Post by farcry11 on Feb 14, 2014 15:47:16 GMT
Conrad squeezed the trigger twice , letting out a ragged breath as two bullets thudded in to the oncoming behemoth's skull. The giant fell short of him, it's full height of eight feet sprawled across the ground in a growing pool of blood. It had taken six bullets to bring it down... Four in the chest had barely staggered it as it had charged, ax in hand. It's brethren lay a few feet behind it, about ten in total, thanks to the handiwork of Conrad's crew. They'd expected a doomed charge- first contact with these creatures had been a year ago, in 2437, and their tactics were simplistic and easy to learn. Midieval, in fact, which is what had earned them the name Midagers.
Conrad stepped back, a few feet behind the battle line of wary, bandaged and grumbling soldiers. He holstered his pistol and sheathed his command saber, before turning around to survey the damages. His ship was half destroyed- a rare thing to happen to a dreadnought. It's front end was buried in the ground, and it's back end was a smoldering ruin of twisted metal, torn away by the massive rock that had sent them barreling in to this backwater planet.
Half his crew, lost in an instant. Four hundred of the eight hundred marines under his command, well trained UGNF soldiers all. Now they were floating in space, or plastered to the front of that damn rock- which had no doubt landed about ten miles away, if the cloud of dust still floating on the horizon was to judge. Somewhere over the hills, west of the crash, his enemies waited- judging by the size of their rock, about eight thousand total.
His communications were jammed, though a team of ten engineers was working on them. About 51 soldiers been badly wounded in the crash, nothing that their medical systems couldn't fix- but that would take a day at least. That left him, at the moment, with 339 able troops. Their ammo stores were plentiful, as they'd been in the front end of the ship.
He frowned, running a hand through his thinning grey hair, and crouched down. It would take about five hours of un disturbed work for the comms to get repaired, and another fifteen for the UGNF HQ to organize the materials for a rescue mission and make the light speed jump. 20 hours, at least. He shuddered. If he knew this enemy, and he was sure he did, they would all come at once. The ten brutes had just been a probe, a scouting force, and they'd almost made it to the battle line. They'd been armed with swords, axes, spears, maces- but the full charge would bring more. Archers, with their massive bows, and crossbowmen too. Arrows and bolts so big they could just about punch through a suit of power armor- of which they had none. The suitup station had been by the shuttle dock, in the back of the ship. He looked back over the hills. He knew they were coming, and he needed to prepare. He stood.
"Crew! Grab what scrap you can, and start moving the ammo boxes too. We're going to build a holdfast! I sincerely believe that we can all make it out of this alive, but I'm going to need you to trust me. All we need to do is hold for twenty hours, and we're home free!"
He delivered the short speech in his strongest possible voice, standing tall as his 339 watched. When he finished, they saluted tiredly but surely, then went about seeing to his orders. As they began rearranging boxes and grabbing scrap, his eyes fell. He had been lying- few of them were getting out of here, if any.
[To Be Continued.]
Conrad stepped back, a few feet behind the battle line of wary, bandaged and grumbling soldiers. He holstered his pistol and sheathed his command saber, before turning around to survey the damages. His ship was half destroyed- a rare thing to happen to a dreadnought. It's front end was buried in the ground, and it's back end was a smoldering ruin of twisted metal, torn away by the massive rock that had sent them barreling in to this backwater planet.
Half his crew, lost in an instant. Four hundred of the eight hundred marines under his command, well trained UGNF soldiers all. Now they were floating in space, or plastered to the front of that damn rock- which had no doubt landed about ten miles away, if the cloud of dust still floating on the horizon was to judge. Somewhere over the hills, west of the crash, his enemies waited- judging by the size of their rock, about eight thousand total.
His communications were jammed, though a team of ten engineers was working on them. About 51 soldiers been badly wounded in the crash, nothing that their medical systems couldn't fix- but that would take a day at least. That left him, at the moment, with 339 able troops. Their ammo stores were plentiful, as they'd been in the front end of the ship.
He frowned, running a hand through his thinning grey hair, and crouched down. It would take about five hours of un disturbed work for the comms to get repaired, and another fifteen for the UGNF HQ to organize the materials for a rescue mission and make the light speed jump. 20 hours, at least. He shuddered. If he knew this enemy, and he was sure he did, they would all come at once. The ten brutes had just been a probe, a scouting force, and they'd almost made it to the battle line. They'd been armed with swords, axes, spears, maces- but the full charge would bring more. Archers, with their massive bows, and crossbowmen too. Arrows and bolts so big they could just about punch through a suit of power armor- of which they had none. The suitup station had been by the shuttle dock, in the back of the ship. He looked back over the hills. He knew they were coming, and he needed to prepare. He stood.
"Crew! Grab what scrap you can, and start moving the ammo boxes too. We're going to build a holdfast! I sincerely believe that we can all make it out of this alive, but I'm going to need you to trust me. All we need to do is hold for twenty hours, and we're home free!"
He delivered the short speech in his strongest possible voice, standing tall as his 339 watched. When he finished, they saluted tiredly but surely, then went about seeing to his orders. As they began rearranging boxes and grabbing scrap, his eyes fell. He had been lying- few of them were getting out of here, if any.
[To Be Continued.]