Planetside: Near the Reaver Base.Private First Class Hywel Diez. or “Skidz”as he was better known to his squadmates, hated walking point. He'd never shaken the feeling, not since basic training, that he was just a walking target. The sacrificial lamb or forlorn hope whose noble end would act as a warning for the others. And he sincerely doubted he'd get much satisfaction from knowing that he'd be avenged.
So when the call came through the comm for him to switch over, he heaved a sigh of relief, crouching in the muck, eyes squinting as he peered forward through the undergrowth. He didn't mind the dirt so much, anything that obscured the bright white armour he had on was welcome.
He hated woods. He remembered the first time he'd seen them, wide eyed wonder being his overwhelming emotion while others had sneered mockingly. When you scrapped for every bit of moisture you could get, seeing lush wet woodland was a shock. It had faded fast.
Still beats being a dirt farmer though, he thought idly.
Eighteen years on Brudny had been eighteen too many. He'd shipped off soon as possible and never looked back. His younger brothers would be there to work the farm and he'd likely just get caught up in a blood-feud or be stuck eking out a living on some croft, paying his annual tithe to the governor.
Maybe the bush isn't so bad afterall.
Third squad had fanned out to cut right through the brush, keeping loose contact with their comrades in fourth. Their buddies in first and second were coming round from the other side. But the growth was so dense they'd found themselves being channelled in. A couple of small trails had been found but they'd no sooner got on them then they were ordered off. He stayed crouched as the next trooper, Kmoch, moved up to take his place in the line. “I need to take a piss” he muttered. “Just count yourself lucky it's not number two then Skidz” the other retorted. Inside his helmet, Skidz grimaced, one unlucky incident and a nickname stuck to you like a bad smell.
He waited for Kmoch to move on a bit further before following him, keeping his finger just off the trigger and his eyes roving left and right. Frackin' locals, they hadn't even set up decent pic-
The shockwave knocked him off his feet and sent him sprawling. It saved his life. Skidz was rolling onto his back when the spring mine went off and decapitated the new guy next in line. His body crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut. A shredder blew out like a massive shotgun blast, sending flechettes and slivers of metal into the formation, screams following the detonation. Streams of blaster fire began to sweep the ambush zone, red bolts flashing in at waist height. Rory made a break for the left flank, made it two steps and was scythed down by the intersecting fire.
“Forward element, report over!” it was the Lieutenant, screaming over the comm, no doubt praying to whatever he held dear that someone, something had survived. “Corporal, respond!”. Skidz gaze flashed to the right where he'd last seen the NCO. A smell of cooked meat was overwhelming his helmet filters, a limb blackened and burnt was draped on a branch, a perfect scorched circle marking where the plasma mine had immolated him.
“Six, this is Three, we're pinned down sir, they're dug in” he was shocked how calm his voice sounded “Hold on Three, Four is moving to help” came the grim response “Recommend popping smoke”. Still lying on his back, Skidz felt his blood run cold as he saw dim figures moving on the flank. He fired wildly, not sure if he'd clipped one or they'd just gone into cover.
He rolled onto his front and shoving his rifle forward, began to shoot into the brush. Ahead of him Kmoch was working his way slowly forward, right to a tree. Rising up to his knees, he primed and lobbed a grenade. A figure emerged from the undergrowth ahead of them a second before a blast removed the body from view.
On the other side Maike had made it into cover and was firing in bursts with her repeating blaster. The heavier weapons fire had set small parts of the brush alight, she was firing just as wild as the ambushers. The suppression had some effect, it made it possible for Skidz to move.
Crawling, Skidz began to make his way forward again, encouraged by the covering fire. Kmoch risked a look back at him. “I think if we-” his thought never finished as a blaster bolt blasted right into his respirator. Skidz tried to worm his way into the earth as bolts singed the air above him. One kissed the top of his helmet, the sudden jolt of heat making him yelp. He primed a detonater and lobbed it ahead. The blast might have been wide but it did a lot for his comfort. And it fought off that animal desire to dig a burrow and never emerge into the daylight again.
A young tree groaned in sympathy as yet another bolt hit it head on. Weakened from explosions and repeated hits, it teetered, wailed and hit the ground hard enough that Skidz felt it. It was a chance gifted by the stars and he took it, half crawling and half scrambling for the flank, using the fallen trunk for cover. He moved on all fours, rifle abandoned, like an animal, just wanting to get away from the noise, the smell. He'd lost his helmet somewhere, he didn't know where. He didn't care.
He tripped and sprawled across a corpse. One of his squad, he couldn't make out the insignia. Robotically, his hands began to pry at the harness on the dead stormtrooper, taking two or three attempts, his entire body shaking.
He wasn't quite aware of what he was doing as he lurched through the trees, the weapons fire and chaos seeming far off in his mind. There! A loader moved to a crouch to pick up a fresh power pack for their heavy repeater, she froze as she spotted the dishevelled stormtrooper emerging from the trees. It wasn't his wild eyed look that gave her pause, it was the flamethrower gripped firmly in his hands.
Skidz burnt both the loader and her gunner. He ran forward and burnt a pirate who was emerging from a shell scrape. He held the trigger down and burnt. The flamethrower howling a hot wind of death as he washed bright orange and red flame across everything in his path. Gouts of cleansing fury overwhelmed the ambushers as Skidz howled along with the sound of the flames. Skidz was at the centre of an inferno, tongues of fire caressing everything with its deadly kiss. He ignored the shouts, the panic, the blaster shots. He just burnt whatever he could, the cone of flames dancing wherever he aimed it. With a sob, he turned and played the flames across the corpses, cackling and screaming.
The attackers had already broken, fleeing to regroup, pulling back into the brush. He stood alone in the charred, blackened undergrowth watching as flames licked along dead wood or burnt themselves on green leaves.
By then the flamethrower was empty, Fourth squad and Maike had to pry it from his hands.
Onboard the E-9 en route to the orbiting VE Fleet.
Cathal had the shock of his life as the pilot's mouth began to open but instead another voice chimed in. The materialisation of the AI nearly gave him a heart attack, he was scrabbling for his sidearm until he realised it was just a hologram.
WhatthefrackisthatfrackingfethingthingMachasaveusI'mnotlettingthemshipmespacesideag-
What came out in a slightly more articulate manner was “The...the ship is talking”. A moment later as if from an afterthought, “Feth”. Awkwardly rebuckling his holster, his features frowned as he replayed the words. "What's impervious?"
Coillte being the colonial backwater it was, advanced artificial intelligence was the subject of hushed fireside tales and akin to boogeymen. Droids were restrained when not in use and advanced tech eyed dubiously. Primitive by coreworld standards, he probably seemed about to dance with fire and try to smash up the console.
He eyed the AI suspiciously, taking a step back as the by play between the pilot and it continued. No way he was thinking of that thing as a she. He bit his lip thoughtfully, not too comforted by what he was hearing. "Are you qualified to fly this?" he asked warily, his voice low.
"Answer: Irrelevant. Query is from an individual with insufficient experience. Answer is not required". Cathal groaned and opened his mouth to speak but Noma continued "Observation: Based on the intelligence estimates of both lifeforms-" Cathal put his hands over his ears for a moment and swore quite viciously in Coilltean.
"Is. There. Any. Way. We. Can. Turn. It. Off" he said slowly and quietly through his teeth, trying not to move his mouth. The AI rolled her eyes "Information: My communication suite is such that attempts to disguise dialogue by voice modulation or delivery is futile." Cathal's blood boiled. The AI chimed in again, "Correction: Pathetic".
"I'm not cargo" he told the AI, reluctantly forcing himself to confront it. The educated voice was smug, "Correction: You are insufficient and surplus to our needs. Your lack of skills and training renders you even inferior to this substandard human currently attempting to pilot this vessel" His face was red as Makenna's now.
"I hate machines" he told Makenna, "I don't care if you just graduated, I'm happier with you piloting than this-" he muttered something in Coilltean, guttural and full of vowels. Noma frowned "Observation: Subject is of inferior birth and education. Summation: Desperation is leading the Empire to lower recruitment standards". Cathal restrained himself from smashing the console with his rifle stock.
[STC] Private 1st Class Cathal "Swamprat" Mckarthaigh.