Proximal Flame's Fiction

Clad only in her bodyglove, Denise took a moment to get her bearings. She had her carbine draped over her back and a sidearm in her hands, along with four grenades; two plasma and two flash-bang. Not a lot. She tapped the side of her head, brushing a sweaty black lock of hair back behind her ear. She’d salvaged a portable HUD too, but it lacked the command and communication functions of her Marine helmet. Given that those had been slagged earlier, she wasn’t missing much. Now, if I were the bridge, which direction would I be in? Selecting the most likely passageway, Corporal Denise Rentwell crawled through the bowels of the enemy ship.

“Energy surge from all around us! Defences activating!” Turrets rose smoothly from the floor and descended from the ceiling of the massive hangar, stitching the debarked Marines with heavy fire. Seven soldiers were killed in the opening volley as the survivors scrambled for cover and returned the assault, blasting four of the automatic defences apart. Leibowitz crouched behind Ranger Three’s hull as one of the energy guns fired on his position over and over. “Leibowitz to support – what the hell is taking you so long?” “Debarking now, sir.” The rear ramps of two of the Warhawks lowered as League battle tanks ground out, squat and massive on their treads. Dark Lord – Wraith Two – spun its turret around and stitched the ceiling with railgun fire, ripping the defences there to pieces. Last Hope – Wraith One – took precise aim at the main doors that led out of the hangar and blew them inwards. From the other Warhawks, defence drones, heavy weapons pallets and man-mounted gun pods floated down the ramps, the assault boats lifting off to return to Liberty and load themselves with runts – the second wave of the boarding action. It was not by The Book, but The Book had never imagined this kind of clusterfuck; to take Necromancer, they’d need every man and woman that Liberty could spare.