grip tightened on the para-rope as she stepped off the ramp. At the last second the Convict turned his eyes to meet hers. His fierce yellow eyes caused her to hesitate. A wicked smile stretched across his face and winked. That fraker-. He soon disappeared into the green treetops. Regaining her composure, Sergeant Keryn Nihila rappeled down after him into the dark canopies below.

Shadexblu wrote:Keryn Nihila; the Kasrkin sniper, stepped forward and grasped the para-rope with her small gloved hands.

You used the semi-colon wrong here. It is used to unite two closely related independant clauses; that is to say, two sentences that could grammatically be seperate, yet should be kept together to complete the thought. A simple apostrophy would have suited here. That aside, I think you should show us the point before just arriving at it. Why are they there? Good work, keep it up.

I was sort of having a debate over WHAT exactly I wanted them to be smashin up. Its pointed out that the Guard have engaged Orks on this world they are on. I wanted to think out the enemy a little bit before I go say, "Hey see that big Warboss? Yeah! hes bad go kill him and everything around him!"

So maybe Orks may not be the only thing the Imperials have to watch out for!

Your critiquing has been very helpful! Everything will soon be explained!

And thanks for the example, I over-think when I think I need a semi colon.

Looking good sir, as others have pointed out there are room for improvement but still its great.

Nice

kravus master of Horus wrote:Nice

Kravus write a longer post.
Nice story you've got here,

I like what you have so far. Could use some proof reading but so could most of the stuff from the BL :p. Can't wait to read more. I for one prefer Guard vs. Orks it seems more natural to write about and I haven't gotten bored of it yet.

Yay finally got the next bit up. Was hoping to have it up by this last weekend but our local game store had a lock in so yeah no sleep and 40k all night long woo! Hope you enjoy, remember comments and criticism are much appreciated!




3550999.M41
Planet: Theta 4-15
Imperial Stronghold: Omega 7-4

Chapter Three

I

"This is ridiculous!"

"Enough, Regis!"

"But sir, if I may-"

"Your charge has been noted, Colonel. My decision remains unchanged."

Colonel Atellis Regis sat back in his seat, defeated.

Its your name on this General...

"For clarification sir," Regis' voice rattled, "Why can we not send in a real unit to handle this situation? It is only a minor excavation site, Lord."

From the deep shadows of the massive strategeum, Lord General Praetus Sigismund rose from his towering support chair. His great bulk held him at the height of three meters, while giving the impression he was a fat Lord General. He was no where close to fat. The dozen life support systems and augmetics hid under his clothing created the bulbous bulk which spilled out from his waist. He turned to face his second. Sigismund's left eye shone with the violet of Cadian pride, his right a dull blood red of an augmetic. The Lord General opened his gapping maw of a mouth.

"Because Colonel, all of our real units have been committed to pushing back the greenskins and eradicating their very existence from this world. And you know that the men on the western front have been hit by a full counter-offensive," Sigismund took in a deep breath, "What other forces do we have?" his voice low and fierce.

"Request reinforcements from the Warmaster!"

"You know he won't send any," Sigismund said grimly, "He's too damn caught up in glory and pressing through the sector all guns blazing, with most of the veteran units under his command," he closed his one eye, "Just like Macaroth," the Lord General sighed.

"Who sir?" Regis asked.

"Just a long dead Warmaster. Anyways back to the matter at hand," he opened his eye. "You are familiar with the Zeta sector, Colonel?"

Regis tried to recall back to the countless hours of sitting in his room studying the charts and grids of the planet. He couldn't remember a fraking thing.

"Zeta sector, also known as the 'Up-lands,' dense forest which covers an area of approximately 2500 kilometers. Region is known for its 'rain forest' like conditions as well as a great populace of insects. It holds the location of our objective and a blessing from the Omnissiah. Unfortunately, the enemy has full control of that territory. Small strike-team was the most logical choice to secure the objective."

Regis spun around at the sudden monotone voice from behind him. Two figures had entered the strategeum.

"Magos-Explorator Lavres," Sigismund's voice boomed, "I'm glad someone remembered the information about thi-"

"It is my duty to know this world," the monotone voice said. The second figure remained silent at the side of the Tech-Magos. Regis had a un-nerving feeling in his stomach as the second figure cast his ice-blue gaze on him.

"Yes...yes it is Magos," said Sigismund as he held back his rage. He was not used to being cut off while he spoke.

"I assume the recovery team is on its way to secure the objective?" the Magos asked with a slight hint of annoyance.

Regis peered at his chrono, "They should have reached the DZ, Magos," he said.

The Tech-priest nodded his head slowly. The second man had pulled out a cigar and was now taking in long, steady puffs of the white smoke.

"If they reached the DZ," Regis whispered under his breath.

"We could put you in a Valkyrie and send you out to the field," the second man spoke, his voice as hard as nails. "As I have read your record, Colonel Regis, the last time you saw action was forty-two years ago, a sad mark on the record for any Cadian."

Regis bowed his head in shame.

"But we should return to the mission," said the man with the cold blue eyes, "We should expect the team to encounter..."



II

He heard multiple, wet crunches underfoot as his rappel line came to an end. The forest was more unwelcoming on the ground than it had been from the air. The Convict loosened his jacket; frag, it was hot down here! The hold of the Valkyrie had been a comfortable twenty degrees. Now, sweat began to roll down his back and face, down here the temperature had gone up twenty degrees.

Convict unslung his M-73 autogun and stepped forward.

Multiple crunches. What the frag?

As he looked down, Convict realized the ground was moving; what he had first mistook to be the forest floor covered with bark, were actually rot-maggots. The ugly critters averaged fifteen centimeters long and seven wide, their face consisted of three black beady eyes with a matching beak like mouth. The exoskeleton was a transparent brown, revealing the pus-like inards. They popped like over-sized zits when stepped on.

There was another wet crunch from behind him.

It was the Kasrkin.

"Its sweltering down here," Keryn gasped. The humidity was on the rise.

"Climate reminds me of Folgris," Convict said before hinting to the ground, "But more so because of those little bastards."

Keryn looked down and thought she was going to fall over and die. She'd seen men get blown apart and shot to ribbons, but none of that did anything to help the sudden dizziness that overcame her. Her boots were covered with the gooey-gore from the several grubs she squashed. She could hear them squirming along the floor, Their beady eyes focusing on her. Her mouth went dry as she held back the bile scratching at her throat. Pull yourself together!

Convict had an amused look on his face, "You okay, Cadian?" he asked sarcastically.

"I...I-yes-"

Something crashed through the branches above them before hitting the ground with a ka-thunk!

Dirt groaned, half pain, the other for his own stupidity. Kiv completed his graceful decent as Keryn and Convict approached the grounded hulk.

"Don't know how I fakked that up," said Dirt, as he picked himself off the ground, "Musta been the weight of this damn thing," he pointed to the massive tank on his back which fed into a plasma cannon.

"You didn't cut yourself on the way down did you?" asked Convict sternly.

"No, I don't believe I did," said Dirt, looking himself over.

"Good," replied Convict. He walked over to Dirt and plucked a slimey rot-maggot off his shoulder. "Because if you did, these fraggers would be eating their way into it," he held up the maggot for Dirt to see.

Dirt tuned slightly pale before turning a shade of green. He then violently wretched out the delightful breakfast that had been sitting oh so nicely in his stomach.

Keryn almost fell on the ground laughing.



III

Pip squealed with delight. The Gov' was going to be pleased with his work. He had spotted the humie-bird when it flew over Camp Four before it began dropping humies out of it. Pip ran with all the strength his small legs gave him. He would not fail his Gov'.

Gov' would be proud with Pip.



IV

"Ready to go, Magos?" Candon asked the cloaked machine-man. The tech-priest nodded slightly and stepped up to the rappel line.

"Your team is quick, Sergeant. I have calculated that we have only been sitting in the open for twenty-six seconds."

A soft sexy voice flowed from the back of the Valkyrie, "As long as your Lord General pays," Veloska Sekov said from her seat, "I'll happily say I am part of a 'team'."

"Shut your mouth, bitch, "Domand's voice boomed from the few seats over, "Let's get this done."

Veloska raised her eyebrows flirtatiously, "Don't be getting hard on me, Domand," she said slowly.

"We get paid to do His work," he said sternly, "If that means being a team player, so be it."

Veloska shrugged and stood up, "Ready," she said with her sexy voice.

Candon nodded sightly, annoyed. "Alright Magos, your good to go!"

The Magos nodded and took a hold of the rope.



V

"Oi! Watch where ya' goin!...Pip?"

"Gov'! Gov'! I found sumthin' you'd wanna shoot at!" pipped Pip excitedly.

"I know!' said the huge Nob standing before him, "Knuffuh saw da humie bird."

"B-b-but I saws it first!" cried Pip, "Da bird wuz droppin' humies!"

"Dat I already know Pip!" boomed Krov'go, "Youz wuz too slow. As I remembuh I says your punishment wuld be the shokk gun," a cruel grin appeared on the Nob's huge face.

"No! No, no, no, no,no!" pleaded Pip, "Anyfink but dat Gov', please!"

"I told ya, no more failin'," laughed Krov'go as his huge paw closed around Pip's head. The huge Ork turned his attention to the smaller Ork next to him. "Gurt, take some of da' boyz down dat 'ill and give dem humies a good roughin' up."

"Right ya lot!," Gurt bellowed to the mass tide of Orks behind him. "Ya u'rd da Gov', move out!" The mob of Orks took off down the hill, cheering and swinging their choppas in the air.

"Alright boyz," Krov said to the twelve Orks gathered around him, "Time ter' punish dez grots good." The Orks grouping the shokk guns began hitting their chests and hollering war cries.

Luckily for Krov and Gurt, the Valkyrie hovered a kilometer away.



VI

"Well, they sound like disgusting creatures," said Kiv calmly. He was feeling the rot-maggot still clenched in Convict's hand. "What did you say they do to open wounds?"

A disturbing smile crossed Convict's face, "They use their mouth-beak to eat their way into the wound. They're attracted to the scent of blood and will burrow themselves into the wound, sort of like a tick. 'Cept these will cause raw flesh and muscle to decompose due to the toxins that cover their exoskeleton."

"Well the name suits the critters," remarked Kiv.

"You have no idea," Convict replied darkly.

There was a series of crunch, splat, crunch, splat, from behind the group as the rest of the team reached the forest floor.

"Gamma three-two is on the deck. Much thanks Hellfire," Candon spoke into his helmet vox.

The pilot's voice crackled back, "Always a pleasure, Sergeant, "the pilot's distorted voice barked back, "Give 'em some Hell for us. Hellfire out."

The Valkyrie's engines whined as its thrusters went from hover to flight. Candon watched as Hellfire pulled a 180* turn and screamed over the canopies back to base.

Right, now to find this-

A musky scent filled his nostrils. Musky mixed with sweat and pent up testosterone. He unslung the Hellgun strapped over his shoulder and snuggled the stock into the pocket of his left shoulder. The forest had gone un-naturally silent.

The tech priest whirred beside Candon, "Something the matter, Sergeant?" the Magos asked.

He was about to reply when a voice screamed into his microbead, "Contact!" he was sure it was Domand's.

The Kasrkin Sergeant looked up and saw them. A mob of Orks were charging their position screaming garbled war cries and firing their make shift bolt pistols. Candon let his Hellgun crack twice, hitting one of the Orks in leg before the second shot put a smoking hole in its forehead.

"Defensive pattern!" he ordered into his microbead, firing more shots into the oncoming horde. He pushed the tech priest down behind a fallen tree. He was afraid of this. Now the secondary objective now became the primary if contact was made at the DZ: Eradicate the greenskin horde in the Up-lands.

Cool, I like how you took some creative rights with describing the Slugga' as a make-shift bolt gun . Good work so far, keep it up!

Chapter Four

'Up-lands'
DZ: Kilo
1053 hours
Primary Mission Objective: Eliminate the Ork threat in Zeta Sector.
Secondary Mission Objective: Retrieve data from Dig-site 75-B.-Moved to Secondary status due to immediate Ork contact.


I

Keryn hit the ground as the first shots zinged past her head. There was a boulder off to her right where Dirt was blasting away into the oncoming Ork mob with his plasma cannon. She rolled once, fired, rolled twice, an Ork lost the top of its head, and finally rolled behind the boulder.

"Why hello, Ms. Lady," said Dirt in a calm cool voice.

Keryn smiled slightly at the greeting from under her face mask, "Where's the Sergeant?" she shouted over the roar of gunfire and screaming Orks.

Dirt melted a cluster of Orks packed to close together with a blast from his cannon, "Him and the Cogboy are pinned behind that log about thirty meters that-a way," he gestured to his right. Keryn could just makeout a red cloak flapping from behind a distant tree. The dark red, angry shots of a hellgun where also a dead give away.

She cracked off a few shots from her own Hellgun at the Orks in that direction.



II

"Get some!" Three Orks toppled over one another as a hail of las bolts penetrated their torsos. "Get some, ya green bastards!" Gaz Domand laughed as he raked the Orks with his lasgun from the hip. The tree he'd been using as cover had taken a hell of a beating. He was sure the tree would come crashing down, crushing him. He fired another torrent of las fire before sliding back behind the tree.

Domand's blood was up. He loved the adrenaline high of a close fire fight. Munitions criss-crossing the air, the excitement of hearing the dreaded empty 'click' of your weapon as you become overrun. But mainly because he enjoyed watching the las bolts puncture smokey holes in his enemies flesh. Sometimes he would try and shoot a design into his targets, like an aquila or his name. People who have seen him perform his work have always thought it as barbaric and repulsive. He thought of it as an art-form.



III

"This seems like a dire situation, Sergeant," said the mono-tone voice of the tech-magos. He fired a burst from his Mars-pattern AU-7 subgun, "And a change in objective," he said ducking back behind the log.

Lucky us, thought Candon as he let off a crack from his hellgun, blowing off a chunk of Ork jaw. "I estimate ten dead, and about twenty, twenty-five of them left," said the Kasrkin.

"Accurate estimation, Sergeant," the Magos stood up and let out another burst from his subgun, a screaming Ork crashed into the ground, "Now make that eleven dead."

"Im surprised they haven't gotten us into hand-to-hand yet," said Candon killing two Orks with six shots.

"The Witch uses his power," the tech priest said blankly. "And Specialist Domand warned us before they managed to surprise us."

Candon peered over the log aiming for a target, when he saw an Ork firing on his own mob. The Ork looked like a lifeless puppet with its head bowed and rolling around limply. The pistol in its left hand barked death for any Ork that came across its path. The Kasrkin was forced to duck as a hail of gunfire flew his way, but not before witnessing the puppet-Ork charge into two others and bursting into a fiery pyre setting the two other Orks a blaze.

"Quite impressive," the tech-priest murmured.

Filthy warp-magic is what it is, Candon said to himself. I'll make sure the Witch gets a bolt round in the head when he snaps.



IV

The plasma cannon gave one last burp before the fire fight with the Orks concluded.

"They're pulling back?" Keryn asked relieved.

Dirt looked down at the small Kasrkin, "Heh...Kiv's trick must've scared the fighting piss out of them." He slung the massive cannon over his back, "Orks seem to be a superstitious lot as Kiv and I have come to figure out."

"Oh..." said Keryn.

Dirt raised an eyebrow, "Never fought the greenskins before?"

Keryn tried to dodge Dirt's eyes, though the face mask hid hers, "No...I haven't."

Dirt leaned back against the rock they had used as cover, "Well, what have you fought?"

"Mind-less Chaos cultists mostly. I've heard stories of battles against Orks but never actually been in one," said Keryn.

"Well I wouldn't have exactly called this a fight. This was more like target practice. To fight an Ork would be in close combat." Dirt cracked his neck before saying, "You seem kinda green for a Kasrkin."

Keryn felt a sharp jab flow through her body. Her Cadian warrior-hood had been questioned. "This mission was for me to prove to Sergeant Candon that I can hack it in the 171st Kasrkin Regiment, and I'll prove it to you too." Her voice was firm and fierce.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Dirt, "I wasn't trying to scoff your honour but if I may ask, does that mean your not Kasrkin?"

Keryn sighed, "I am but I have no Regiment." She looked back up at Dirt. "Sergeant Candon had requested me for the 171st but I had to 'prove' myself to the Regiment because I'm a woman..."

Dirt nodded and was about to say something when a voice popped on their microbeads.

"Enemy has been repelled, Re-group on my position."

"Right, we should get to the Sergeant before more greenies show up. And more always come," said Dirt professionally.

Keryn nodded her head slowly, the hellgun hung loosely on her right shoulder.

"Don't worry Ms. Lady," said Dirt reassuringly, "Ole' Dirt'll make sure you don't come to any harm. I'll tell the Sergeant you fought well for your first Ork encounter, score a few points for ya." He pushed himself off the rock and began to head to where Sergeant Candon and the Tech-Magos had hunkered down.

Keryn followed behind Dirt wishing that he had said 'your Sergeant' rather than 'Sergeant.'

Here is part one of chapter five, been studying for midterms this week. I hope to have the rest up sometime this weekend if possible. I also wrote a piece this morning that has some ties to Death Squad but is its own story. If you guys would like to see it I'll post it up, just have to change a small bit so it dosent spoil a part of this story . As always criticism and comments are appreciated!

Chapter Five
'Up-lands'
1055 S.T.I. (Standard Imperial Time)


I

The rest of the squad was assembled when Dirt and Keryn arrived. Kiv was sitting on destroyed log which Candon and the Tech-Magos took cover behind. Sekov leaned casually on the trunk of a tree, her left hand caressing the pommel of her blade. Convict and Domand were debating over the durability of the auto gun vs. the lasgun. Kasrkin Sergeant Novess Candon nodded to Dirt and Keryn emerged from the trees.

"Good to see you two still walking."

"Sergeant Nihila and I threw em' some hate," said Dirt. He winked down at Keryn, who nodded in confirmation.

"Good to hear your meeting my expectations," Candon said to Keryn. "We've got a change in mission objective, which will let me witness just how much hate you can push out at these Orks," his tone stiff and intimidating. He turned to the Tech-Magos, "Magos Tovale has the coordinates of the first Ork camp we're gonna be hitting."

The Tech-priest glided forward to the center of the gaggle around him, his hood shrouded his face in a deep shadow. "My gratitude’s Sergeant," his voice human with a slight monotone and distorted ring, "We are to travel to 368.269.2008 which is due North-North-West of our current location." The group all made mental notes or wrote down the coordinates. "It will be a twenty-four point seven three kilometer trip."

"I thought we were going to secure an excavation site," said Domand.

"To go to the site would still require us to destroy some of the Ork camps in this region, Specialist Domand," Tovale said. "Our objective is now to eliminate all the Ork camps in the Up-lands."

"If He wills it..." replied Domand softly.

"Good to hear you understand Specialist Domand," Tovale said matter-of-factly.

"You all have five minutes to clean weapons, nothing fancy," Candon said to the team. "Since Sergeant Nihila is trained as a scout/sniper she gets to take point."

A spark of pride leapt through her body, joyously. "You can count on me, Kasrkin-Sergeant!" her small voice booming with the power of a battle cannon.

Candon smiled under his respirator mask, "That’s what I want to hear, get set-up Sergeant, I want you out there in two minutes."

Keryn nodded and pulled the gun-case off her back and placed it on the ground. The rot-maggots were gone, she noticed as she zipped the case open when she sat down. The long-las was disassembled in the case. She first unhooked the power cables to her hellgun before she stripped the rifle down. She'd heard stories from a Kasrkin, of troopers blowing themselves up because the charge was still flowing through the cables even when the hellgun was on 'Conserve.' And when they would go to disassemble the trigger assembly the cables would send a jolt to the pack they wore on their back causing a chain reaction. Keryn had been terrified by the story and had always disconnected the cables first no matter what. Little did she know, the Kasrkin who told the story would be laughing his arse off at all the greenhorns as they carefully uncoupled the power lines.

Keryn had the hellgun stripped to its components in twenty-two seconds, hardly a record breaker. She grabbed the barrel to the long-las and screwed it into its respected weapon. The long-las was much easier to take apart and put back together than the hellgun. She had the long-las in her hands, ready to go thirty three seconds after placing the case on the ground. She stood up, leaving the two guns in the case on the ground, and tugged out the cameoline cloak in her pack, which she wrapped herself in. Keryn un-strapped her helmet, getting her first breath of outside air in two hours. Her reddish-blonde hair flowed down to her sternum, the sun reflected off her emerald-green eyes as she looked around the forest without her masks tinted visor. She quickly put her flak helmet into the pack.

Dirt was sitting next to Kiv, both watching Keryn set-up.

“Good lookin’ girl,” said Dirt as he picked rot-maggot gut out of his boot.

Kiv smiled, “You had best not be getting any ideas Mr. Hans Milloman.”

“Now that, is a name I haven’t heard in a long time,” Dirt replied to Kiv who was wearing a grin that could challenge Kaptin Badrukk. “Some nerve to call me by my actual name.”

Kiv chuckled, “Somebody has to remind you who you are. It’s what makes you Dirt.”

Dirt looked back at Keryn who was now getting instructions from Candon. “Sometimes I wish I could go back to being Hans,” said Dirt, a small sad smile crossed his face, “Fate’s twisted in its way isn’t it?”

“Some would say we Psykers know best.”

“Ha! Yeah, getting scooped up by the Black Ships and tortured by some sadistic Inquisitor…they would be right.” Dirt leaned back on the log and took a breath of air. “I bet you wish you could go back and just be Father Eshaan Palomas Kiv, Chief Ecclesiarch of Herodor.”