Ok edited to include 1st chapter (some may have read already). Its slightly longer now lol


1.

Two silhouettes remained still upon the wind-whipped dunes. One stood, the other knelt. In the dusk light, a dull glow flooded their faces behind the visors, giving their skin a ghoulish appearance, sharp shadows revealing the contours through the green hue. The wind was picking up. Soon the dune on which they stood would be lost in a grey haze of sand kicked up from its neighbour. The men had to work fast.

A heavily protected glove felt the flanks of the corpse. The sickly mucus that covered the hide was evidence of its long period of decay. The bacteria formed into long sticky strands of gelatinous transparent mould and quickly covered the chain link hand. The skin was loose and the flesh was all but liquid, leaving obvious valleys where the ribs protruded upwards. The two men knew they couldn’t take the body, not in this state. It was likely to rupture from the gaseous build up in the innards if they tried. And they couldn’t risk that. Instead they opted to review the cause of death at the location, not standard procedure, but it would have to do.

The radio sprang to life with a hiss of static.

“What’s the verdict Sergeant? The Sun is disappearing and the sensors have picked up a wind surge heading our way. We can’t afford much more of a wait.”

The standing figure shrugged and frowned to himself. Looking up, the kneeling figure felt for his neck clasp and held it down with his free hand.

“No disrespect Sir but had we been notified of this earlier, none of this would have been necessary. I can’t give you an estimate, but I’ll try and…hey wait a minute…I think I’ve found something”

Returning to the body, the man let his free hand drop to the neck of the corpse and ran his fingers along the visible collarbone. As he reached the base of the throat his hand plunged suddenly into a funnelled hole that tore towards the ribcage straight into the liquefied lungs. Showing his obvious displeasure but being grateful he could feel nor smell the putrid flesh around his hand, the man stood up and turned to the expectant Officer.

“Large calibre round Sir. Looks like it was fired into the throat on a downwards trajectory. Hollow-point by the looks of it, possibly with a secondary explosive tip from the state of the innards, but that’s conjecture. Either way, it was an instant kill. The poor honoured user wouldn’t have felt a thing. I can’t imagine it would have been long range, not in the dunes. I figure Poachers stumbled across this guy and decided it was better to keep him quiet, short range execution.”

The Officer nodded, apparently pleased that this case was closed, knowing full well they would never prosecute the assailant but glad to get under way. He stretched his arm out and tapped a few keys on his comm-pad. Within a few minutes a muted roar could be heard coming from the North. Then the silhouette of a Ferous class dropship soared over the sandy horizon, not the most beautiful of crafts but it was a sturdy and reliable vehicle, its thrusters cutting a swathe through the surrounding dunes. Automatically the two soldiers put their hands up to shield their faces from the vicious torrents of sand, even though their visors protected them easily. The armoured bird hovered awkwardly, the pilot clearly having trouble with the undulating dunes that bounced back the thrusters’ heat unpredictably. Finally, once the heavy ship had stopped pitching and rolling, the three fortified landing feet unfurled from the belly of the craft in a metallic scream and settled clumsily on the soft dune. The visibly weathered toes were quickly covered with a tide of sand.

“Better hurry up Sergeant, that thing won’t last long on those dunes. Head up the ramp, I’ll follow shortly.”

After saluting, the Sergeant ran towards the opening belly of the Ferous, hunched over to battle the increasing wind. The other Officer reached down and tore something from the corpse’s neck, previously unseen by his subordinate, then half ran half stumbled back to the awaiting dropship, up the ramp, and slammed his hand down on the dark orange release button that brought the ramp up in staggered movements. Sitting down hard on the metal bench he watched the Sergeant tear his sodden gloves off and throw them in the footlocker. The Officer then looked down at his own hands where he toyed anxiously with what he had found on the corpse.

Swinging between his fingers, flickering metallically in the pulsating halogen lighting, was a marine dog-tag.

The hum and whine of antiquated machinery echoed through the vast hangar. Strewn across the grey metal slating were craft of all descriptions. Some were deliberately broken asunder, sparks flying, brief showers of light, as mech-drones silently executed their maintenance schedules. Others were clearly battle scarred, remnants of hull and inner holdings lay in a twisted heap next to their fatally damaged owners, being dragged across the floor with a painful shrieking sound as the disembodied craft were shunted off the platform into the cloudy turbulent void only to hurtle towards the planet surface and join the countless other victims of war.

The Ferous dropship had clawed its way slowly from the surface, engines screaming against the buffeting winds, scathing heat and the constant gravity. Eventually it broke through the main turbulence and headed swiftly towards the orbital platform, only seen briefly through the waves of ominous grey cloud. Docking was quite problematic, as the platform tried to keep itself facing north to take the brunt of the wind on its forwards metal shielding, but even with its powerful and fuel-intensive engines it ebbed and swayed in the wind. The Officer and Sergeant silently prayed that their pilot wasn’t fresh out of basic training. Fortunately for them, with a few minor alterations, the dropship landed almost perfectly next to the control tower, some how managing to avoid the debris covering the deck. The Officer double checked his suit systems and then slid the dog-tag into a small protected pocket on his chest. Following the Sergeant down the gnarled ramp, they proceeded through the lifeless hangar to the barracks. Once at the stony coloured reinforced door, the Sergeant turned to the Officer and saluted. The Officer returned the salute and watched his subordinate duck to avoid the porthole rim and enter the barracks. He himself then turned and walked towards the Officer quarters.

The Officer quarters were deserted. But he had expected that. There were so few Officers left that many had been sent to training camps to try to educate the lower ranks and bring them up to standard. After removing his armoured suit and placing it back in its housing, he quickly headed for the shower to freshen up. Twenty minutes later he emerged from the cloud of steam and donned his military fatigues. Feeling considerably more comfortable, he slipped the now ownerless dog-tags into his vest pocket and walked hastily towards the War room. Pushing past a few frightened recruits he threaded through the various bulkheads and metal corridors before he arrived at the room. Pushing hard on the reinforced door he went in, expecting to see numerous Commanding Officers stationed around the large oak table in the centre. Instead he was greeted by just one Officer; a man he didn’t recognise.

Saluting, he held his hand high, expecting the salute to be returned, but when it did not he eventually lowered his hand to his side. The other man did not rise from his chair, he did not even say a word. He just sat there, staring at a ream of paper, grimacing. About five minutes had passed when the Senior Officer finally looked up from the folder he was holding and sneered.

“Ah, Major Grayson, I was wondering when you would show up. I was told you would be here a good hour ago, but I guess I presumed too much. Seems you don’t quite live up to your reputation. Proud, reliable and trustworthy? Yet all I see is a shade of a man, drawn and withered. Maybe they got the wrong man. Who knows?”

“I apologise Sir” Grayson said quietly, “I had received no such communication and the War may have tired my appearance, but not my effectiveness. Which I hope I can prove to you shortly.”

The Senior Officer raised an eyebrow in mock belief and rose slowly from his chair. Speaking coldly and softly, he held his arm out and pointed at the folder.

“I don’t care what you may hope to prove to me. I don’t care whether the message didn’t get through, and to be quite honest, I don’t care about what happens to you. You don’t know me and I have no inclination to get to know you, but for the record I am Lieutenant General Folburg. But, seeing as we are in this damned War together, how about you show me what you and your subordinate uncovered on this latest case.”

Folburg hissed the last word, making it sound inconvenient and dismissive. Looking at Grayson, he slid the folder across to him.

In answer, Grayson placed the dog-tag on the folder and slid it back, raising an eyebrow in mock challenge.





2.

The dark sky was lit by flashes of heavy incendiary weapons, as they torpedoed the neighbouring city in the distance. Stars twinkled teasingly through any gaps in the heavily laden clouds as a reminder of how powerless and small the cities below were. Each time the flame licked the sky, the silhouettes of the fleet were thrown into sharp contrast, the bellies of the beasts illuminated briefly so that the insignia stamped on the ugly patched metalwork could be seen by those below. It was the only time the horizon was clearly visible. The landscape was as blackened as the heavens, not a light to be seen, just the brief angry pillar of fire spiralling skywards before fading. The buildings leaned at absurd angles as though pushed over, the lifeless and glassless windows created a flickering wall of ghoulish skulls as the infernos flushed light through from behind them. Only a few buildings remained relatively intact because of their rushed fortifications and original design. Soon those would fall too. The swarm of ships was relentless, seemingly unstoppable.

There were hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands. The grind of the engines competed with the claps of explosions as they kicked searing heat downwards to keep the huge lurching metal birds aloft. The wail of 120mm railguns sent shivers through the defence as the blue trails fed towards the ground, tearing through flesh and armour. Countered only by low calibre automatic machine gun fire, the groaning ships had little to fear. On occasion one of the craft would suddenly splinter and twist in two as an internal explosion ripped through its hull, caused by a lucky shot from artillery or more likely due to the aged design and structure itself as the engine overheated and ruptured.

Nothing about this scene was unusual though, as the fleets had been arriving to deliver their devastating arsenal for many months now. It was testament to the defences that the cities had held out for so long, although the casualty listings had become consistently truncated as civilians became thin on the ground. There were large pockets of life around the cities, acting as a sanctuary for the refugees from the war torn regions. Torn makeshift tents made from cloth and carpet littered the encampment in groups laid out in a large circle. Small fires were lit in amongst the hamlets of tents, the only source of warmth for the freezing stragglers. Screams echoed constantly throughout the camp as medical staff used primitive means to treat the wounded, with very little success. Twisting scars and disfigured bodies were common. But here they were safe from the fleet. The bombers were not interested in collateral. They seemed to concentrate on the structures themselves and that was one thing to be thankful for. But for the wounded and weak, disease and hunger were to prove far more deadly than any projectile or shrapnel shard.

And then it rained.

The burning landscape hissed and spat as the typhoon roared in from the South. Heavy ash laden drops cannoned into the ground, so heavy they were audible on the ship hulls hundreds of feet above. The fires were immediately doused by the torrent and the tents were torn further by the sheer weight. Frequently the sound of an engine failing followed by a tremendous metallic shriek could be heard as craft were literally plucked from the sky, their engines losing the fight to keep their owners balanced. The screams were sharply cut off by a deafening whine as the hulls buried themselves in the sodden earth and disappeared in a ball of superheated flame. The landscape looked identical to the sky as the craters and pits filled with flood water, reflecting the dull orange glow of the low clouds. Twisted remains of both machinery and humans rocked gently in these deep pools.

His hooded cloak was heavy with water. Black streaks ran down his face and dripped onto the cracked pavement. Nothing could be seen of him in the shadows aside from four bright fluorescent bars on his carbine slung around his waist, indicating a full magazine. Small rivers of water rushed between his feet, disappearing down small but deep gullies in the alley around him. Looking skywards he saw the black shapes of the fleet rise and power upwards to return home. He guessed too many craft had been lost and they were retreating from the unbearable typhoon. Silence returned to the crippled town, aside from the patter of rain upon the splintered buildings and equally damaged slabs lining the alleyway.

Richards walked forwards slowly. The orange glow beat down upon him, making him uneasy. Casting a glance left and right as he moved, he saw no movement in the deeply shadowed corridor and relaxed a little. This wasn’t his homeworld. Nobody knew him here. And as a mercenary he instinctively kept an eye out for trouble, as these times brought with them the constant threat of robbery or general assault. He slid to the left and continued towards the battered café in the veil of shadows. The town, although bearing strikingly similar damage to every other town in the region, was an exception to the rule. Here the fleet had set up a communications system and so the menial necessities for the crew were left untouched.

The café looked over a large square. The only colour was from the grass, which was triumphantly trying to survive on a small dais in the centre, surrounded by countless craters and ravines, fire still kicking out a great heat that washed over the surroundings. Sneering at the carnage, Richards silently moved around the square and approached the cracked glass that covered the front of the café. Sliding the door to one side he entered the threshold and was taken aback by the change in temperature. It was cold, too cold. Hunched figures leaned over dull red tables, their whitened hands grasping steaming mugs to their chests as they whispered to their companions in conspiring tones. A thin layer of mist drifted lazily along the floor, apparently caused by a tired and worn air conditioning system that pumped out warm air that quickly cooled and set. Treading carefully on the warped vinyl floor, Richards found himself a seat in the corner. With his shoulders tucked against the two walls he could scan the room easily if needs be. He looked over his shoulder towards the counter for a waitress and after waiting for five minutes he meandered over to the till. The till was torn open and empty, rusted through from the humidity. The waitress was no-where to be seen and so he helped himself to a semi warm cup of coffee and sat back down. Many eyes were set upon him but he didn’t mind. Richards was well accustomed to suspicious glances and in this atmosphere he almost relished the attention. It meant these people were not fools or complacent. Had he been Crew then this café would empty in seconds. Part and parcel of occupation he guessed. What did worry him were the few glances that shifted to his carbine, so he deftly pushed it back behind him so that his cloak and chair hid it for the most part. In this region that weapon probably cost more than all the worldly possessions put together. Putting it out of his mind, Richards settled down to drink his acrid coffee and go back over the details of his contract written on his mem-pad, another expensive item that illuminated his face with a dull green.

farking awsome

indeed, extracheez.

I like your descriptions a lot Darkwing.

*grumbles about people who have writing and visual art talent*

How many talents can a lad have? *looks suspicous at Darkwing* :lickinglips:

Well gotta hand it to you Darkie, its great! :goodjob:

Is this a just randomly created setting out are you basing it off of somewhere else?

BTW its awsome :goodjob: :goodjob:

Thanks for the compliments guys

Channler: Its not based on anything other than something im kinda working out in my head lol. So fingers crossed it actually 'goes' somewhere

As Dantrag very properly said, extracheez
Great environment picturing, I really felt like being there. You have potential. Get it printed some day, so I might enjoy it on paperback.

Good detail. Waiting4more...

:goodjob:

Ok ive found the first chapter. Anyone want to see it? i'll pop it in the first post if so.

Yes.

[quote=Dantrag]Yes.[/quote]

as you wish

'Tis quite good.

(I guess this means that I can post stories non-TES related as well??)

[quote=Dantrag]'Tis quite good.

(I guess this means that I can post stories non-TES related as well??)[/quote]

well im positive that mine isnt the first non-TES story so by all means

:shocked: Wow, I wish I could describe like you do... Very, very nicely detailed and good writing of course. :goodjob: (Too speechless to say anything else at this point, you good writer you!)

Excellent descriptions and an interesting story so far. Anxiously waiting for more...

hey....man of many talents.....author and artist.....yayy, you´d make an excellent catch you know.....

[quote=minque]hey....man of many talents.....author and artist.....yayy, you´d make an excellent catch you know..... [/quote]


lol oh i wouldnt go that far! I might get caught, but then they let me go because im under the legal size heh

:lmao: yeah right.....hmm i was thinking of teh ladies....

just bumping it because i'm adding another chapter soon

Cool...

What Danny said here......except from the sentence between **........Honestly Darkie....your story is really good.....

Definitely a good story. I wasn't really expecting a non-TES related story in this forum, but I'm glad you've posted it here anyway. I'll be looking forward to seeing where this goes in the future.

Amazing job, you are truly a gifted writer, Darkwing. Keep up the good work and might I suggest writing a novel?