Killzone-The Drop
Posted: 2006-05-29 04:14pm
Okay this is my first real attempt at creative writing, I wasn't aiming so much for a story here as pure description, so forgive the 'what's the point of that?' feeling you get! I based it on that 'Killzone 2' trailer at E3 last year, but changed the Killzone storyline, as I felt it was too vague to express in a short story, and is difficult to shoe-horn in. So what I did was I took the intro for a game I remembered, edited it a bit, and popped it in to set the scene, but other than that its 100% original. I'm looking for an appraisal of the description etc, rather than the story, because I only created a loose framework. Thanks.
Also, if you haven't seen the trailer, here:
http://www.gametrailers.com/gamepage.php?id=1668
It was the 24th century.
Mankind's darkest hour.
The war had been raging for almost a hundred years.
We had been fighting for so long no one could remember the reason why it started in the first place.
All we knew was that there were two sides...
The Inter Solar Alliance and the Helghast Imperium.
For decades, millions died for the same piece of rock again, and again...
Finally, one side manage to gain the upper hand
The ISA...
The frigid air froze Private Sarkin’s face as his dropship sped through the early morning sky. He looked out at the pristine white clouds, their innocence concealing what he knew was below them; a serene façade cloaking what the young recruit knew with a grim prediction to be mans own rendering of hell. He glanced around at his squad mates. All had the same aura of bravery displayed on their face, but after months with the unit he could see the nervous anticipation of action clawing at their minds. No amount of training, drills and briefings could hold back the tide of fear that swept through the trooper’s minds.
“Three minutes to DZ!”
The pilot’s voice rang through the intercom, interrupting Sarkin’s brief reverie.
His mind cast back to the multitude of briefings leading up to this mission, the reports read, the vital information that had to be absorbed to ensure the success of the operation. After decades of stalemate the ISA was finally able to strike at the Helghast home sector, a system light years from the radioactive ruin that was Earth. His training told him it had been Helghast weapons that had turned the cradle of humanity into a barren wasteland so many years before. Does it even matter any more?
It had been less than a year since Sarkin had been conscripted, and here he was, on a dropship streaking through the atmosphere of Agripinaa. From here, we can stage to Helghan. The last bastion of the Imperium.
As he gazed across the dawn sky, streaks of light scarred the atmosphere as the orbital bombardment continued. Debris from the engagement above the planet and explosive ordnance was still raining down on Agripinaa’s cities. On Agripinaa’s civilians. Human civilians. Sarkin shook his head. They are Helghast. Their die was cast a long time ago.
“Two minutes to DZ!”
The pilot’s voice once again sounded through the dropship and Sarkin looked to Sergeant Joran for orders.
The grizzled veteran gripped the railing beside him, and turned to face his squad. Sarkin’s admiration for the gruff soldier was well warranted; Joran had been in the thick of it since his recruitment four years ago, and his reputation as one of the best non-coms in the corps was legendary.
“OK people, this is it. We need that bridge, and we need it bad. Our armour can’t move through this area without it, and seeing as how they’re too lazy to take it themselves we’re doing their job for them”.
The assembled marines smiled, and a few managed a nervous laugh.
The sergeant’s eyes once again became hard discs, his eyebrows narrowed, and he yanked the bolt back on his rifle.
“Weapons check people, one minute to DZ”.
The Marines heeded his advice and Sarkin brought his M-82 assault rifle out of its stowed position, and checked it once more. A bullpup configuration, with the magazine positioned behind the trigger, it inspired a sense of lethal efficiency in the young marine. He readied himself one last time, and flicked the safety off.
He was about to lean over the side railing to see if he could make out any of the city below him when a massive explosion rocked the dropship. Sarkin was knocked back onto the deck, and as he looked up he saw an expanding black cloud to the front of the ship. Before he could yell a warning another shockwave slammed into the aircraft, sending marines flying. Sarkin was thrown across the deck, and then jerked to a sudden halt when his restraint stopped him from falling over the side of the craft.
Sergeant Joran had managed to hold on remarkably well; his years of combat drops giving him the benefit of experience the new recruits lacked. He flinched from another explosion, then yelled at his squad
“We’ve got incoming anti air! Hold on tight!”
The Marines picked themselves up and held onto the side railings. The dropship was wracked by further flak explosions, black clouds appearing all over the sky raining jagged metal death down on any unlucky craft as Helghast anti air batteries desperately tried to claw the craft from the sky. Off to the left, a dropship was hit square on by a shell and disintegrated in a bright ball of flame; burning debris and passengers dropped out of the sky. Sarkin swore and averted his eyes, willing the pilot to evade the flak, and drop the squad in safely. There wasn’t supposed to be any anti-air here, the Night Hawk ground attack bombers were supposed have cleared the area before the dropships arrived. Where were they?
A gap in the clouds answered Sarkin’s question. Below, he could see a blackened trail through the city. Aircraft parts were scattered around, twisted and shattered. It was too hard to see from his position, but Sarkin knew that the wreck could only be one thing.
“So much for our air support…” he said silently to himself.
Corporal Kern picked up the mood of the unit, and didn’t like where it was headed. He knew the recruits needed something to focus on, to stop them becoming too terrified to move when the time came. He grabbed the closest marine’s attention and started giving them something to concentrate on.
He pointed at Private Tainer, and yelled over the noise of the flak.
“OK, listen up! We’re going in straight; keep your fire on the enemy-“
His voice was drowned out by the screaming engines of C squad’s dropship, mere metres from the back of Sarkin’s craft. The pilot had gone evasive to avoid the flak and had almost side slipped into them. Immediately pulling up to avoid a collision the pilot wrestled the boxy aircraft alongside. The marines on top waved at them, seemingly unaware of their near-collision. Sarkin was about to yell at them, but Joran shoved him out the way and screamed angrily at the offending squad.
He waved his arms in mad gestures at them, and bellowed at them amongst profanities “Move away! You’re going to be in our line of fire!” The sergeant of the friendly squad gave a thumbs up gesture, and yelled down the intercom at their pilot. The drop ship roared away, its engines deafening Sarkin.
He looked back over the railings next to him and was met with a scene of destruction unlike anything he had ever witnessed. What had once been a bustling city had been turned into a hell of wrecked buildings, crashed aircraft and smoke-blackened craters. The clouds had parted to reveal their target, and out ahead of them, C Squad’s ship was racing full pelt for the beach landing zone next to the main objective: The Bridge.
A marine from C squad waved at Sarkin across the gap between their ships, but the private was knocked back before he could return the gesture. When he scrambled up again, he looked over at C squad in time to see a flak shell rip through their starboard engine. The explosive fuel tank detonated in an all consuming fireball, and the waving marine was pitched over the side, screaming in terror as he fell to his death. The crippled craft span off to the left, the port engine on full blast twisting the craft in violent circles until it finally slammed into the upper floors of a structure on the bank of the estuary. Debris rained down onto the ground below, and of C squad nothing was left.
Sarkin gripped his rifle tighter, praying a similar fate did not befall him. They were merely a few hundred metres above the DZ now, a gap being closed swiftly by the dropship which was falling out of the sky like prey fleeing the falcon’s talons; an insane dash for safety, to survive just those few more moments. Sarkin’s hands shook and sweat dripped of his brow despite the low temperature. Suddenly they were within firing range, and the Corporal yelled at them to open fire on enemy troops, who still seemed like fleeing insects at this range.
“10 seconds to touchdown!” Joran bellowed at them. Sarkin opened fire, his rifle’s rounds dealing death to those unlucky enough to be caught in the open without cover. He screamed at the top of his voice as his bullets ripped through flesh and blasted great chunks out of the stonework of the bridge, as if his cries could do more damage to the victims of his attack.
He spied a group of Helghast troops, clustered together around the centre of the bridge. He flicked a selector on the side of his weapon and pulled the trigger, launching a high explosive grenade at the unlucky soldiers. The projectile smashed into the ground in the centre of the group, immediately detonating in a bright flash and sending deadly shrapnel scything through the air. All three of the soldiers went down screaming, to lie twitching on the roadway.
The ground was a scant few metres away now, a sandy beach at the side of the estuary which divided the city in two. Debris covered the beach, jagged metal reaching up to the sky to claw at the passing aircraft. Another Night Hawk wreck lay against the embankment on the far side, shattered buildings and guttering flames a testament to its destructive end.
“Hold on tight!”
The Corporal roared at them, as the drop ship came in for its final landing. As a mosquito grasping hold of its prey, the four landing legs of the craft deployed and bit into the sand of the beach. The jolt rammed Sarkin against the side railing, and he swore as it dug into his arm painfully.
“Touchdown!”
The cry echoed in his ear, and Sarkin removed his strap which still held him firmly to the deck, and began to stand up. As he did so, B Squads dropship which had landed to the left of and behind Sarkin’s was transformed from a machine into a raging firestorm in a split second. Helghast artillery fire was zeroed in on their position and a shell from those guns had just annihilated B Squad and their craft.
Sarkin was thrown from his position, the shockwave forcibly slamming him backwards into the hard steel deck of the ship. His face connected with something solid, and he tasted blood in his mouth. He fought through the haze clouding his vision, and felt a hand pulling him to his feet. Sergeant Joran had realized the danger the artillery posed, and yelled at the squad.
“Move! Get off! Get off this thing! Spread out!”
Sarkin was thrust forwards, and, regaining clarity of thought once more, leaped over the side of the dropship. He landed unsteadily, but the sandy ground cushioned his fall. He got to his feet, and looked behind him. Private Tainer was still on the drop ship, his hands grasping the railings tightly, white knuckles gripping the steel, desperately clinging to the cold metal. Sarkin could see the uncertainty, the fear in his squad mate’s eyes, and waved him forward.
“You’re a sitting duck on there! Move it Tainer, come on!” The frightened marine looked up at Sarkin, nodded, and scrambled down the side of the vessel. Sarkin himself began to move forwards, pausing to reload his grenade launcher. He grabbed the round from the satchel strapped to his leg, and slammed it home into his rifle.
Joran was screaming orders at the squad, running in front of them to the objective.
“Move towards the bridge! Keep moving!”
Another artillery shell impacted the beach, launching debris in all directions, and knocking Sarkin to his knees. He tried to move, but his legs wouldn’t respond. Reality spun around him, a swirl of destruction twisting his perception. He looked around, the heavy breathing in his ears all he could concentrate on. The corporal was yelling at him, but his bedraggled senses couldn’t understand. He gazed upwards, the dawning sun shining iridescently down on everything, creating a glowing sunrise on the horizon. Amidst it all, the young private smiled.
Another explosion slammed his blurred thoughts back into reality as heat wave passed over him, prickling his skin. He grabbed his rifle, and heaved himself up.
Sarkin started running, following his squad mates. A trooper in front of him was hit in the chest by a rifle round and was thrown backwards onto the beach, blood streaming from his wound. He screamed in agony as another marine grabbed his arm, pulling him towards cover.
Corporal Kern was yelling at a pair of marines who had sought cover behind the drop ship. He pointed at the stairs to the roadway above the embankment.
“Get off the beach! Get off the beach now!”
They gave an OK signal, and began to move towards the stairs. Within moments of leaving their cover, they were both cut down by weapons fire from the bridge, now only a few metres directly above them. Sarkin dropped to the ground, and brought his weapon to bear on the source of the attack. Two Helghast troops manning a sandbagged position were tracing fire back and forward across the advancing marines, cutting them down before they could move into cover. Sarkin peered through his scope, lining up his targets before pulling the trigger twice in quick succession and taking the pair down.
He ran forward further and reached Joran’s position under one of the bridge arches.
He was shouting dementedly into his communications unit “We have enemy units in the DZ, I estimate two companies of-“.
His transmission was cut off when a hostile recon buggy swerved round the corner at the opposite end of the arch, accompanied by a squad of enemy troops. The sergeant spun to engage them, trying to bring his rifle to bear as bullets spat up earth around him. His reaction was too late, and he was caught in the chest by several rounds from the buggy’s fifty calibre machine gun.
Sarkin dove for cover, ramming his shoulder into the hard stone of the bridge. He rolled out of the enemy line of fire, but before he could return his own volley of shots a Helghast bearing a flamethrower ran into the arch from the enemy held end, his weapon arcing fiery destruction across the marine’s positions. Friendly troops running for the bridge were caught in the fiery blast, catching fire and staggering around screaming.
A marine on Sarkin’s side of the arch pulled the pin on a grenade and threw it into the midst of the advancing enemy troops. It exploded with a resounding thunderclap, discharging barbed shrapnel in all directions. The ammunition tanks for the flamethrower were punctured, a piece of shrapnel slashing through the metal to reach the highly flammable contents within.
Sarkin hit the dirt as the unfortunate soldier was shredded by the explosion and great waves of flame were belched from the archway. Most of the hostile squad was caught in the blast, and the recon buggy responsible for the death of Sergeant Joran detonated with an ear piercing screech, launching yet more debris into arcing paths of destruction.
Sarkin spat out sand and lifted himself from his face down state. He staggered backwards to the bridge wall, and checked the marine slumped against the wall next to him. It was Tainer, and he was staring blankly out to sea.
“Tainer, Tainer come on!”
Sarkin grabbed him, and endeavoured to lift him up, and it was then he noticed that the back of Tainer’s head had been shot off, leaving a gaping rent in his squad mate’s skull. Sarkin dropped the corpse, swore loudly, and moved backwards to the now clear stairs up to the bridge roadway.
He depressed a button on the side of his rifle and removed the magazine. He slammed it home behind the rifles grip, and cocked the weapon. He began to make his way forward again, and signaled several marines still moving for the stairs to advance.
Movement ahead of him caught his eye, and he looked up to see the figure of an enemy trooper with full gas mask on bringing his weapon to bear. Sarkin leapt for the opposite side of the stairs, but knew it was a futile effort. He cringed, waiting to feel the bullets ripping through him as they had done with his comrades. All he felt was a painful impact on his side as he hit the stairs. He opened his eyes, and looked up to see the figure of Corporal Kern slamming the butt of his rifle into his adversaries face, knocking him over the side of the stair railings and onto the beach below. He lay there unmoving, but the Corporal put a three round burst into him to make sure.
Sarkin nodded his thanks to his saviour, and Kern acknowledged him, then pointed towards a mound of masonry and corrugated iron piled at the side of the roadway.
“Get into cover, now!” Kern shouted above the strident clamour of battle.
Sarkin obeyed, and ran behind the obstruction, diving down next to an ISA comms operator. He was frantically yelling into his comms gear, and occasionally hitting the side of it with a fist. “C Company to command, requesting rocket support, repeat, we need-“he ceased yelling for a moment to slam the handset with his fist.
Sarkin was about to assist when a stream of bullets spattered into stonework above his head, spraying him with rock chips which stung at his skin, hot barbs scorching paths through his bare flesh. He reflexively ducked, and leaned round his cover to see the source of the fire.
Another enemy recon buggy had taken up position at the far end of the bridge, and enemy troops were advancing along the sides of the roadway under the cover of its fifty calibre machine gun.
Sarkin snapped off a few shots at the advancing units then ducked back into his hideout, a burst of bullets ripping up the tarmac where he had been a moment before.
He glanced at the operator beside him who was receiving a transmission.
“C company copies that” the operator shouted into the handset, then yelled at Kern “Reinforcements incoming!” Kern acknowledged the operator then spun around to look behind him. Sarkin followed his gaze and saw an ISA dropship streaking out of the sky. The craft gripped a scout buggy in its grapples, and as it swooped low the buggy disengaged, freefalling for a short distance before crashing hard onto the roadway, its suspension screeching under the strain. Its massive wheels spun before finding purchase on the debris laden surface, beginning the mad drive towards the objective.
Sarkin chanced a look past his cover at the enemy troops, shocked to see they were making headway in their attempt to retake the ISA held end of the crossing. He nestled his rifle against his soldier, and began triggering bursts of lethal rounds at the enemy troops. One of the Helghast troopers dove behind a burnt out car, only to roll out seconds later and let off a long burst at the ISA position.
Sarkin was screaming before he even knew why, grasping a hand tight to his upper arm. Fearing the worst he removed his hand and looked at what he was sure was a mortal wound. Blood was pouring out his arm, but the gash wasn’t that deep. An inch to the left and I probably wouldn’t have much of an arm left.
The comms operator next to him saw his wound, cursed, and took a moment from punishing his equipment to grab a bandage from a pocket on his assault vest, wrapping it tight around Sarkin’s wound before tying it off.
“You’re OK, it’s not that bad, just keep your head down”
He tried to voice his thanks, but his hoarse throat couldn’t manage a whisper. Nodding his gratitude, he retrieved his weapon, and retook his position.
A loud droning behind the ISA troops announced the arrival of reinforcements, as the scout buggy skidded to a halt beside Kern’s position and immediately opened up with its own heavy machine gun, raining fifty calibre death on the enemy units attempting to cross the bridge. Two marines leapt out of the back and took up position next to the buggy. Armed with a missile launcher, they loaded their weapon, and one dove for the floor whilst the other looked through the targeting lens of his launcher. A bright flame spewed from the back end of the tubular launcher, and the deadly projectile shot towards the enemy recon car. It shot first upwards and then arced back down, leaving a trail of white smoke behind it. Infantry around the target vehicle searched for cover as the projectile pierced its intended target, then detonated, annihilating the vehicle and sending clouds of smoke and fragments across the enemy held end of the bridge.
“Go! Go! Go! Get across the bridge! Move it!” Kern was yelling at the marines, but they didn’t need to be told.
Sarkin was up and running before he knew what he was doing, his position abandoned in a mad rush for the objective. His feet pummelled the roadway, each impact throwing up dirt and detritus. His breathing pounded in his ears, hoarse and ragged, but he kept running. He set his eyes on a pair of marines that had taken cover in the centre of the bridge, and dashed for their position. Moments before he arrived they were obliterated in a cloud of fire and destruction as a rocket careened into the bridge metres from where they were.
Sarkin was blasted backwards off his feet, landing hard on the roadway. He looked up to see the form of a Helghast gunship roaring in on a strafing run of the bridge. Another rocket again slammed into the side of the bridge, and then it opened up with its chain gun. High velocity bullets scythed across the advancing marine’s path, chewing through the trooper holding the missile launcher as if he were paper. He collapsed onto the roadway, his launcher rolling across the floor to land next to Sarkin.
He picked himself up, grabbed the launcher, and checked the load. One shot he thought as he rolled behind a wrecked vehicle. He readied himself. Other marines around him were firing uselessly at the chopper, their bullets falling short or pinging futilely off the thick armour. The recon buggy gunned its engines, and moved forwards across the bridge, jerking to a halt next to Sarkin. Its fifty calibre opened fire on the chopper, but their effect was as useless as the marine’s rifles.
He looked up again, the amber glow of the horizon vividly shimmering across the scarred landscape, adding a bloody radiance to the plumes of black smoke reaching up towards the sky. The gunship soared across the sun, eclipsing it for a moment before its iridescent gleam returned. Around Sarkin missiles streaked through the air, bullets ricocheted off debris and tore through unprotected bodies. Reality warped, twisting into a sluggish menagerie as his perception tunnelled into a cone. He cradled the launcher in his arms as the gunship banked in for another pass, squinting at his foe.
One shot. He looked through the sight, and picked out the helicopter with his targeting laser. Better make it count. He fired.
Also, if you haven't seen the trailer, here:
http://www.gametrailers.com/gamepage.php?id=1668
It was the 24th century.
Mankind's darkest hour.
The war had been raging for almost a hundred years.
We had been fighting for so long no one could remember the reason why it started in the first place.
All we knew was that there were two sides...
The Inter Solar Alliance and the Helghast Imperium.
For decades, millions died for the same piece of rock again, and again...
Finally, one side manage to gain the upper hand
The ISA...
The frigid air froze Private Sarkin’s face as his dropship sped through the early morning sky. He looked out at the pristine white clouds, their innocence concealing what he knew was below them; a serene façade cloaking what the young recruit knew with a grim prediction to be mans own rendering of hell. He glanced around at his squad mates. All had the same aura of bravery displayed on their face, but after months with the unit he could see the nervous anticipation of action clawing at their minds. No amount of training, drills and briefings could hold back the tide of fear that swept through the trooper’s minds.
“Three minutes to DZ!”
The pilot’s voice rang through the intercom, interrupting Sarkin’s brief reverie.
His mind cast back to the multitude of briefings leading up to this mission, the reports read, the vital information that had to be absorbed to ensure the success of the operation. After decades of stalemate the ISA was finally able to strike at the Helghast home sector, a system light years from the radioactive ruin that was Earth. His training told him it had been Helghast weapons that had turned the cradle of humanity into a barren wasteland so many years before. Does it even matter any more?
It had been less than a year since Sarkin had been conscripted, and here he was, on a dropship streaking through the atmosphere of Agripinaa. From here, we can stage to Helghan. The last bastion of the Imperium.
As he gazed across the dawn sky, streaks of light scarred the atmosphere as the orbital bombardment continued. Debris from the engagement above the planet and explosive ordnance was still raining down on Agripinaa’s cities. On Agripinaa’s civilians. Human civilians. Sarkin shook his head. They are Helghast. Their die was cast a long time ago.
“Two minutes to DZ!”
The pilot’s voice once again sounded through the dropship and Sarkin looked to Sergeant Joran for orders.
The grizzled veteran gripped the railing beside him, and turned to face his squad. Sarkin’s admiration for the gruff soldier was well warranted; Joran had been in the thick of it since his recruitment four years ago, and his reputation as one of the best non-coms in the corps was legendary.
“OK people, this is it. We need that bridge, and we need it bad. Our armour can’t move through this area without it, and seeing as how they’re too lazy to take it themselves we’re doing their job for them”.
The assembled marines smiled, and a few managed a nervous laugh.
The sergeant’s eyes once again became hard discs, his eyebrows narrowed, and he yanked the bolt back on his rifle.
“Weapons check people, one minute to DZ”.
The Marines heeded his advice and Sarkin brought his M-82 assault rifle out of its stowed position, and checked it once more. A bullpup configuration, with the magazine positioned behind the trigger, it inspired a sense of lethal efficiency in the young marine. He readied himself one last time, and flicked the safety off.
He was about to lean over the side railing to see if he could make out any of the city below him when a massive explosion rocked the dropship. Sarkin was knocked back onto the deck, and as he looked up he saw an expanding black cloud to the front of the ship. Before he could yell a warning another shockwave slammed into the aircraft, sending marines flying. Sarkin was thrown across the deck, and then jerked to a sudden halt when his restraint stopped him from falling over the side of the craft.
Sergeant Joran had managed to hold on remarkably well; his years of combat drops giving him the benefit of experience the new recruits lacked. He flinched from another explosion, then yelled at his squad
“We’ve got incoming anti air! Hold on tight!”
The Marines picked themselves up and held onto the side railings. The dropship was wracked by further flak explosions, black clouds appearing all over the sky raining jagged metal death down on any unlucky craft as Helghast anti air batteries desperately tried to claw the craft from the sky. Off to the left, a dropship was hit square on by a shell and disintegrated in a bright ball of flame; burning debris and passengers dropped out of the sky. Sarkin swore and averted his eyes, willing the pilot to evade the flak, and drop the squad in safely. There wasn’t supposed to be any anti-air here, the Night Hawk ground attack bombers were supposed have cleared the area before the dropships arrived. Where were they?
A gap in the clouds answered Sarkin’s question. Below, he could see a blackened trail through the city. Aircraft parts were scattered around, twisted and shattered. It was too hard to see from his position, but Sarkin knew that the wreck could only be one thing.
“So much for our air support…” he said silently to himself.
Corporal Kern picked up the mood of the unit, and didn’t like where it was headed. He knew the recruits needed something to focus on, to stop them becoming too terrified to move when the time came. He grabbed the closest marine’s attention and started giving them something to concentrate on.
He pointed at Private Tainer, and yelled over the noise of the flak.
“OK, listen up! We’re going in straight; keep your fire on the enemy-“
His voice was drowned out by the screaming engines of C squad’s dropship, mere metres from the back of Sarkin’s craft. The pilot had gone evasive to avoid the flak and had almost side slipped into them. Immediately pulling up to avoid a collision the pilot wrestled the boxy aircraft alongside. The marines on top waved at them, seemingly unaware of their near-collision. Sarkin was about to yell at them, but Joran shoved him out the way and screamed angrily at the offending squad.
He waved his arms in mad gestures at them, and bellowed at them amongst profanities “Move away! You’re going to be in our line of fire!” The sergeant of the friendly squad gave a thumbs up gesture, and yelled down the intercom at their pilot. The drop ship roared away, its engines deafening Sarkin.
He looked back over the railings next to him and was met with a scene of destruction unlike anything he had ever witnessed. What had once been a bustling city had been turned into a hell of wrecked buildings, crashed aircraft and smoke-blackened craters. The clouds had parted to reveal their target, and out ahead of them, C Squad’s ship was racing full pelt for the beach landing zone next to the main objective: The Bridge.
A marine from C squad waved at Sarkin across the gap between their ships, but the private was knocked back before he could return the gesture. When he scrambled up again, he looked over at C squad in time to see a flak shell rip through their starboard engine. The explosive fuel tank detonated in an all consuming fireball, and the waving marine was pitched over the side, screaming in terror as he fell to his death. The crippled craft span off to the left, the port engine on full blast twisting the craft in violent circles until it finally slammed into the upper floors of a structure on the bank of the estuary. Debris rained down onto the ground below, and of C squad nothing was left.
Sarkin gripped his rifle tighter, praying a similar fate did not befall him. They were merely a few hundred metres above the DZ now, a gap being closed swiftly by the dropship which was falling out of the sky like prey fleeing the falcon’s talons; an insane dash for safety, to survive just those few more moments. Sarkin’s hands shook and sweat dripped of his brow despite the low temperature. Suddenly they were within firing range, and the Corporal yelled at them to open fire on enemy troops, who still seemed like fleeing insects at this range.
“10 seconds to touchdown!” Joran bellowed at them. Sarkin opened fire, his rifle’s rounds dealing death to those unlucky enough to be caught in the open without cover. He screamed at the top of his voice as his bullets ripped through flesh and blasted great chunks out of the stonework of the bridge, as if his cries could do more damage to the victims of his attack.
He spied a group of Helghast troops, clustered together around the centre of the bridge. He flicked a selector on the side of his weapon and pulled the trigger, launching a high explosive grenade at the unlucky soldiers. The projectile smashed into the ground in the centre of the group, immediately detonating in a bright flash and sending deadly shrapnel scything through the air. All three of the soldiers went down screaming, to lie twitching on the roadway.
The ground was a scant few metres away now, a sandy beach at the side of the estuary which divided the city in two. Debris covered the beach, jagged metal reaching up to the sky to claw at the passing aircraft. Another Night Hawk wreck lay against the embankment on the far side, shattered buildings and guttering flames a testament to its destructive end.
“Hold on tight!”
The Corporal roared at them, as the drop ship came in for its final landing. As a mosquito grasping hold of its prey, the four landing legs of the craft deployed and bit into the sand of the beach. The jolt rammed Sarkin against the side railing, and he swore as it dug into his arm painfully.
“Touchdown!”
The cry echoed in his ear, and Sarkin removed his strap which still held him firmly to the deck, and began to stand up. As he did so, B Squads dropship which had landed to the left of and behind Sarkin’s was transformed from a machine into a raging firestorm in a split second. Helghast artillery fire was zeroed in on their position and a shell from those guns had just annihilated B Squad and their craft.
Sarkin was thrown from his position, the shockwave forcibly slamming him backwards into the hard steel deck of the ship. His face connected with something solid, and he tasted blood in his mouth. He fought through the haze clouding his vision, and felt a hand pulling him to his feet. Sergeant Joran had realized the danger the artillery posed, and yelled at the squad.
“Move! Get off! Get off this thing! Spread out!”
Sarkin was thrust forwards, and, regaining clarity of thought once more, leaped over the side of the dropship. He landed unsteadily, but the sandy ground cushioned his fall. He got to his feet, and looked behind him. Private Tainer was still on the drop ship, his hands grasping the railings tightly, white knuckles gripping the steel, desperately clinging to the cold metal. Sarkin could see the uncertainty, the fear in his squad mate’s eyes, and waved him forward.
“You’re a sitting duck on there! Move it Tainer, come on!” The frightened marine looked up at Sarkin, nodded, and scrambled down the side of the vessel. Sarkin himself began to move forwards, pausing to reload his grenade launcher. He grabbed the round from the satchel strapped to his leg, and slammed it home into his rifle.
Joran was screaming orders at the squad, running in front of them to the objective.
“Move towards the bridge! Keep moving!”
Another artillery shell impacted the beach, launching debris in all directions, and knocking Sarkin to his knees. He tried to move, but his legs wouldn’t respond. Reality spun around him, a swirl of destruction twisting his perception. He looked around, the heavy breathing in his ears all he could concentrate on. The corporal was yelling at him, but his bedraggled senses couldn’t understand. He gazed upwards, the dawning sun shining iridescently down on everything, creating a glowing sunrise on the horizon. Amidst it all, the young private smiled.
Another explosion slammed his blurred thoughts back into reality as heat wave passed over him, prickling his skin. He grabbed his rifle, and heaved himself up.
Sarkin started running, following his squad mates. A trooper in front of him was hit in the chest by a rifle round and was thrown backwards onto the beach, blood streaming from his wound. He screamed in agony as another marine grabbed his arm, pulling him towards cover.
Corporal Kern was yelling at a pair of marines who had sought cover behind the drop ship. He pointed at the stairs to the roadway above the embankment.
“Get off the beach! Get off the beach now!”
They gave an OK signal, and began to move towards the stairs. Within moments of leaving their cover, they were both cut down by weapons fire from the bridge, now only a few metres directly above them. Sarkin dropped to the ground, and brought his weapon to bear on the source of the attack. Two Helghast troops manning a sandbagged position were tracing fire back and forward across the advancing marines, cutting them down before they could move into cover. Sarkin peered through his scope, lining up his targets before pulling the trigger twice in quick succession and taking the pair down.
He ran forward further and reached Joran’s position under one of the bridge arches.
He was shouting dementedly into his communications unit “We have enemy units in the DZ, I estimate two companies of-“.
His transmission was cut off when a hostile recon buggy swerved round the corner at the opposite end of the arch, accompanied by a squad of enemy troops. The sergeant spun to engage them, trying to bring his rifle to bear as bullets spat up earth around him. His reaction was too late, and he was caught in the chest by several rounds from the buggy’s fifty calibre machine gun.
Sarkin dove for cover, ramming his shoulder into the hard stone of the bridge. He rolled out of the enemy line of fire, but before he could return his own volley of shots a Helghast bearing a flamethrower ran into the arch from the enemy held end, his weapon arcing fiery destruction across the marine’s positions. Friendly troops running for the bridge were caught in the fiery blast, catching fire and staggering around screaming.
A marine on Sarkin’s side of the arch pulled the pin on a grenade and threw it into the midst of the advancing enemy troops. It exploded with a resounding thunderclap, discharging barbed shrapnel in all directions. The ammunition tanks for the flamethrower were punctured, a piece of shrapnel slashing through the metal to reach the highly flammable contents within.
Sarkin hit the dirt as the unfortunate soldier was shredded by the explosion and great waves of flame were belched from the archway. Most of the hostile squad was caught in the blast, and the recon buggy responsible for the death of Sergeant Joran detonated with an ear piercing screech, launching yet more debris into arcing paths of destruction.
Sarkin spat out sand and lifted himself from his face down state. He staggered backwards to the bridge wall, and checked the marine slumped against the wall next to him. It was Tainer, and he was staring blankly out to sea.
“Tainer, Tainer come on!”
Sarkin grabbed him, and endeavoured to lift him up, and it was then he noticed that the back of Tainer’s head had been shot off, leaving a gaping rent in his squad mate’s skull. Sarkin dropped the corpse, swore loudly, and moved backwards to the now clear stairs up to the bridge roadway.
He depressed a button on the side of his rifle and removed the magazine. He slammed it home behind the rifles grip, and cocked the weapon. He began to make his way forward again, and signaled several marines still moving for the stairs to advance.
Movement ahead of him caught his eye, and he looked up to see the figure of an enemy trooper with full gas mask on bringing his weapon to bear. Sarkin leapt for the opposite side of the stairs, but knew it was a futile effort. He cringed, waiting to feel the bullets ripping through him as they had done with his comrades. All he felt was a painful impact on his side as he hit the stairs. He opened his eyes, and looked up to see the figure of Corporal Kern slamming the butt of his rifle into his adversaries face, knocking him over the side of the stair railings and onto the beach below. He lay there unmoving, but the Corporal put a three round burst into him to make sure.
Sarkin nodded his thanks to his saviour, and Kern acknowledged him, then pointed towards a mound of masonry and corrugated iron piled at the side of the roadway.
“Get into cover, now!” Kern shouted above the strident clamour of battle.
Sarkin obeyed, and ran behind the obstruction, diving down next to an ISA comms operator. He was frantically yelling into his comms gear, and occasionally hitting the side of it with a fist. “C Company to command, requesting rocket support, repeat, we need-“he ceased yelling for a moment to slam the handset with his fist.
Sarkin was about to assist when a stream of bullets spattered into stonework above his head, spraying him with rock chips which stung at his skin, hot barbs scorching paths through his bare flesh. He reflexively ducked, and leaned round his cover to see the source of the fire.
Another enemy recon buggy had taken up position at the far end of the bridge, and enemy troops were advancing along the sides of the roadway under the cover of its fifty calibre machine gun.
Sarkin snapped off a few shots at the advancing units then ducked back into his hideout, a burst of bullets ripping up the tarmac where he had been a moment before.
He glanced at the operator beside him who was receiving a transmission.
“C company copies that” the operator shouted into the handset, then yelled at Kern “Reinforcements incoming!” Kern acknowledged the operator then spun around to look behind him. Sarkin followed his gaze and saw an ISA dropship streaking out of the sky. The craft gripped a scout buggy in its grapples, and as it swooped low the buggy disengaged, freefalling for a short distance before crashing hard onto the roadway, its suspension screeching under the strain. Its massive wheels spun before finding purchase on the debris laden surface, beginning the mad drive towards the objective.
Sarkin chanced a look past his cover at the enemy troops, shocked to see they were making headway in their attempt to retake the ISA held end of the crossing. He nestled his rifle against his soldier, and began triggering bursts of lethal rounds at the enemy troops. One of the Helghast troopers dove behind a burnt out car, only to roll out seconds later and let off a long burst at the ISA position.
Sarkin was screaming before he even knew why, grasping a hand tight to his upper arm. Fearing the worst he removed his hand and looked at what he was sure was a mortal wound. Blood was pouring out his arm, but the gash wasn’t that deep. An inch to the left and I probably wouldn’t have much of an arm left.
The comms operator next to him saw his wound, cursed, and took a moment from punishing his equipment to grab a bandage from a pocket on his assault vest, wrapping it tight around Sarkin’s wound before tying it off.
“You’re OK, it’s not that bad, just keep your head down”
He tried to voice his thanks, but his hoarse throat couldn’t manage a whisper. Nodding his gratitude, he retrieved his weapon, and retook his position.
A loud droning behind the ISA troops announced the arrival of reinforcements, as the scout buggy skidded to a halt beside Kern’s position and immediately opened up with its own heavy machine gun, raining fifty calibre death on the enemy units attempting to cross the bridge. Two marines leapt out of the back and took up position next to the buggy. Armed with a missile launcher, they loaded their weapon, and one dove for the floor whilst the other looked through the targeting lens of his launcher. A bright flame spewed from the back end of the tubular launcher, and the deadly projectile shot towards the enemy recon car. It shot first upwards and then arced back down, leaving a trail of white smoke behind it. Infantry around the target vehicle searched for cover as the projectile pierced its intended target, then detonated, annihilating the vehicle and sending clouds of smoke and fragments across the enemy held end of the bridge.
“Go! Go! Go! Get across the bridge! Move it!” Kern was yelling at the marines, but they didn’t need to be told.
Sarkin was up and running before he knew what he was doing, his position abandoned in a mad rush for the objective. His feet pummelled the roadway, each impact throwing up dirt and detritus. His breathing pounded in his ears, hoarse and ragged, but he kept running. He set his eyes on a pair of marines that had taken cover in the centre of the bridge, and dashed for their position. Moments before he arrived they were obliterated in a cloud of fire and destruction as a rocket careened into the bridge metres from where they were.
Sarkin was blasted backwards off his feet, landing hard on the roadway. He looked up to see the form of a Helghast gunship roaring in on a strafing run of the bridge. Another rocket again slammed into the side of the bridge, and then it opened up with its chain gun. High velocity bullets scythed across the advancing marine’s path, chewing through the trooper holding the missile launcher as if he were paper. He collapsed onto the roadway, his launcher rolling across the floor to land next to Sarkin.
He picked himself up, grabbed the launcher, and checked the load. One shot he thought as he rolled behind a wrecked vehicle. He readied himself. Other marines around him were firing uselessly at the chopper, their bullets falling short or pinging futilely off the thick armour. The recon buggy gunned its engines, and moved forwards across the bridge, jerking to a halt next to Sarkin. Its fifty calibre opened fire on the chopper, but their effect was as useless as the marine’s rifles.
He looked up again, the amber glow of the horizon vividly shimmering across the scarred landscape, adding a bloody radiance to the plumes of black smoke reaching up towards the sky. The gunship soared across the sun, eclipsing it for a moment before its iridescent gleam returned. Around Sarkin missiles streaked through the air, bullets ricocheted off debris and tore through unprotected bodies. Reality warped, twisting into a sluggish menagerie as his perception tunnelled into a cone. He cradled the launcher in his arms as the gunship banked in for another pass, squinting at his foe.
One shot. He looked through the sight, and picked out the helicopter with his targeting laser. Better make it count. He fired.