# One Man's War



## Captain Galus (Jan 2, 2008)

What follows is a short story I wrote a while back that ties into a book I've been trying to write for a long time. It's not explicitly 40k, but it grew out of it. Hope you enjoy!

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“This is Lieutenant Briggs, over,” I say into the voxcom. It’s about five seconds before a get a response.
“Roger that, Lt. Briggs. This is Lt. Baddenhal, how do you read?” crackles a voice over the com.
“Loud and clear, Lt. Baddenhal. I need to know when our relief will arrive,” I respond.
“Can’t give you a definite answer on that, lieutenant. Should be sometime within the next few hours I’d imagine. I’ll put in a request for ya,” Baddenhal says.
"I suppose it would be too much to ask for a Savate or two?"
"If only, Lieutenant," responds Baddenhal.
“Roger that lieutenant. Over and out,” I say, dropping the handset. It clatters to the dusty floor with a serious of loud clacks, kicking up dust every time it hits the floor.
I pick my rifle up from the pile of debris I’d set it on a few minutes ago, brushing off the dust that had accumulated on it since. I cough once and don my helmet, focusing on the eyepanel now situated over my left eye. It displays various statistics necessary for a leader such as myself to effective command a platoon of soldiers. At least, what used to be a platoon of soldiers.
We number now at thirty-two.
I walk out of the room where my comms officer’s body lay. Just outside lay three more bodies, which used to belong to good men. We scavenged their ammo a long time ago.
“Sir, the owner of the house wishes to speak to you,” Collard says over the unit comm in my helmet.
“Tell him I’ll be there shortly,” I reply.
I check the ammo on my P-56E rifle, finding that it still has a full clip. I’ve got three more, which is normally more than enough, but in urban conflicts such as the situation I’m in at the moment, three clips is a woefully small amount of ammo. Looking at my belt I see two phosphorus grenades and one frag.
I leap down to the second floor through a large hole blasted in the floor by a Communist attack earlier. I die a little inside as I see the body of Clara Florence lying limp over in the corner. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since the last attack. I walk over and kneel down beside what used to be her, seeing the Ranger insignia, a crossed rifle and sword, on her right shoulder just under the Medic’s Red Cross. Four crimson holes are punched through her flak chest piece. She was always so sweet and nice, I always told her she should be a real doctor and make money instead of this, to which she would always reply with a smile, ‘but I know how much you’d miss me, Briggs.’
I take a stimm shot from her kit and slap the white pad on my right leg. The drug courses through my body, and I can feel the fiery sensation like an army of red ants crawling through my bloodstream. Suddenly, my vision is clear and my muscles feel good as new. I rip the patch off and cast it aside, looking for Clara’s necklace. I move her collar down a little and see the gold chain, and finding the catch, remove it from her neck. Just before the 33rd Terran Rangers were called into action, Clara had approached me and presented me with the necklace, asking me if I wanted it for a keepsake.
I turned it down.
The necklace feels warm in my hand, and I set my rifle down and don the trinket, slipping it down into my armor. I feel the chain grind on my neck slightly, reminding me of that who I have lost.
Enough, I think. I’ll mourn Clara later. Right now, I’ve got a city to defend.
I enter the next room and hop down onto the first floor. Glass is everywhere, walls are splintered, and bodies are strewn around like a disinterested child’s rag dolls. Some are my Rangers, some are Commies; I see seven Rangers wearing the black flak armor over grey undersuits, some still clutching their weapons. I total up fifteen Commies, in their sinister black armor that makes them seem more like insects than human clones.
“Sir, Kellon is picking up movement on his scanner, you may want to hurry,” Collard informs me over the comms.
“Roger that, corporal,” I say quietly. I see three live Rangers in the room with me, silently manning their positions. I stick my right finger up in the air and make a circle motion, indicating for them to regroup on me. Quietly, they make their way from their positions over to me, and we move out.
The street outside is littered with debris; chucks of concrete from nearby buildings and wrecked vehicles line the wide area, giving us excellent cover for moving to the command post. We duck and weave our way through cover and come to an intersection. Ranger bodies litter the street; I count seven. Gaping holes are blown through their chests and I immediately call for a smoke screen. Luckily enough, Jenkins has one smoke left and throws it into the intersection. It pops and grey smoke gushes out from the canister, drenching the area with fog in less than thirty seconds. I motion forward and the four of us run through the smoke, and the whole time I’m praying the sniper doesn’t have thermals. Thankfully, all four of us make it through without hearing the monstrous war cry of an anti-tank sniper rifle.
“Collard, I’ve got three guys with me and we’re coming in from the east,” I whisper into the com.
“Roger that lieutenant,” Collard replies.
Just up ahead is the CP and we break into a run. We burst into the first floor and are greeted by seven rifles aimed down our throats. A split second later the rifles are brought down and we proceed into the CP. The three Rangers I brought with me disperse and take up positions around the CP. Collard is waiting in the next room with the owner of the house, a modestly sized man with a moustache and short black hair.
“This is the owner of the premises, Mr. Sutton, lieutenant,” says Collard.
“Mr. Sutton, you wished to speak with me?” I ask.


“Yes I did. My children and I wish to leave,” he says matter-of-factly.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible Mr. Sutton. You do realize there's something of a war going on, don't you?” I say.
“I’d rather like to leave now, captain,” Sutton persists ignorantly.
“If it were possible to guarantee you a safe evacuation Mr. Sutton, I would happily do so. But until that time comes you are safest in the basement.”
Sensing that I am unwilling to compromise, Sutton sighs and retreats slowly to the basement, leaving Collard and I in the dust-choked room.
“What’s the situation sir?” Collard asks.
“We’ve lost the east CP. My comms officer’s dead; I hope you still have one,” I respond.
“James is still with us, sir,” says Collard.
“Thank God. Have him send a message to a Lt. Baddenhal as soon as he gets a chance, informing him of my presence here.”
“I shall, sir.”
“How many have you lost corporal?”
“Eight, with two badly wounded,” Collard says.
“Make ready for a retreat, and get someone to cover Sutton and his-“
The room is shaken by an explosion from outside, which is followed by two more just like it. Dust is kicked up from every part of the room and adds to the already choking level of grit in the air. Collard and I shove our way out of the room and into the reception area where there are maybe twelve Rangers waiting for us.
“They’re assaulting again, be ready to fight for your lives!” I shout.
Their renewed movement is all the response I need.
The second-story gunner opens up with his machine gun. Loud staccato bursts fill the air as he sends a swarm of death out towards the assaulting Commies.
The Rangers in the room find windows and cracks in the wall and open up with their own weapons. Outside I hear the Commie response to our defensive fire and duck just before the bullets tear through the walls and rip out chunks of decorum around me. I crawl forward and find a low crack in the wall.
Outside the house, I see three Commies running up through the streets, completely ignoring the cover offered by the various debris. I sight one and squeeze the trigger, and see the Commie bastard drop like a sack of potatoes. The other two are oblivious and scream as they charge, and, looking closer, I see that one is waving a satchel charge above his head. I line him up and fire a short burst, but the machine gunner catches him first and saws his body in half with a hail of fire. My burst does nothing.
The third Commie comes to his senses and dives for cover. I wait for his head to pop out before firing off a few shots at him. One shot finds its mark and I see the Commie’s head explode in a fountain of black gore.
Suddenly the building is rocked by another explosion, which seems to come from behind this time.
“They’re rushing from behind!” says Collard over the comm.



I get up from my crouch and bolt for the stairs, finding weak cover under the roof of the stairs. On the second floor are the machine gunner and his spotter, along with four other Rangers. I rush to the back and find a window, seeing a squad of Commies advancing on us from the south. Bullets kick up dust around their feet as more Rangers fix their sights on the rushing Commies. Two are dropped, but the rest rind cover fast. I grab one of my phosphorus grenades and pop the catch, chucking it out the window. It lands with a loud CLINK near three Commies and explodes a second later, engulfing them in flames hot enough to scar metal. I hear brief cheers from nearby Rangers, but these are soon cut off by more small arms fire.
Movement to the southeast catches me eye. A man and two small children are making their way through the rubble.
That fool! I think as rage builds up inside of me. That man has no idea of the danger he’s putting those children in!
After a brief hesitation, I back up and jump forward, exploding from the window and shattering any glass left on the frame. I land and immediately go into a roll, slamming my back up against a huge piece of concrete. Breaking cover, I sprint towards Sutton and his children, but they stay well ahead of me. Despite being a civilian, Sutton is very good and weaving his way through the debris and skillfully guides his children. His decent skill won’t save him if a Commie squad sees him, however.
Something hits me hard in the back and I reflexively go into a roll. I hear bullets impacting concrete around me. I dodge right and grab my last frag grenade. Popping the catch, I toss it back into the narrow alley I’d just come through. I’m rewarded by frantic shouts in the Communist pig latin just before a deafening explosion jars my body. I don’t even hear footsteps afterwards, so I poke my head up slowly and see two black-armored bodies lying in the alley. I turn around and continue down the alley until I see a small figure lying on the ground in a white dress. Two red holes are gouged in the figure’s back, and my soul dies as I realize I’m looking at the body of a young girl. 
One of Sutton’s kids.
Filled with fresh anger and drive, I wipe the tear from my cheek and sprint down the alley. I make it to the end and see Sutton with his other child trying to body-lined street. Horror overwhelms me as I realize it’s the same street I saw on my way to the CP.
“SNIPER!” I scream at the top of my lungs, but realize too late that Sutton wouldn’t know to hit the deck after hearing such an alert. He stops and turns to look at me just before his head explodes like a watermelon hit with a sledgehammer. The rest of his body doubles over under its own weight and slumps to the ground. The child with him stops and starts to cry, but the sniper doesn’t fire again.
I bolt across the street and pick up the little girl just as the eruptions of gunfire tear up the ground around me. I catch a shot in my left arm and scream as a searing pain shoots up through the limb, but I keep running and hold the girl tight. I duck into a nearby alleyway and make for an open door, praying there aren’t any Commies inside.
I burst through, holding my rifle in my left hand and carrying the child in my right. Nothing movies, so I kick the door shut and lock it clumsily with my gun hand.
It’s a kitchen, and it smells horrible. The power in this block had been out for about a week now, and the food in here has started to rot. I look around frantically for a way out of the kitchen.
Commies are pounding at the door I just came through. Seconds later gunfire erupts from outside and holes are torn in the metal door. I sprint out of the kitchen and see stairs, which I stumble up. There are three doors in the hallway and I pick the closest one. Inside are a desk, two bookshelves, and a safe. It’s the manager’s room.
The safe is slightly ajar and I get an idea. I set the still-sobbing girl down and open the safe, seeing that like all home-fit safes nowadays, it is soundproofed and has a small red ‘release’ button on the inside, as well as small ventilation holes to allow air to come and go.
Thank you God, I think. I scoop out the papers still in the safe around the room, pick up the child, and set her down inside the safe. She easily fits in.
“Hey, hey!” I say. The girl stops crying, but barely. Tears are streaming down from her blue eyes. Her blonde hair is crusted with dirt and grime and her clothes are similarly blackened. She looks about eight or nine.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“My name’s Kelly,” she says through choked sobs.
“I’m Roger Briggs,” I say as I quickly shake her hand. She stops crying completely now.
“Nice to meet you,” she says.
I take Clara’s necklace off and hand it to her. Kelly takes the necklace and gives me a questioning glance.
“I’m going to leave you in this safe, okay? The bad guys can’t get through it if I lock it. That big red button,” I point to the release button, “will let you out, but don’t push it until…” I think for a second, then remove my helmet and hand it to Kelly as well.
“Press this button to talk, and ask for Baddenhal. When the fight’s over, he can track you by this helmet. Push the red button when he says to, okay?” I say. Kelly nods.
I stop for a second as I realize that Kelly is the last human being I will ever see.
“I’ll see you later Kelly,” I say as I close the large metal door. Even if the Commies figure out she’s in there, it will take anti-tank explosives to open it up. I engage the lock and pick up my rifle.
Outside the room, I peer over the stairs and see four Commies scanning the room. I let loose a short burst that catches one of them and throws the bastard off his feet. The other three return fire, but I’m already inside another room, waiting for them to burst through the opening.
“I’m coming, Clara,” I say as I grab a phosphorus grenade and pop the catch, but don’t let go. The room’s small enough to catch all three Commies.
The door explodes and I open up with my rifle. The short staccato of my rifle is greeted by the thunderous boomboomboomboom of the Commies’ weapons. Bullets slam into me and I drop my rifle when the pain becomes too much to take. I fall to my knees and groan in pain. The Commies stopped firing…
I can’t feel any parts of my body now, and the icy-cold grasp of death is crawling through my body. It takes an enormous effort to roll over and see the Commies standing over me, but they're holding their weapons down. I’m holding the phosphorus grenade out of sight. One of the Commies says something in that strange barking language of theirs, and they bring their rifles to bear.
I release my grip on the grenade just as the Commies open fire.


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## NurglingStomper (Jan 31, 2009)

Thats pretty good dude. Is there gonna be more, or it this the end? And are the commies monsters? haha granted they are bad, but they sound like beasts in armor. Good work nonetheless.


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## Vaz (Mar 19, 2008)

Excellent read. My only real gripe (well, I have two, but only one concerns the story, the other is layout), is that the language is all very formal, sir this, sir that, pretty clipped and home room barrack language. If these guys have been fighting, they would have acknowledged the officer's attention with a single sir, and then only when making requests that rely on chains of command would there be repeats.

Mainly so enemies listening in don't know who to aim for.

Lastly - I'd put a single line between each paragraph, rather than stating immediately, or at least indent the first line (which is impossible on this forum currently). Otherwise, big long blocks of text become a bit stale to read - if only because you're also concentrating on keeping your eyes on the right line.


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## Shogun_Nate (Aug 2, 2008)

Damn fine story! I'd second the points made by Vaz. I found it a bit difficult to keep my eyes where I needed to given the long stretches of line after line of dialogue. Having said that...it's still a damn fine story!

Good luck and good gaming,

Nate


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## Captain Galus (Jan 2, 2008)

Thanks for the comments yall! I was rather dismayed when I looked at it and realized I couldn't indent...and I promise to account for that fact in my next short story. :biggrin:


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