# The Rogue Angel Mercenaries stories



## zboy234 (Dec 29, 2007)

*Guns for Hire: a mercenary's story*

*Death and Fortunes*​
The open-topped, flatbed truck's wheels crunched to a stop, the men in the back hopped out and formed up in a loose semi-circle around the truck cab, a man garbed similar to the men surrounding him, looking up into the expectant faces of the mercenaries, the driver said, "Boys we're here"
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The hover craft skimmed across the ground, kicking up dust as it went along, the mercenaries squatted in amongst the rocks, their camouflaged carapace armor hiding them perfectly, a custom las-gun was trained on the speeding vehicle, the las-gun fired and the speeder went down to a skidding stop.

The mercenaries rose from the rocks, weapons trained, a dirty and shaken man crawled from the wrecked vehicle and stood with arms raised when he saw all the guns aimed at him, the leader of the mercenaries motioned with his weapon, "Oh put you hands down, just give us what we want and we'll patch up the speeder and send you on your way"

"What do I have, that you want so badly?" snapped the angry man

"That file you have strapped to your stomach" replied the mercenary evenly

Glowering, the man pulled the disc out from under his shirt and tossed it into the dirt at the merc's feet, Hope you know what you're doing"

"Oh I do" replied the mercenary, picking up the disc and tucking it into a pocket on his armor, and leveling his weapon, "Oh I definitely do" and the mercenary fired.. 
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The mercenary tossed the disc onto the table, and flopped down into the seat, staring at his employer, "When do we get paid?"

"The funds are being wired to your account as we speak" replied the man 

"Now Mr. DeLin if you have no other assignments for the Rogue Angels, I shall take my leave"

"Wait, Captain Fiest, I have one more job, I require you to help me distract the gangs of this hive for a while, namely killing their kingpin, Roland Orson"

"In the head or heart?" was Fiest's only question.
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Fiest lay on his stomach, his rifle propped up by some sandbags, one eye closed and the other looking through the scope, watching the crime lord walk out from the brothel, breathing in and letting half out before he fired, the crime lords head blossoming into a hideous flower of crimson, before the man had even fallen to the ground Fiest had already pulled a pin from a melta bomb, dropped it onto his equipment and simply walked down the stairs, outside into the street, disappearing into the thronging crowds.


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