Still working on First Contact, just somehow managed to write myself into a kerfuffle where I have an ending and a beginning, but the middle..
However, somewhere in the long run, this will somehow tie into the rest of the adventures of the 102nd Expeditionary Fleet under the command of the Rogue Trader Militant Beauchamp.
Who knows, maybe this is all taking place on Minerva?
+ + +
Number seven.
Female.
Adolescent.
Eyes: brown.
Hair: blonde.
No distinctive marks visible so far.
Note: massive trauma suffered, body below abdomen missing.
The medic looked up from her scribbled observation, studying what remained of the body again. Massive trauma was the politest way to describe what she saw: a young woman torn in two, the bottom half of her body absent, somewhere nearby, discarded like refuse by her opponent no doubt.
It was a violent way to die, the poor thing. And yet, her pale face, bloodied and marred, yet somehow serene. It reminded the medic of the plastic face used on CPR dummies. Had she accepted her fate as it happened, or did it occur while she lay there, life rapidly leaving her destroyed body? She looked so young, too young.
How old was she?
Reluctantly a gloved hand slid inside the jacket and gingerly pulled the cognomen discs free. There was a sigh as the poor things date of birth was discovered. Only just seventeen, still very much a child on her way to womanhood, such a waste of potential. But, wars were greedy and indiscriminate, their opponents certainly did not care what they were laying into. Both discs were torn free from their chain, one disappeared into a pouch after her name and age were written down, the other was gingerly put in the mouth of the dead girl. Almost as an afterthought the gloved hand slid over the eyes, shutting them. She may be dead, but it was the least that could be done for her. It felt respectful, it felt right.
'May you find peace in your next life,' the medic quietly muttered, closing her own eyes for a moment. May your next one be lived to the fullest, she added mentally. She was getting too involved again, something she had promised she wouldn't do any more. She opened them again, giving the girl one last look before moving on. The medic made a mental note to keep an eye out for the rest of her body, as hopeless as it was, it felt like the right thing to do, the dead being buried as intact as possible.
Karoline Rockatansky sighed at the task. This wasn't a battlefield she was searching through, it was a charnel house, the beasts fought with reckless abandon, leaving few wounded, they were too thorough in killing everything they came across.
She was about to make her way over to a clawed hand sticking out from the lip of a crater when she heard something that didn't belong. Something other than the soft blow of the wind and the cawing of the always hungry birds flying overhead. It sounded like the purring of a mechanical device.
Dropping down into a crouch Karoline focused, slowly moving her head around, trying to find the source of the sound. There is was again, the purr of something that sounded an awful lot like a saw. It was followed by a horrible wet crunching sound and something that sounded like laughter, only the sound came from a monster's throat.
Rising from the crater was one of them: a beast. A massive, deformed mass of green muscle and leather, it's head an ugly misshapen mess of crooked teeth and eyes glowing a malevolent red. How did she not hear it? Was it already here? Damn, could those bastards ever be quiet at the most inopportune of moments.
The beast had not yet noticed her, it admired something in its massive paw for a moment, turning it to and fro before tossing it aside with a dismissive grunt. A severed head landed not far from Karoline, the stump of the neck showing rough cuts where a saw went through it. She was about to quietly back away when it turned and saw Karoline.
She froze, locking gazes with the beast, who likewise paused.
It was a vile thing, as vile as its brethren. It did look different however, sporting a bloodied apron, several rusty and blood encrusted tools dangling from leather loops. Was this one of their medics then? A counterpart to Karoline? Perhaps the beast was thinking likewise, as its ugly mouth curled into an even uglier smile and it started to rumble, as if chuckling. It raised its right arm, a crude mechanical claw where the hand used to be. Each finger ended in a syringe, saw or scalpel. Her eyes were drawn to the saw in particular, which was dripping with blood. Slowly Karoline slid her right hand to her thigh, her gloved fingers carefully grabbing hold of the weapon strapped to her own leg.
The beast took a lumbering step forward and raised its mechanical limb menacingly, growling something in its alien tongue. Karoline simply rose up from her crouch and pulled her own weapon free. There was a
-click- as she cocked it. The beast noticed this and studied the weapon for a moment, before deciding that it probably wasn't much of a threat.
The beast roared its battle cry and charged forward, the saw on its claw whirring into life. It was like looking at an incoming freight train, the way it pounded towards her. She had fought them before and by now knew that they weren't known for their finesse or creativity, the beast clearly telegraphing that it wanted to make a wild horizontal swing, one that would be easily dodged by jumping aside.
Karoline threw herself clear, into a crater full of reeking viscera and gore. She tried to kick herself free of the disgusting muck she found herself in but the beast got to her first, its massive left hand reaching for her and easily lifting her up. It had her by the throat and pulled her in close, the vile stench of its breath making her gag. It started to laugh again as it flexed its right hand, the tools on the end purring and gnashing, no doubt intending to take her head or do something equally sinister with the devices.
Karoline smiled, her white teeth standing out in stark contrast to her gore streaked face, as she brought up her shotgun and shoved it upwards into its open maw, pulling both triggers. Two barrels discharged at once, into the roof of the mouth of the beast and up into whatever passed for a brain. It had the desired effect as the beast spasmed and dropped Karoline, keeling over onto the ground.
Tinnitus lingered for a few moments as Karoline slowly clambered to her feet, looking round to see if there were any more of the things around. As she did so she snapped her weapon open and let the two spent cartridges fly out, quickly reloading it. She flipped it shut again with a deft flick of the wrist, having long since perfected such a simple act.
Satisfied that she was both alone and could feel her hearing return, she turned her attention to the beast she had killed. There had been first stories, then reports that the beasts could shrug off quite the amount of trauma before dropping dead. Seemingly tall tales of soldiers recounting how they kept fighting on despite missing limbs or being blown into pieces. Not this one though.. Two barrels of a shotgun did the trick, the top of the head blown outwards and away.
She spat onto the ruin that was once the head of the beast, then calmly stuck the shotgun back into the holster strapped to her upper leg, giving it an affectionate pat on the grip.
She wasn't the sentimental sort, but the shotgun was something of an exception, as it had at one point belonged to her father, a laird of some stature who enjoyed a good hunt every now and then. It had once been a fine weapon, handmade for the specific purpose of shooting birds, but now, after a night with a saw and file, it was more compact, with most of the barrel and stock removed. It made for a brutishly effective self-defence weapon.
With one last look at the beast Karoline resumed her grim work.
Several hours later she returned to the forward post, caked in dried blood and other fluids. She waved aside the worried sentry with an irritated snarl that she was alright, heading straight for the CO's office, a former store of sorts, now long ransacked of anything worthwhile. Arrayed around the building were several tents, the sorry remnants of what at one point been a company of soldiers, but now whittled down to a platoon, though that was being generous.
She knocked once and didn't wait for a reply, she simply entered. He looked like gak, he had a lot to worry about. Though Karoline probably looked worse, judging by the look she was giving him. Was he shaking?
'Twenty-seven,' she said as she handed him a fist full of cognomen discs. 'There may be more out there, but we both know the beast makes a mess of its victims.'
All the man could utter was a quiet 'damn it' as he let the discs slip from his hand, clattering onto his desk in ones and twos. She gave a nod and left the man to it, he had a lot of letters to write to next of kin before the night was over.
Karoline was about the exit the building when the sudden crack of a pistol discharging made her jump, half-turning to face the source, her right hand half-pulling the shotgun free. She saw her former commanding officer, slumping forward, the side of his head blown out, the contents of his head smeared across the wall. From a limp hand slid his service pistol, still smoking as it thumped to the floor.
A moment later the sentry stormed in, machine pistol drawn. He paused when he saw what had happened, not quite believing it.
'Did he..?'
'He took the coward's way out. You may want to inform sergeant Dolton that she's in charge of this sorry mess now, whether she likes it or not.'
'Crap,' was all the soldier could manage before storming out again. Karoline could hear him repeat the word over and over again outside, louder as each word was accompanied by a kick to the wooden wall, until there was the sound of wood splintering.
She ignored him for a moment, instead gathering the discs from the desk with a weary sigh. Looks like she'd have to write those twenty-seven letters herself.
Exiting the building she found the sentry, panting, a splinter poking from his trouser leg, a blotch of blood around it slowly increasing in size.
'I'm fine,' he snarled, angrily stomping off to find the last remaining NCO still in the camp. Nerves were frayed to say the least. At least he wasn't blowing his brains out like his erstwhile commanding officer, they were going to need all the bodies they had if they would ever stand a chance of..
Who was she kidding? How many of those letters she was to write would ultimately reach someone? The war had raged for a little more than three years now. It had progressed to a stage where they were forced to send kids to their premature deaths because everybody else was already filling a uniform or a shallow grave. Yet the beasts? They showed no signs of growing weak or having their ranks drastically thinned with each battle. It was as if they thrived on war.
She pulled a crumpled carton of cigarettes from the fold of her rolled up sleeve and lit one, gazing dead ahead of her, idly running her thumb over one of the cognomen discs.
They were all screwed, this was a war they could never win.
