Last Friday, I challenged Jonathan to write up a short-short story about a Red Corsair marine armed with a flamer. He countered with demanding “an Ork kommando blowing up a bunker”. Here’s my half of the Lore Battle …
Gazbad squinted. The troopers in the chem-compound below were hard to make out in the dark, even for his sensitive eyes.
“Wun … too … free guards,” he whispered to his squad. ”You lads stay ’ere, Im going in. Give uz da explosives.”
Urg wrenched off his backpack and handed it to Gazbad. The kommando nob hoisted the heavy load over one shoulder and crept off through the undergrowth.
Hiding behind a steel pallet stacked with promethium drums, Gazbad waited. He pulled his black wool cap further down. It made him sweaty and itchy in the heat. But he liked it. It reminded him of that one time, on Armageddon …
As the guard passed by, Gazbad took three steps forward, clamped his hand across the man’s mouth and slit his throat. He held the body until it stopped jerking.
‘He fetched the backpack from behind the barrels, looked left, then right. The entrance to the underground bunker wasn’t far, and the coast was clear.
A shriek and a las shot echoed between the girders holding up the enormous tanks of the compound.
Gazbad turned, and the next shot hit him square in the chest. It stung, nothing more. In one movement he dropped the backpack, switched his grip on his knife, dodged the guard’s third shot, then threw the knife. The guardsman’s skull split with a crack as the blade embedded itself in his face.
”Sloppy,” Gazbad thought. ”Da boyz must’a heard dat. Bad fer morale.”
He decided to smack a few heads if they started talking about it when he got back.
Predictably, the third guard came running straight towards the sound of fighting and found the body with the ork knife still in its ruined head. He had no time to raise the alarm, as Gazbad dropped down from the girders above and broke his neck with a swift twist.
Urg and the rest of the squad started as an explosion mushroomed from the right side of the compound. Gazbad came jogging up the hill towards them.
The nob allowed himself a smile and a satisfied grunt.
”Job’s a good ’un. Ledz go.”