Something new
I quite enjoy exploring new genres. This time, I decided to try a space opera. During the (ongoing) process, I had an idea of something a bit different. The universe is the same as in that other project (the name of which I am not going to tell you, since it would spoil the fun), but the timeline has been moved forward. If you feel I have blatantly ripped Halo or Warhammer 40k, I can only say that I am familiar with neither. The imagery is anyhow pretty much universal in this type of setting, And if you are wondering about those graggs, think of a particularily easily annoyed rhino wearing ballistic armour. =) With this, I present you...
The Fallen
Stein stood in his scorched battle armour on the high cliff that served them as a bridgehead, looking down at the barren landscape of dull, deep shades of red and orange. His team was preparing for launch while the sun that had burned so fiercely during this operation of theirs settled slowly down beyond the distant horizon, leaving the sky purple in its wake. In all the long years serving the forces he had learned never to look up, for there were no stars in the sky, only the blaze of a thousand ships engaged in combat, their fusion flames too bright to look at, leaving ghostly after-images for hours, even through the radiation-filtering visor of his suit. Up in orbit they were winning, the strategic command constantly whispered in his ear, but down here, on the ground of this strange planet, they had already lost. Somewhere far away, beyond his field of vision the Reavers and their masters were advancing, claiming the ground his troops had given up. Naturally they had left mines in the wake of their retreat to slow down the attacking hordes, but he knew they could not be stopped by such measures. Time was just as limited as their resources, and he wanted to get away before they ran out of either.
He turned around and saw Cromley emerge from the wreckage of their other dropship, caught under fire from the Reaver cannons, crash-landed and damaged beyond repair. They had transferred anything they could salvage into the other, intact ship. Their comrades who had died in combat they had carried into the wreckage, turning the ruined ship a final resting place of their lost friends. Cromley came to him, carrying a battered device in her hand. The only thing that revealed her as a woman was the name tag on the left breast of her armour suit. The thought briefly occurred to him that because of the heavy armour they all looked more like robots than people. And yet the suits, hermetically sealed against the vacuum of space and able to withstand a direct hit from a 150mm explosive cannon round, could be torn open in an instant by a charging Reaver, exposing the ultimately quite frail human inside.
“Ufar, a storm is brewing in the west,” Cromley said to him.
“Yes. We must leave before we are caught by it. Or the Reavers. Is everything ready?”
“They are still running the pre-flight diagnostics. Should take no more than fifteen minutes, twenty tops. But we are low on fuel.”
“I know. It should be enough, though. Are you done with Osiris G?” he gestured towards the wreckage.
“All set. Here's the remote,” she handed out the device.
“You hold on to it, for a while. And by the way, forget the rank.”
“As you say.”
A silence descended, and they both observed the horizon. It was getting dark, and heat lightning flashed and crackled in the distance, over the rising storm.
“What are your thoughts on Reaver behaviour? Will they hide from the storm?” Stein asked.
“I don't think so. Those bastards are hardier than graggs. I doubt there is such a storm in the universe that could harm their thick hides.”
“But their masters are another story.”
“True. The Masters will surely hide before the storm breaks. And without the direct control from Masters...”
“The Reavers roam free, attacking anything that moves, even others of their kind.”
“We cannot rely on that. I'm certain that the Masters want to finish us off before the storm. They are at too much risk of losing more of their precious pets if they don't act now.”
“And they don't know our ship probably couldn't take another storm. The last one was bad enough.”
“Cromley,” he said, hesitating for a second, “Maria. When we came here I didn't think we could lose so easily.”
“None of us did.”
“And yet the Guard is thought to be invincible. You saw what those Reavers did to - Kinsey, Giggs, Ishikawa, Woll and all those others...” his voice broke as it formed the names of brothers in arms, loyal soldiers, friends.
“They outnumbered us a thousand times!” she yelled at him, her voice distorted by the suddenly overdriven radio signal. “No one else could have survived that onslaught! We may have lost half of our unit, many of them good friends, but we are still alive! That's all that matters. Alive.”
“The Imperial Guard never surrenders,” he said slowly, recovered now, recalling the old motto from before the war.
“Never,” she replied.
A dying ship streaked the dark sky with a bright line as it fell towards the ground, burning in the thick atmosphere.
“You got that transmitter?” he asked, as if suddenly remembering something.
“Right here.”
“Good. Prime it ready. I think we'll leave a little present for the Reavers.”
With the exception of the pilots, their whole unit, or what was left of it, stood by the aft viewing port, looking at the receding landscape.
“I'm beginning to think that maybe Faust VII wasn't meant for humans,” he said solemnly.
There were some agreeing grunts before Cromley disagreed.
“Bull. Our loss here was merely because we had different priorities. The Reavers were strong on ground, but our ships sunk their entire fleet in orbit! What I'm saying is that they were prepared to fight on the planet, we above it. And still we shot dead over sixty of those beasts for every loss we suffered! And many of their masters, too!”
“She's right boss,” said Vixx, a man born in the high gravity of Pyrian. As a result of his native world, he was a head shorter than Cromley, but wide and heavily built and possibly the strongest individual in the entire Guard. “Had we come in equal numbers, those Reavers wouldn't have stood a chance! Hell, two companies could have done it! We had mere two lances and we did this well! I myself dropped forty-two of them alone.”
“You had the time to count?” Cromley jested drily.
“You're both right,” Stein held a small pause and said, “they must have found the remote already.”
“They're probably sniffing and prodding it right now,” Cromley said, “and Masters are close by. Soon one of them finds the switch and presses it.”
“What happens then?” Vixx asked, but no one had the chance to answer him.
Their little bridgehead on the planet below burned for an instant like the core of a sun, as the device Cromley had set up persuaded the little particles that occupied the matter in its heart to give away a small portion of their energy. Their broken ship, Osiris G, and it's contents vaporised instantly, taking with them the hordes of Reavers and Masters that had gathered around the ship and the remote detonator they had left beside it. The hot shock wave of the blast shook their ship roughly, then had gone, and as the brightness eventually died, they saw above the vanished hill a gigantic mushroom cloud reaching through the atmosphere, an intimidating pillar of smoke rising from the funeral pyre of the fallen.
The Fallen
Stein stood in his scorched battle armour on the high cliff that served them as a bridgehead, looking down at the barren landscape of dull, deep shades of red and orange. His team was preparing for launch while the sun that had burned so fiercely during this operation of theirs settled slowly down beyond the distant horizon, leaving the sky purple in its wake. In all the long years serving the forces he had learned never to look up, for there were no stars in the sky, only the blaze of a thousand ships engaged in combat, their fusion flames too bright to look at, leaving ghostly after-images for hours, even through the radiation-filtering visor of his suit. Up in orbit they were winning, the strategic command constantly whispered in his ear, but down here, on the ground of this strange planet, they had already lost. Somewhere far away, beyond his field of vision the Reavers and their masters were advancing, claiming the ground his troops had given up. Naturally they had left mines in the wake of their retreat to slow down the attacking hordes, but he knew they could not be stopped by such measures. Time was just as limited as their resources, and he wanted to get away before they ran out of either.
He turned around and saw Cromley emerge from the wreckage of their other dropship, caught under fire from the Reaver cannons, crash-landed and damaged beyond repair. They had transferred anything they could salvage into the other, intact ship. Their comrades who had died in combat they had carried into the wreckage, turning the ruined ship a final resting place of their lost friends. Cromley came to him, carrying a battered device in her hand. The only thing that revealed her as a woman was the name tag on the left breast of her armour suit. The thought briefly occurred to him that because of the heavy armour they all looked more like robots than people. And yet the suits, hermetically sealed against the vacuum of space and able to withstand a direct hit from a 150mm explosive cannon round, could be torn open in an instant by a charging Reaver, exposing the ultimately quite frail human inside.
“Ufar, a storm is brewing in the west,” Cromley said to him.
“Yes. We must leave before we are caught by it. Or the Reavers. Is everything ready?”
“They are still running the pre-flight diagnostics. Should take no more than fifteen minutes, twenty tops. But we are low on fuel.”
“I know. It should be enough, though. Are you done with Osiris G?” he gestured towards the wreckage.
“All set. Here's the remote,” she handed out the device.
“You hold on to it, for a while. And by the way, forget the rank.”
“As you say.”
A silence descended, and they both observed the horizon. It was getting dark, and heat lightning flashed and crackled in the distance, over the rising storm.
“What are your thoughts on Reaver behaviour? Will they hide from the storm?” Stein asked.
“I don't think so. Those bastards are hardier than graggs. I doubt there is such a storm in the universe that could harm their thick hides.”
“But their masters are another story.”
“True. The Masters will surely hide before the storm breaks. And without the direct control from Masters...”
“The Reavers roam free, attacking anything that moves, even others of their kind.”
“We cannot rely on that. I'm certain that the Masters want to finish us off before the storm. They are at too much risk of losing more of their precious pets if they don't act now.”
“And they don't know our ship probably couldn't take another storm. The last one was bad enough.”
“Cromley,” he said, hesitating for a second, “Maria. When we came here I didn't think we could lose so easily.”
“None of us did.”
“And yet the Guard is thought to be invincible. You saw what those Reavers did to - Kinsey, Giggs, Ishikawa, Woll and all those others...” his voice broke as it formed the names of brothers in arms, loyal soldiers, friends.
“They outnumbered us a thousand times!” she yelled at him, her voice distorted by the suddenly overdriven radio signal. “No one else could have survived that onslaught! We may have lost half of our unit, many of them good friends, but we are still alive! That's all that matters. Alive.”
“The Imperial Guard never surrenders,” he said slowly, recovered now, recalling the old motto from before the war.
“Never,” she replied.
A dying ship streaked the dark sky with a bright line as it fell towards the ground, burning in the thick atmosphere.
“You got that transmitter?” he asked, as if suddenly remembering something.
“Right here.”
“Good. Prime it ready. I think we'll leave a little present for the Reavers.”
With the exception of the pilots, their whole unit, or what was left of it, stood by the aft viewing port, looking at the receding landscape.
“I'm beginning to think that maybe Faust VII wasn't meant for humans,” he said solemnly.
There were some agreeing grunts before Cromley disagreed.
“Bull. Our loss here was merely because we had different priorities. The Reavers were strong on ground, but our ships sunk their entire fleet in orbit! What I'm saying is that they were prepared to fight on the planet, we above it. And still we shot dead over sixty of those beasts for every loss we suffered! And many of their masters, too!”
“She's right boss,” said Vixx, a man born in the high gravity of Pyrian. As a result of his native world, he was a head shorter than Cromley, but wide and heavily built and possibly the strongest individual in the entire Guard. “Had we come in equal numbers, those Reavers wouldn't have stood a chance! Hell, two companies could have done it! We had mere two lances and we did this well! I myself dropped forty-two of them alone.”
“You had the time to count?” Cromley jested drily.
“You're both right,” Stein held a small pause and said, “they must have found the remote already.”
“They're probably sniffing and prodding it right now,” Cromley said, “and Masters are close by. Soon one of them finds the switch and presses it.”
“What happens then?” Vixx asked, but no one had the chance to answer him.
Their little bridgehead on the planet below burned for an instant like the core of a sun, as the device Cromley had set up persuaded the little particles that occupied the matter in its heart to give away a small portion of their energy. Their broken ship, Osiris G, and it's contents vaporised instantly, taking with them the hordes of Reavers and Masters that had gathered around the ship and the remote detonator they had left beside it. The hot shock wave of the blast shook their ship roughly, then had gone, and as the brightness eventually died, they saw above the vanished hill a gigantic mushroom cloud reaching through the atmosphere, an intimidating pillar of smoke rising from the funeral pyre of the fallen.