Post by Rourke on Jul 30, 2004 14:55:26 GMT -5
Right- here's a little battle storyfor my latest project, the Praetorian 122nd artillery expidition company. I've got a few things set in my mind ( a few characters, basic language, how they operate etc) but largely I'm looking for ideas on detail. I'll post the second part tommorrow.
Anyway, here's the debut of O'Rourke and his little lads
"Thompson! Get your useless bloody arse down that embankment now, or I'll slap you to kingdom come! That's a bloody order now MOVE YOUR ARSE!" O'Rourke, Chief Colour Sergeant of the 122nd Praetorian Artillery company bellowed down his com-link, red faced and belligerent, a common sight to anyone who'd spent more than ten minutes with him would tell you. His Chimera driver rushed to obey the command, driving along in front of the imperial hedge of bayonets and mortar teams.
"In position, sir. Orders?" Thompson sounded almost laconic, belying the fact that he and his temporarily vacant chimera were now the nearest thing to the rapidly approaching ork tide. They were still out of range of the bulk of the Praetorian force, but the hooting greenskins could already be heard above the roar of their crude battlewagons and the rythmic thud of mortar rounds which felled them in their dozens. It didn't seem to faze them, however, and on they came.
"Is that bloody Rupert down there? Pick him up or we'll have to answer to the commisariat - and it's my neck on the line." Rourke lowered his voice. He always did when addressing, or speaking about an officer. Invariably the officers came from rich families with proud traditions in the imperial navy. The ones who couldn't hack it in space were given officer positions in the Guard units that Praetoria mustered every ten years for it's expiditionary crusades. They were also useless to a man. Always getting lost, fluffing the supply orders or (and this is what erked Rourke more than anything else) trying to command in the heat of battle! It was always O'Rourkes job to make sure they got home safely, a job he did know what he had done to deserve.
"Roger....wait, I think I see him sir. Bloody big white horse, waving a pea shooter around and trying to look inspiring?" Thompson almost laughed, but thought better of it.
".....yes soldier, that's....him. Get him into that transport now, and tell him his comm-link is down. By my guess we've got less than ten minutes until those bloody creatures find out there's a gorge between us." Thompson grinned to himself and set off at a lightning pace which was sure to frighten the officer's mighty white charger (which went by the name'quicksilver'). O'Rourke Sighed deeply, at the situation. There wasn't any immediate danger, of course. They'd spent the last three days evading the marauders who had settled on this backwater world until a suitable defence position could be found. It could take hours for them to either go round the gorge (or Ork's Crack as the common soldiery had christened it) or maybe they would even disengage completley, though O'Rourke half knew this was just wishful thinking.
He glanced back to the Chimera, and saw Thompson stood to attention in front of the Rupert. What was his name? Tarquin? Cedric? It doesn't really matter. But why ws he stood there barking at Thompson like that? O'Rourke knew that that although the ork weapons were still out of range it was always wisest not to take things for granted. Especially against orks. He had seen men been killed in ways to horrible and bizzare to describe when they thought they were perfectly safe. And there were always the Flying ones, with bloody great rockets strapped to their backs. The fact that some of them exploded in mid-air did nothing to alleviate O'Rourkes memory of the encounter he had had with one of the sodding creatures back home in Cruciatine. He had been lucky to get out of that one, and he had learned his lesson.
The Rupert was still sat on his horse, acting for all the world like the Emperor himself, shouting at Thompson - who was trying to get a word in between the torrent of abuse he was receiving.O'Rourke checked his las-pistol and set off at a trot to try and rectify the situation.
He wobbled as he ran. His mother had called him 'well proportioned', and many others had called him names less diplomatic than that, but for all his size O'Rourke was as fit as any soldier in the system.
He stopped to gather his breath a little before walking aroundthe Chimera to confront a furious Rupert Malthurst the twenty seventh. So he was actually called rupert? This definatley didn't bode well. (a derogatory term for Praetorian officers, in imitation and contempt of their privilaged upbringing and bloody daft naming traditions).
Anyway, here's the debut of O'Rourke and his little lads
"Thompson! Get your useless bloody arse down that embankment now, or I'll slap you to kingdom come! That's a bloody order now MOVE YOUR ARSE!" O'Rourke, Chief Colour Sergeant of the 122nd Praetorian Artillery company bellowed down his com-link, red faced and belligerent, a common sight to anyone who'd spent more than ten minutes with him would tell you. His Chimera driver rushed to obey the command, driving along in front of the imperial hedge of bayonets and mortar teams.
"In position, sir. Orders?" Thompson sounded almost laconic, belying the fact that he and his temporarily vacant chimera were now the nearest thing to the rapidly approaching ork tide. They were still out of range of the bulk of the Praetorian force, but the hooting greenskins could already be heard above the roar of their crude battlewagons and the rythmic thud of mortar rounds which felled them in their dozens. It didn't seem to faze them, however, and on they came.
"Is that bloody Rupert down there? Pick him up or we'll have to answer to the commisariat - and it's my neck on the line." Rourke lowered his voice. He always did when addressing, or speaking about an officer. Invariably the officers came from rich families with proud traditions in the imperial navy. The ones who couldn't hack it in space were given officer positions in the Guard units that Praetoria mustered every ten years for it's expiditionary crusades. They were also useless to a man. Always getting lost, fluffing the supply orders or (and this is what erked Rourke more than anything else) trying to command in the heat of battle! It was always O'Rourkes job to make sure they got home safely, a job he did know what he had done to deserve.
"Roger....wait, I think I see him sir. Bloody big white horse, waving a pea shooter around and trying to look inspiring?" Thompson almost laughed, but thought better of it.
".....yes soldier, that's....him. Get him into that transport now, and tell him his comm-link is down. By my guess we've got less than ten minutes until those bloody creatures find out there's a gorge between us." Thompson grinned to himself and set off at a lightning pace which was sure to frighten the officer's mighty white charger (which went by the name'quicksilver'). O'Rourke Sighed deeply, at the situation. There wasn't any immediate danger, of course. They'd spent the last three days evading the marauders who had settled on this backwater world until a suitable defence position could be found. It could take hours for them to either go round the gorge (or Ork's Crack as the common soldiery had christened it) or maybe they would even disengage completley, though O'Rourke half knew this was just wishful thinking.
He glanced back to the Chimera, and saw Thompson stood to attention in front of the Rupert. What was his name? Tarquin? Cedric? It doesn't really matter. But why ws he stood there barking at Thompson like that? O'Rourke knew that that although the ork weapons were still out of range it was always wisest not to take things for granted. Especially against orks. He had seen men been killed in ways to horrible and bizzare to describe when they thought they were perfectly safe. And there were always the Flying ones, with bloody great rockets strapped to their backs. The fact that some of them exploded in mid-air did nothing to alleviate O'Rourkes memory of the encounter he had had with one of the sodding creatures back home in Cruciatine. He had been lucky to get out of that one, and he had learned his lesson.
The Rupert was still sat on his horse, acting for all the world like the Emperor himself, shouting at Thompson - who was trying to get a word in between the torrent of abuse he was receiving.O'Rourke checked his las-pistol and set off at a trot to try and rectify the situation.
He wobbled as he ran. His mother had called him 'well proportioned', and many others had called him names less diplomatic than that, but for all his size O'Rourke was as fit as any soldier in the system.
He stopped to gather his breath a little before walking aroundthe Chimera to confront a furious Rupert Malthurst the twenty seventh. So he was actually called rupert? This definatley didn't bode well. (a derogatory term for Praetorian officers, in imitation and contempt of their privilaged upbringing and bloody daft naming traditions).