Other Fan Fiction ❯ Flames of War ❯ Chapter 1

Mal'caor did not deny the fact that he was nervous, but the soft displays of his Crisis battlesuit helped to comfort him. He looked to either side of him at the twin rows of Shas'la, noted their excited chatter, and smiled as he remembered four and a half years ago when he had been just like them, cramped on the side bench of the Orca dropship. In front of him Mal'caor could see his team mate M'yen, and in front of M'yen was Or'es, the Shas'vre of his team. Behind him Mal'caor knew that there were three more Crisis suits and two racks of gun drones.

The Orca had been flying for approximately an hour now, and Mal'caor grew restless. He checked his battlesuit's systems again, out of boredom. After confirming the operational status of everything, Mal'caor span the barrels of the burst cannon mounted on his suit's right arm.

"Hey!" exclaimed the warrior behind Mal'caor through the vox.

"Don't worry, I was never going to fire it. The horrors of war haven't made me suicidal yet," Mal'caor replied. M'yen snorted to stifle a laugh.

"Oh. Sorry. It's just that…when the barrels spin, then the cannon usually fires…so I thought…" the warrior began apologetically.

The combined laughter of M'yen and Or'es cut him off. "First time in a Crisis suit?" Or'es asked.

"Um, yes Shas'vre," the warrior replied.

Mal'caor chuckled. "It's usually pretty tense the first time. Don't worry, it happens to the best of us."

"Oh stop glorifying yourself Mal'caor!" M'yen joked.

"What's it like? The real thing I mean," asked the warrior after the laughter had died down.

Mal'caor suddenly realised that everyone - the Shas'la, the other warrior's team, the pilot of the Orca, M'yen and even Or'es - was waiting for his answer.

"It's…" Mal'caor considered his words. "It's faster than the simulator. Whether it's the adrenaline or not, it doesn't matter. In the end it isn't just your training that keeps you alive, but your instinct. But if you're only relying on what you've learnt from the simulator and your training, then you can expect little, because once you hit that ground, all your training disappears, and instinct kicks in, and the best you can do is pray that the only difference is that if you die, then it's for real."

There was a long silence as Mal'caor's words sank in. The voice of the pilot cut through the reverie. "Drop zone alpha in one minute. Or'es, prepare to deploy!"

"Copy that," replied the Shas'vre. "Ok lads, let's show this eager lot a teaser of what's in store," He said to the rest of his team.

"That was well put," M'yen said to Mal'caor through a private vox channel as he prepared his suit for deployment.

"What was?" Mal'caor replied, powering up the plasma rifle on his left arm and activating the targeting array on his right shoulder.

"Your interpretation of combat from a battlesuit."

Mal'caor was about to reply when a klaxon sounded, and the rear ramp of the Orca folded open. Air rushed in with such force that it rattled the exoskeleton of the battlesuit. The Shas'la gripped the bars at either side of them to steady themselves.

"Or'es, drop in ten…nine…" A short series of explosions rocked the dropship. "…five…four…three…two…one…GO!!!"

"For the greater good! On wings of fire I fly!" Or'es screamed with almost insane glee as his suit slid forward on the overhead rail, quickly sucked out of the hatchway by the pressure.

M'yen watched as he slid forwards three seconds later, gritting his teeth as he was sucked out of the dropship. Mal'caor was next, and almost as an afterthought, he said to the warrior behind him, "Whatever you do don't forget to right yourself before the jetpack kicks in! You don't want to torpedo yourself into the ground now would you?"

He felt as if he were being pushed back into the command couch of his battle suit as it was released from the inside of the dropship. Mal'caor watched as the world swirled around him, keeping a close eye on the small countdown timer in the corner of his display that told him how long he had until the computer activated the jetpack. Mal'caor righted the suit with five seconds to spare, and saw that M'yen and Or'es had begun their deceleration. Or'es was already firing at targets from his missile pod. Then the powerful thrusters on the back of Mal'caor's Crisis suit screamed to life, and he began a more controlled descent. He was happy when the targeting circle for his plasma rifle glowed red, and raising his left arm he watched as the brilliant blue streak sped downwards. M'yen's twin burst cannons rained death onto the Orks below. Twenty metres later, the targeting circle for Mal'caor's own burst cannon turned red, and he fired that too. Small arms fire pinged off the armoured exoskeleton of the battlesuit, but Mal'caor was unfazed, picking out fresh targets. He couldn't help but watch Or'es sowing his own brand of destruction. Of the three warriors in the team, only Or'es did not mount a targeting array on his battlesuit, although given his kill rating, no one dared question his choice. He had instead opted for a shield generator and multitracker, which although left most of the targeting to the regular internal computer, left the Shas'vre more capable of using multiple weapons.

There was a heavy jolt, softened by the battlesuit's inertial dampeners, as Mal'caor hit the ground. Almost immediately, just as he had been briefed, he kicked the jetpack to life again, and made a jump forwards following his team. The greenskin "artillery", primitive and laughable as it was, had been a recurring problem for the Tau forces. The objective for Or'es and his team was to drop behind enemy lines as they had done and attempt to eliminate the threat. No one had said it was going to be easy, but that was why they had left it to Or'es. If anyone could so it, he could. Well, short of the Shas'o himself, but he rarely took to the battlefield anymore. And it wasn't like a Shas'el to risk himself so gravely when he could simply tell someone else to do it.

That said, on the other side of the battlefield Shas'el Vior'la Mon'tyr was not idle. At close range, the remaining plasma rifle of his own Crisis suit speared bright lances of blue energy through Ork flesh and armour alike. The other arm was a stump of cables protruding from the shoulder where it had been torn off earlier. Around him, his bodyguard of Shas'vre were making uncanny progress in wiping out the greenskin mob, close combat though it was. For the most part, they were actually just firing their weapons at close range rather than using their battlesuits to punch or kick the Orks. In the end, it worked out better for them, and against an army that knew so little of honour, nothing else mattered.

When he finally decapitated a final Ork with a well-aimed shot, Mon'tyr took the opportunity to look towards the rear of the Ork forces, more specifically at the artillery pieces that were placed there. He had seen the Orca fly past after dropping Or'es, but had missed seeing the Shas'vre and his team making it to the ground. A sudden explosion made the commander smile, and now that he knew exactly where to look, he could see the shapes of the three crisis suits. There was no more time to savour it though, as one of his bodyguards alerted him to a much closer threat. He looked in time to see a huge Ork, encased in a ridiculously primitive but tremendously strong suit of powered armour, stride up to one of the Shas'vre, and before the veteran Tau could aim his weapons the Ork Warboss literally ripped the battlesuit to pieces. The other bodyguard took aim with his fusion blaster, but before he could fire the powerful weapon an uncharacteristically pinpoint cannon shell landed on him. As some compensation for the death of the warrior, the cannon went up in a plume of smoke and fire a moment later as Or'es did his duty.

Mon'tyr's vision blanked out for a few moments as the shockwave hit him, but when it returned to normal, he thanked the stars that it had returned at the right moment. The Warboss was almost right in front of him, mechanical claw raised, ready to crash down on the already damaged commander. The Ork made a massive swing with enough force to punch through a tank…and missed. Mon'tyr was suddenly behind the Ork, his jetpack having easily carried him the short distance. The Ork began to turn around, but for all his strength he was none too swift inside that heap of metal, and could do nothing as a scintillating beam of plasma energy sliced through him. But he didn't become Warboss for being a weakling.

"Your big gun do nothing to Uruk Drakka!!" the Ork roared as it finally turned around, swinging the claw as it moved.

A half jump backwards was all that saved Mon'tyr then, but needless to say he was flung back no less than five metres by the blow. He was jolted hard as the batlesuit bounced twice and slid to a stop, and his vision flickered for a moment. Unsteady, the commander got to his feet, smiling as he fired his gun at the Ork's head - he took no chances this time. The Warboss displayed what could only be a cheated look before it and the rest of its head was blasted away.

If he survives that then I quit. Mon'tyr thought to himself.

To his satisfaction and relief, the Ork dropped to the ground, leaking oil and grease from his armour, but no blood - the beam of energy that had caused the wounds had burned the flesh dry.

With their leader dead and their artillery left in ruins, the Orks began to rapidly lose the will to fight, and it was not entirely difficult for the remaining Tau - which included the cargo of the Orca used to deep strike Or'es's team - to dwindle away enough Greenskins to secure their victory. Mon'tyr watched from maybe fifty metres away as a clump of small slave Orks carried away the corpse of the Warboss. He didn't try and stop them, instead content with inspecting the damage his gun had sustained as a result of him using it as a club in the dying moments of the fight.

The commander took a deep breath. Victory though it was, it was a tight one, with many Tau casualties. The Shas'O probably wouldn't be very happy, but with any luck he would understand.

An Orca, its turbines shrieking and throwing up great clouds of dust, set down next to Mon'tyr, and the back ramp dropped open. A Shas'ui, wearing a standard combat amour and carry a pulse carbine, emerged from within the dropship, and waved his commander inside.

With an unseen smile, Shas'el Vior'la Mon'tyr made his way to the dropship, the first steps to a ride home.