+Engage at your discretion, but preservation of the forge spirits is imperative. The avatars of the machine god walk with you, sisters. Further retreat is not an option.+
"I make no promises, Magos. They have my engines outnumbered two to one." Zoerrin growled as she watched the inloaded holographic map. "Factoring in my supporting arms, its a fair fight. I despise fair fights."
She didn't wait for Ankari's response, switching over to her battlegroup comms. Five hundred metres behind her, sheltering in a quarry, where her scouts. Scattered amongst her skitarii where the knights of House Calyx. Her Skitarii were themselves dug in for the moment in scattered trenches, foxholes and craters. A defensive posture. But the highway was clear. Without cover, the few abandoned vehicles provided scant defence against the awesome storm of force bearing down on them, and behind them, Ragnarov itself.
Six titans She was receiving no noospheric, RFID or IFF signatures confirming their allegiance. These would be brother and sister titans, bound by oaths of loyalty to the traitor Delzharian. The acid rain had muted proud heraldic colours and stripped purity seals from hulls. They fight anonymously to hide their shame. Or they no longer believe in the heraldry they once wore.
Two of the forerunning Warhounds were equipped with brutal anti-infantry weapons. Inferno cannon and mega-bolters hung low from weapon limbs. The reavers were equipped for long range, bombardment combat. The two remaining warhounds carried engine slaying weapon limbs, turbo lasers and plasma blast cannons.
Prime objective: Destroy siege crawlers. Secondary objective: Check advance of enemy forces into the defences so that retreating forces can reconstitute. Tertiary objective: preserve our own forces for long term combat. Prime objective and secondary objective conflict with Tertiary objective
The range continued to click down. She had the beginnings of a plan.
"All units, this is Princeps Hange Zoerrin. Micropulse orders to follow."
Hector Rho shuddered as the missive of the angel of the Omnissiah filtered into his specifically mutilated brain. His orders were clear, and he disseminated them to the component units of his force. As one unit, five thousand skitarii rose from cover and advanced into the quarry district, the six knights of House Calyx moving at half stride to keep exact pace. Already, flakk cannon equipped Onagers opened fire, the missile pods shooting down skull-drones as they approached the van of the enemy forces.
To his mind, Princep Zoerrins plan was brilliant. She would force an infantry engagement at close range with the smaller force of skitarii in the van, with the quarries providing cover from direct engine attack. With the Warhounds held back, they could pounce on individual enemy engines as they hunted out the skitarii and the knights supporting them. He estimated less than 50% casualties for his units, and began configuring his formations to optimise his long range support for engine hunting and spreading out his units to minimise damage from long range fire. This would reduce casualties to less than 37% total, and give his Onagers and Kataphrons more time to address individual Warhounds as they closed for optimal engagement. He further laced his front with several units of Sicarian infiltrators, who loped ahead of his infantry force to make best use of the dilapidated and ruined quarry infrastructure. This plan put the holy engines at minimal risk, and in praise of this decision and the chance to be martyred for the dogmatic creed of Mars and Macarro, he began to cant binharic psalms that were quickly re-transmitted and repeated by all the skitarii under his command. He would meet death gladly, and kill as many of the heretics as possible.
"I repeat. You are to advance to the edge of the river and provide fire support. No more, no less, until the order is given."
Glorious Harmathoe, the Dark Eyed, watched the Vostrayan officers converse in hushed tones they thought she couldn't hear. She rolled her fingers along the haft of her transonic glaive, the long weapon resting on its butt as she pretended not to hear the mere mortals insult her and her two bodyguards. She knew why she was here. Princeps Zoerrin needed the humans to cooperate and follow her orders. And she couldn't technically pull seniority, despite being the ranking Mechanicus commander. The Vostrayans were an allied force, not subordinate.
"We do not understand these orders." One of the officers, a man with a bushy beard, had broken off and now faced off against her. Opposed to another human, this broad chested, thick set and hirsute male would make an intimidating conversational opponent, especially factoring in the pistol and sabre at his belt that he obviously knew how to use. Harmathoe's head of height, heavily muscled frame and intimidating array of inbuilt weapons and armour rather took the wind out of his sails. He coughed, and met her gaze again. "With our chimera, we can advance quickly and hold the enemy in place for your Titans to administer the kills."
Harmathoe shook her head. "You would be flayed apart before you could reach effective weapons range. And the warhounds outmanoeuvre you. When you advance, you can use the river and blind barrage to advance quickly and safely, and then attack the stalled flanks of the siege engines, then retreat across the river. The titans and skitarii will be unlikely to pursue across such an obstacle. My princeps does you a great honour by allowing your regiment the kill."
The officer stroked his beard, and nodded. "I see. Like a boxer. Block with one forearm, strike with the other fist. But how will she stall those great beasts?"
Harmothoe allowed herself a smile. "Get your men into position, and you can find out."
+Target grid set.+
+Give me limb control. Steerswoman, watch the concrete and give me a controlled and steady quarter advance.+
+Steady quarter aye+
Ragnarov was at her back. She tapped into the artillery of the forgeguard, simple tube launchers like basilisks and medusas, and gave them her fire plan and instructed them to wait for her signal.
Sicut Sanguis Rosa stepped onto arterial, facing down the crawling siege engines. The Titans advancing with them immediately tensed, weapon limbs twitching up for a lock even though both sides where beyond effective range. It was like a face off between underhive gunslingers, except this time only one gunslinger had stepped out onto the main street to face a whole gang of hoodlums.
She waited, fingers on the trigger, for the siege engines to advance. At the right moment, she'd drop the road in front of them into a quarry and the bottom of the Javelis, and halt their advance. Then the real fighting would begin.
The massive crawlers filled her auspex like mobile hive stacks. The titans next to them were of a scale to remind her of helots on a feudal world pulling wagons.
The moment came.
"Fire fire fire!" She yelled, and pulled the trigger. Behind her, the forge guard artillery created a sheet of flame that filled the horizon. Almost immediately, Delzharians artillery opened up in response, getting the first punch in an a full scale artillery duel that stretched across 15 kilometres.
But at this, knife point moment, that didn't matter. The shells, and Sicut Sanguis Rosa own fire fell a mere dozen metres from the front of the lead siege crawler. The arterial vanished in a rising wall of flame, earth and torn ferrocrete, and gunshot cracks louder than storm thunder spoke of the terrible infrastructure damage about to occur as buttresses failed and exploded in showers of steel reinforced structure.
With a final, groaning roar, half of the arterial dropped into quarry working Delta-118 and threw up clouds of pulverised rockcrete and dust. The lead siege crawler, its voids flickering from stray shells, ground to a halt, its front track pods overhanging the sudden chasm.
In truth, Hange knew it was a temporary solution. If the machine pushed forwards, slowly, it would be able to grind its way across the obstacle.
But in combat? Effectively immobilised. And with the sucking bed of the Javelis on one side, and the bombed out quarries on the other, the siege crawlers were boxed in on three sides.
+All artillery engage in counterbattery operations. Skitarii, House Calyx, engage at will!+
With a sonorous roar from her war horn, she advanced at half stride, locked the reaver on the left, and opened fire.
Now the real fight would begin.
Last edited by dakkagor; 01-01-2019 at 04:07 PM.
I have seen the future. The future is dead.
We killed it
Less than a day in and they were already ground to a halt in an abandoned machine yard, smoke made the air thick, and nigh unbreathable, and they'd already lost some machines in the tight streets. Now to make matters worse those bloody militia were stuck hugging cover and not even able to make a push.
Thankfully Gustav Minch and his men had already been through this kind of combat before. Cytheria VIII had given Haven experience in tight quarters and dust storms. Gustav and his men wore respirator masks with goggles better suited to the iron deserts of their home world, their Kakki uniforms blended with the dust of their Ocher flak armor, with only the silver pauldrons retaining anything like their original colors. Their Mk 855 MOD 2 lasguns were well adapted, Short, full auto, with an advanced cooling system hidden under the handguards, Haven squads could hold their own, but only for so long.
Then the Commie and his lackey showed up.
"We got melta, but we'll need some time to get them up. We can get grenade launchers on site now and we got a breach capable squad."
Minch flipped switch on his vox.
"Jens we're breaching, third floor, bring demo charges, Mk 103's permitted, We'll open up with a grenade barrage and a volley from Sentinel squad 2's autocannons. "
The brief crackle of static voice acknolwedged the orders and Minch turned to the Commie.
"We got what you need sir, Squad 1 will breach, squad two will follow up, I can give you cover from our walkers and chimeras."
"Life before death,
Strength before weakness,
Journey before destination."
-The First Ideal
“Second platoon, take the left. Third platoon, take the right. First platoon, with me.” Captain Jannet Antheia ordered.
"On it." Lieutenant Ennius of 2nd platoon returned.
"Rodger, Captain." Came the dull reply of 3rd platoon Lieutenant Marcellus.
With that the company split up. The 3 tanks of second platoon applied their tillers, halted and pivoted left. Before moving to secure the further most sections of the machine yard. Third platoon was up next, they pivoted right and moved towards the adjoining road.
They had to button down. Captain Antheia sat in her commanders seat, her eyes moving through each of her cupola's vision blocks. Cities weren't friends to tankers, full of snipers and concealed weapons. That meant no stubber and less vision. The situation was shit, everything was all too familiar it reminded her of the worse parts of the Telfus campaign.
"Gunner, heavy stubber position in the hab block. Loader, HE round." Antheia barked. The Marines weren't here to bail them out this time. It was up to her and her company. They'd come up from the reserves as soon as they got word the advance had stalled. Everything rested on her shoulders, the Guardsmen's lives outsides depended on their success.
Pity grabbed a shell from the ready rack, threw it into the breach and closed it.
Antheia could feel the turret platform turning. Consus had engaged the traverse. His head was placed against the gun sight, his left hand on the gear and right hand on the trigger.
My Fair Lady jerked as their battle cannon fired. Antheia watched as the 120mm smoothbore struck home. There was a cloud of dust and flame. The stubber had fallen silent.
"Keep it up." Antheia said. She reached over to her vox and flicked the dial to company frequency.
"1st platoon, ahead slow. Bring the Exterminator up first. I want that hab block full of autocannon sized holes."
"Aye, ma'am." Squawked the reply.
Manifesto came next. 1st platoons Exterminator roared to life. It's tracks kicking up rocks and dust. It came besides them, its hull lascannon sizzling the air as it fired. Manifesto's gun elevated upwards and its gunner let loose.
"Breach up!" Pity yelled. After sending another HE round home.
"Shot out!" Consus replied, as he pulled the trigger.
My Fair Lady rocked again, their next shot striking the upper levels of the hab block. Sending a mixture of rockcrete and defenders flying. Fausta opened up with My Fair Lady's own heavy bolter. Antheia closed her eyes and sighed, she was glad to be enclosed in armour than be trapped out there with the PBG's (Poor Bloody Guardsmen). She shook her head, there was no time to spare. She flipped the dial of her vox to the local channels.
"This is Captain Antheia, call your targets and use us as cover if you need to. We're close to the objective don't fail Him now." Antheia encouraged.
Last edited by Jarms48; 12-31-2018 at 11:21 AM.
“Second platoon, take the left. Third platoon, take the right. First platoon, with me.” Captain Jannet Antheia ordered.
"On it." Lieutenant Ennius of 2nd platoon returned. Before flicking his tanks vox to platoon frequency. "You heard the Captain, we're going our separate ways. Looks like 1st platoon is going to have the glory of advancing down that road. We're going to attempt an outflank, proceed around the machine yard and drag some of those militia boys with us for support."
Mailbox RTS (Return to Sender) went first. Some of the nearby Militia broke from their cover to take refuge behind the tank as it advanced.
"Careful Mailbox, we've got friendlies." Ennius warned, his eyes monitoring the situation through his cupola.
The crew of Mailbox RTS reduced speed and took the corner as it passed a burnt out Chimera. It traversed right, onto a service road. Behind it Mighty Brazier 2nd platoons Exterminator was doing the same.
"We got incoming!" Barbara, Mailbox RTS's TC called over the vox.
A krak missile struck the upper glacis of Mailbox RTS blowing off sections of its ad-doc track armour. Mighty Brazier was the first to act, its autocannon opened. Streaking lines of autocannon fire across multiple levels of the building. Another missile hit the turret cheek of Mailbox RTS as the battle tank brought its gun to bear.
"Now we know what killed that Chimera. Alerius, high explosive." Commanded Barbara.
Mailbox RTS's battle cannon fired. There was a loud shutter and groan, as a floor of the apartment block gave way under the force of the impact.
"That's why we're called Return to Sender." Quipped Barbara.
Last edited by Jarms48; 09-14-2019 at 11:20 PM.
She almost looked out of place. Gwendolyn strode with grace, and calm movements. Butterflies of light flitted about her, a minor psychic phenomenon that followed her, but with such might as hers, it was to be expected, and it was harmless. Her armor and the toxic environment did little to hinder her natural beauty as her outer coverings blew about in the breeze. Whenever she approached crouching n terrifie militimen, their faces lit up an their fear disappeared. Underneath her mask, she was smiling.
Multilaser fire cracked an would have hit her, had her rosarius not activated an cause the bolts to harmlessly strike its blessed force-field. This caused her to take cover and her Crusader bodyguards to curse silently and form near her, using their shield to give her more cover. Her eyes flashed with anger as she spotted where it was coming from, a window midway up the hab block in front of them. Spotting a ground-truck that had likely been abandoned before the fighting began, she called upon her psychic might and reached out with her hand in a grasping movement. The truck creaked as it was raised slightly off the ground in her mental grip. Butterflies flitted around her more furiously as with a howl of rage and a movement of her arm she flung the truck at the offending party, the multi-ton vehicle smashed into the building, and the impact caused its fuel tanks to explode, an tore a horrid and burning gash in the already peppered hab block. After this display of might, she took a moment to realign her mind and calm down.
She took the vox from her vox officer and delivered a message to her forces. "My children, the poor, lost souls in that hab block have just tried to take my life, show them what happens to those who threaten our family." This really whipped them into shape as how dare they try an shoot a holy maiden. Using tanks as cover, and under the guide of other priests and their squad commanders, half the company moved up, while the other half laid down suppressing fire with their lasguns. This was supported by the addition of weapons teams who had finished setting up in several well-covered places and the crack of heavy bolter fire rang out toward the smoulderng hab block.
Last edited by Azazeal849; 01-03-2019 at 12:43 PM.
PM me for novelised versions of any of my RPs, or ones that I have participated in. Set by the awesome Karma.
+Moderati, three from the box! Get me shields now, divert power from limbs, give me steerage control+
Hange could taste coppery blood and could feel bruises under her tunic. Her joints ached. That last salvo had hurt her more than she would willingly admit. She needed to open up the range again.
She plunged off the road and to her right, three missiles shaking her super structure as they tore free and raced towards the shieldless reaver. One caught on a wisp of re-cohered shields. The other two carved great craters from the reavers carapace. Armour plates fell shattered and the enemy titan sounded its warhorn in rage. The other one stalked forwards, raising its weapon limbs in mock salute before dropping them for a kill shot.
+I need those shields! Reset already!+
The tech priestess canted that she was trying, chest sector right had failed explosively and it was interfering with the reset. Hange wept in pain as a turbo laser beam swept over her shoulders, a wash of blistering heat translated via the MIU. She rotated the titans torso and screamed for the tech priestess to get the left side only up as she turned her machine side on.
+Missile launcher disabled!+ Her moderati canted, fear tinging her voice.
The fields snapped up. A brace of cannon shells fell against the shields, but they held. She fed as much reactor power as she dared into the field emitters and continued to zigzag right.
+Give me the volcano cannon!+
She swung the long weapon up and locked it on the battered enemy reaver. It had advanced and followed its intact comrade, keeping the range while firing its left arm gatling blaster. Its shields were still down, still fighting to re-cohere, the two carapace hits had clearly damaged its own shield projectors.
She dropped the targeting reticule over its acid rain blistered torso and fired.
Glorious Harmathoe watched, eyes narrowed, as the engine duel continued up and down the highway. Hange Zoerrin was a crack pilot with a crack crew, and a superlative tactician. But even she could not fight two equal weight engines and win. She offered a silent prayer to the Omnissiah and turned her attention to the river. Nearby, chimera autocannons fired at the distant siege crawlers and warhounds, who stubbornly remained lurking in the shadow of their charges. Tracer shells created a fine tracer of lights as the elevated heavy weapons lobbed shells into the distance. Above, the roof of the world rippled and pulsed as the artillery argued. She was processing the tacticae feeds from Rho, who, diligent as ever, was broadcasting a blow by blow accounting as his forces overwhelmed the enemy ground units and got chewed up in turn by two warhounds.
It was now that the battle would be decided.
Hector Rho slammed his helmeted head into an enemy skitarii, sending it reeling before a close range plasma pistol shot cored out its torso and dropped it as a collection of smoking limbs into the ankle deep muck. The combat in quarry Alpha-118 was fraught, brutal and one sided. The enemy skitarii were outnumbered and lacking coordination. Even as he hacked his wide bladed power sword through the neck of another enemy, Hector was running the numbers. He had the enemy infantry on the ropes, with a solid 3-1 kill ratio in his favour across this narrow front. But the enemy engines. . . as if summoned by that line of thought, a bellow echoed through the quarry. Looming over his skitarii like an angry graven idol was a warhound, its shields crackling. For a moment a hush fell over the quarry as both sides paused to identify the engine.
Hector Rho squirted a scatter order a second before it fired.
Liquid, sizzling flame poured from one limb, tinged white. Hector Rho thought he caught the smell of phosphex. Delzharian was an innovator, and that innovation might have extended to the engines in his employ. Skitarii melted and burned, turned to stumbling torches or cooked to nothing but twisted wires. The vulcan mega bolter tore into a squad of kataphrons traversing to fire, tearing the combat servitors to pieces in a hail of explosive shots.
At last, Hector Rho was facing his death. He raised his sword in challenge to the great engine of his demise. The warhound turned to face him, identifying him as the leader of the skitarii, and he could feel the cold, contemptuous regard of the princeps in his cockpit, staring down at the insect he was about to crush. The vulcan mega bolter centered on him and his honour guard, and started to spin up.
Explosions rocked across the engines voids, which explosively failed. The warhound turned its head and the weapon turned away, and Hector Rho exulted that today was his day to serve, rather than die.
Levvi Straub raced towards the engine massacring the skitarii.
"Keep it pinned."
Anna and Pietr canted non-verbal confirmations, their knights crossing each other even as they slammed more battlecannon shells and missiles into the warhound at full pace. This was Levvi's kill. He lined up the graviton singularity cannon on the beasts rain washed carapace, and fired. The distortion effect tore into the plating and ripped cooling vents clear. Lighting arced from overtaxed voids. The vulcan came round and Levvi snapped his ion flare field into place. A relic of a gilded age of human technology, few of the massive reactive rounds got through to patter from his forest green armour. He reached the edge of the quarry and slid down the muck, firing his graviton cannon again. This time the blast caught and compressed the engines right hip. Coolant lines tore free, hydraulics shattered. The warhound had been breaking away and nearly toppled as it did so, but its steersman was skilled, correcting the fall in a scream of overtaxed gyros. Prevented from fleeing, it turned its inferno cannon on him. Heat washed through the field an clung to his Knight, and he could feel phosphex bite into his carapace. Levvi fired his laser lance in reply, and the white beam punched into the upgraded weapon, carving it away in a plume of fire that drenched a half dozen enemy skitarii and burned them to less than ash.
Then he hit, full tilt. His shoulder carapace crunched into the underside of the warhound even as his lance carved into the weakened right leg. With a roar of metal, the Titan stumbled backwards, the right leg shearing away. It slammed into the quarry floor and threw out a cascade of slurry as it settled into the waterlogged earth.
Breathing hard, Levvi approached the downed titan with caution, placing his laser lances muzzle against its cockpit.
+Yield and live.+ He canted simply over an open channel. There was a series of dull bangs, and the titans heads shot clear, skidding across the quarry.
+engine kill+ He canted over the open channel. Rho and his skitarii roared their approval.
The other warhound had been harassing the skitarii on the extreme right of the fight. Like its disabled brother, its inferno cannon reeked of phosphex. Its vulcan mega bolter was also modified, its ammunition laced with radium rounds like the skitarii it hunted. Where it walked, death was lingering in its footsteps.
For Hinzer, Ackerman and Venato, this was proving a tough fight. Wary, it was circling and strafing like a hunting bird, not letting the knights pin it in place. Venato's Cerastus Acheron was an infantry murdering machine, and its chainfist would carve through the Warhound. It knew this, and therefore kept its distance. Hinzer, in a Knight Crusader, was keeping the Warhounds shields down, but little else with his battlecannon and his gatling cannon. Slower than the other knights, he was doing little else but harassing the larger machine and sending fire into the occasional enemy skitarii their fight stepped over.
Ackerman in her Errant was probably their best chance at a kill. She had already charred a deep wound in the Warhounds carapace, but she had paid for that privilege with a torrent of fire that had near crippled her. For now, she added shots from her ironstorm missiles to Hinzers occasional infantry bullying.
+anytime you are ready ladies+ Erin canted over the vox.
There was a mocking burp of static in response. Erin cursed. The enemy engine was pumping out massive interference.
The fight turned. Glorious Harmathoe watched as the warhounds burned in at top speed to relieve the pressure on Rosa. Hector Rho, always diligent, always eager, marshaled his skitarii and left the knights to root out the last infantry elements. He now pushed his forces with zeal, cutting left and towards the stalled out siege crawlers, driving the remnant infantry strengths before him.
Last edited by dakkagor; 01-12-2019 at 09:42 PM.
I have seen the future. The future is dead.
We killed it
Midnight and its platoon rolled to a stop on the right flank, the lead tank hugging a smoke-blackened church. A sudden thwak-boom rent the air, as an armour-piercing shell cored through both walls at the corner of the church and then did the same to the tank behind. Aboard Midnight, lieutenant Marcellus felt a thunderbolt of pain and looked down to see the mangled remnants of his left foot. The loader below him was screaming that the driver was dead, while a choking sound announced the gunner coughing his life out red over the tank’s targeting instruments.
Vanquisher. Marcellus thought, his head spinning as he groped for the vox caster. Only a frakking Vanquisher shell could do that…
Marcellus, 3rd Platoon, 2nd Company:
Michael was dead and Uwe was on his way out too. Veterans of Telfus, hardened bastards the both of them. Tears began to swell at his eyes, Marcellus didn't think he could still cry, he thought that well had run dry long ago. Was it the pain or the suffering, he couldn't tell, but he knew what he had to do. With so little time remaining, another round was coming their way the enemy hadn't confirmed their kill.
That was a Vanquisher of all things. If they could load a one-twenty round from the ready rack in 9 - 10 seconds. Then surely a Vanquisher with its longer breech, heavier cartridge and cramped ergonomics meant a return shot had to be at least double that. He couldn't speak for enemy crews loading skill, but their gunner got them with their first shot. That bastard must be good.
Nine. He began counting, assuming the worst possible scenario.
He gritted his teeth and fought through the pain, he couldn't pass out now. Not while Dieter and Peter still had a chance at living. His left hand hit the smoke discharger. He could hear the smoke pots outside make their little thuds as they popped out of their banks.
"Bail out!" He yelled. His vision was getting hazy and he could feel the wetness stream down his cheeks.
Dieter and Peter looked at him. Dieter bemused, as if he didn't know what he was seeing. Marcellus was sure the man had never seen him cry over all these years. They knew him as a cold man, someone who barely showed his emotions.
"Get the fuck out now!" He bellowed again. "Tell the rest of the platoon to back up. Let them know we're up against a Vanquisher."
Marcellus pulled his laspistol out of his holster and placed it against Uwe's head. The lieutenant shut his eyes, he didn't want to see what he was about to do.
"I failed you, you didn't deserve this. You were better than this. Let the Emperor know that." Marcellus said, before he squeezed the trigger and put Uwe out of his misery.
Peter had already thrown open the hull gunners hatch and clambered out into the smoke cloud. Dieter took for the escape hatch on the floor and began crawling on his back to relative safety behind the tank. Marcellus couldn't let them down. He'd already lost two of them, he wouldn't lose another. With the rest of his strength he threw open the commanders hatch on his cupola.
He stood one legged on his chair, his body leaning against the armour. He grasped the heavy stubber with both hands, he fumbled for the bolt and racked it.
He opened up. Red sparks of tracer fire lit up through the smoke as he sprayed rounds in the enemies direction. He didn't care if he hit anyone, this was a last act of defiance, to give Peter and Dieter some suppression as they made a retreat.
Behind him, Peter and Dieter had split up. They were both on their feet, each of them running to a separate tank of their platoon. Peter had disappeared behind Moxie, he went for the infantry telephone. Dieter had done similar, sprinting behind Matchlock the platoons Exterminator.
"You bastards! They didn't deserve to die, not to you!" He didn't know what he was saying. The pain was becoming too much. It was becoming hard to stand. He wanted to rest. He wanted to close his eyes and give up.
Moxie and Matchlock went into full reverse. Moxie's turret had already traversed towards the bored hole through the church. Its battle cannon roared. A smoke shell replied through the gap and stuck towards the rebel positions.
"Seems like Wilhelm is trying to blind them. He was always a smart man." Marcellus said to himself. Reminiscing, a small blood stained smile coming over his lips.
"Looks like the clocks struck Midnight." He laughed, before a blood churning cough took over him. "I guess I was right, they can't reload as fast as us. I'm living on borrowed time."
He could try to escape, he could drag himself out of Midnight and take refuge against the church wall, but there was no point. He failed his men, he'd broke down in front of them. There was only him and the stubber now. Then the rattling of the gun stopped as its belt ran dry.
"I guess it's just me..." He sighed, before slumping over onto the turret roof.
Peter, 3rd Platoon, 2nd Company:
He'd taken refuge behind Moxie, his body pressed up against the armour. He flung open the rear stowage box and pulled off the receiver of the infantry telephone.
"Corporal Muller to Moxie, last orders from Lieutenant Marcellus. There's a Vanquisher in the rail yard, he wants us to back the fuck up. In those words, I'll stay out here with the foot mobiles and spot." Relayed Peter.
"Rodger Corporal, we'll get on the horn to the Captain. She'll need to hear about this." Replied Sergeant Wilhelm.
Peter threw back the receiver and made his way to Dieter. Adrenaline had taken over and by now they both had their laspistols in hand. How long had it been now? Seconds, minutes, hours? It felt like an eternity. The two tankers covered their ears as Moxie fired and they watched as the platoon reversed into safety. Seconds later there was another bang. Their eyes went back to Midnight who's flank had now been pierced and there was black smoke brewing out of the open cupola.
"Lieutenant!" Peter called out. He was about to run for it, he could see Marcellus' body laying lifeless out of the hatch, but Dieter had grabbed him by the shoulders.
"It's too late he's gone!" Dieter screamed, before forcing them onto the ground. "Midnight's going to cook off!"
Last edited by Jarms48; 01-06-2019 at 05:07 AM.
PM me for novelised versions of any of my RPs, or ones that I have participated in. Set by the awesome Karma.