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Charge, he heard the officer scream raising a near useless sword. I ran forward mock-following the orders but had no intention of running into enemy fire, but not deviating within sight of officer. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a bad situation brewing.
Some of new conscript were refusing to fight. A young Cerista man is hesitating. We never spoke, but I heard him screaming on the transportation about his wife and daughter; Which in the Terra-Conformium gets you killed. When the conscript refuse to run, the officer pulled out his sidearm and shot the man. Another conscript, which must be new, charges the officer and tries to rustle the gun out of his hand. The struggle for a while before the conscript is shot in the back. Then the officer is shot.
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Both were killed by the Lord Imperium. The officer should have known better, the conscript shouldn't have gotten so close. I knew what was coming next. I jumped into enemy fire and over a grassy knoll.
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When the officer fails to control his men, the entire squad is killed. The friendly heavy machine guns open up on their own troops killing scores of the newer conscript. The seasoned veterans knew this was coming and were in hiding.
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Ahead, the enemy is a large reptilian bipedal hybrid. They barely looked human and had a hulking hunched over posture. They were so thick and stocky that they weren't affected by the thick slaps of metal plates fasten to their grotesque bodies. For such a brutish society, they had advance technology. Those were no normal metal slabs either. My briefing in the morning required me to miss breakfast and informed me those slabs were made of the same material as their spaceship.
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We were told that our weapons is the pride and joy of terra, the image that its army is founded on. The weapons real name is the: recycled reconstituted materials standard issue assault rifle. But razor in laymen terms. With a Bullpup design, matted grey material, banana clip, and a extended barrel. You would think that sounds nice. In reality, it was a pocket pop gun built from the left over metal scraps and haphazardly thrown into a barely recognizable form of a ballistic weapon. It's more capable of killing you.
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Overhead is the clattering sound of a enemy light machine gun. The ground in front of me exploded. The officer required me to walk into enemy fire, but I like living. I flanked around the enemy following the crest of a hill until I reach the enemy city. It wasn't much of city, nothing but various tribal marker and effigies decorating a collection ramshackle structures serving has nothing more than shelter for the inhabitants. Various tribal marker and effigies littered. The structure we're really structures just
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I took cover near the first build and peeked out. The machine gunner's head was exposed. I fired the gun, it barked and kicked against the concrete, sparks flying from the concrete on metal. The creature's head explodes. The body slumps and slides down the sandbags. I charge in as fast as I could. My heart pounding in my ears, every inch of my body ached.
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I was almost to the middle structure before I saw the first alien. It had come from behind a rigidity wooden bottom of a structure, its proportions impossible. It raised its weapons, but I fired between the armored plates. I saw the explosion of blood and gore. I felt my throat tightening up, my legs stiffen, my heart pounding in my chest like a war drum. The creature didn't go down. I was so scared that I forgot about my own safety, even my own previous experience.
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Something snaps in me. I lunged out of the way as bullets tore up the spot where I was just standing. I just stood there behind cover cursing to myself. My heart was a tribal drum that would crescendo and then wane. My hand felt clammy and this voice kept telling him that I was going to fail, to die. But I refuse to give in, to give up.
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I turned and fired. Because the fast movement made aiming impossible the bullets struck armor. The alien return fire. The sound is much closer, so much closer. I knelt down and took my chance. Blood splattered as bullets hit vital spots between the armor segments.
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He peeks around the corner. The alien wasn't dead, but incapacitated. The alien's weapon represents their species, primitive but advanced. The weapon is crudely constructed, like my razor rifle, but it was a more powerful.
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I picked up the weapon and cocked it back with a thud. The thing was unwieldy and bulky. I fired a single shot. The bullet causes a one foot sphere of a solid concrete wall to shatter into dust. I aimed the weapon up ahead. A single alien is following the sound of fighting. The gun kick almost impossible to hold; my arm throbbed and shoulder nearly went numb. But the round brought the creature down almost instantly.
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Ten more soldiers came jogging up. Three he recognized from his squad. "Your still alive," one of my squad mates asks. I really didn't recognize him nor did I feel like talking. I made a motion ahead towards the inner city. The man wasn't happy being ignored but pushed ahead anyway. We were all brothers, all relying on each other. That didn't make us friends.
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Behind us the officers were pushing us towards the city's downtown. The officers were originally nicknamed commissars, but eventually high-command decided to officially adopted it. They wore a deep burgundy great coat, with identifying gold and red epaulets, and red lining on collar and cuffs, a peaked officer's cap, usually black with red lining, a black undercoat, with either red or gold finery, black combat pants, and combat boots.
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The inner city is a maze of spiked wooden barricades and debris. We pushed over monolithic sized hill of debris and came under fire from enemy postions. I could see three of them. All around me men were taking up positions. The more brazen or just more stupid soldiers charged up and over towards glory. Or a bullet, depends really. I use the meat surge to pick off the enemy. I had sniped two of the enemy when a officer started screaming at us to charge.
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His head crested the hill and a bullet struck him dead. The other officer scurried down the hill away from their certain death. We made the big push and dislodge the enemy forces.
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The survivors group together, no formal celebration, no thank you. Just shove us into a transport and drop us off at the nearest barrack.
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