Reforged
Print Witch's Bitch
Bullets flying overhead, cracking, whizzing, they were breaking the sound barrier. The fire fight was in the middle of a torn street. Black pavement coated in multiple coats of blood from fallen soldier and enemy alike; man always bleeds red. The call for back up on both sides could be heard being announced over the bullet cracks. But one soldier, among the good, was belaying that order. No more good men will die today in this God forsaken wasteland. No more.
"Private, you belay that order! I repeat, do not send anymore troops to the surface!" The Sentinel-Commander's voice was getting rough from all the previous yelling. He and his radio man were both behind a thick slab of concrete reinforcement placed by the Brotherhood of Steel engineers weeks before the fight. Fifty yards away from where the two soldiers are holding their position are a band of raiders or what is left from that band. The thirst for water had driven these raiders to the point that killing was the only way to get water -- they decided that fighting the Brotherhood was their best bet.
The hearts of men run cold with the blood of a soulless demon. Only shall the righteous prevail. Their concrete slab was being ate away by the pipe weapons the raiders had made out of scrap wood, copper pipes, screws and whatever adhesive they could get their hands on. Morgan, that's the commander's name, was only armed with a AER12 automatic laser rifle and a couple of fragmentation grenades. It was two soldiers against five other raiders still willing to fight for hundred gallons of water stored away in a A.P.C.. Morgan cursed under his breath as he leaned out and locked on a target through his reflex scope and fired a loud buzzing shot. The crimson laser bolts instantly met their target and quickly cut down the raider with red hot scorched holes filling his body. The raider was now a holy man.
A shout from a fellow raider comrade could be heard as he morns his brothers death. Morgan did not care and his radio man, a young sixteen year old squire were sitting there listening before the Brotherhood commander stood up and fired again. This time his shots missed by caught the attention of the raiders who all jumped up and opened fired. Again with the bullet cracks going over the two soldiers heads. The radio man shook with nervous shock that he was still alive but alas. The support gave way and a bullet managed to spear head the young boy through the back of his head and exit out his right eye leaving nothing but a gaping hole and a body splattered with brain matter.
"Radio high command on the Skyforge that we do not hold the A.P.C., I repeat, we do not -- oh god.. FUCK!" Morgan had grabbed a hold of the dead boy's body before knowing he was dead. Giving a command to a dead soldier and later finding out that a young man had died next to him. Morgan cursed every god there was before grabbing the radio receiver and calling it in him for himself. "This is Sentinel-Commander Morgan of Squad Victory, we do not hold the A.P.C., I repeat, we have lost control of the battle. I am the sole survivor! My coordinates are 34.7361 degrees North, 92.3311 degrees West! The Almighty, I say again, bring the Almighty." Morgan knew when he was out gunned, no charge left in his micro fusion cell for his rifle and his fallen brothers had nothing to offer him. The streets of Little Rock were about to be filled with fire, cleansing the streets of the wicked.
Quickly the soldier bolted for the heavily armored personnel carrier. The rusty, six tire machine was sitting just outside of the blast zone but it had to be reached first. More bullets whizzed by as he dodged them the best he could. His tight fully body suit uniform, jet black but covered in blood and torn in areas across his back; so much for the ballistic weaving. sliding into the back of the large vehicle, he opened the bulkhead and stormed in shutting it behind him. He laid on the floor of the vehicle just before the ground began to shake as if Hell were breaking through the ground, splitting it open for the horde to break through. The fire bombs washed through the streets of Little Rock, buildings scorched, bodies turned to smoldering ash. It would be a week before the fires died down and Morgan would be stuck there, considered KIA or MIA by his brothers. The A.P.C. turned from tactical brown to a scorched black with burnt tires. Morgan inside keeping alive by drinking the water he had been ordered to protect.
It was time to leave.
"Private, you belay that order! I repeat, do not send anymore troops to the surface!" The Sentinel-Commander's voice was getting rough from all the previous yelling. He and his radio man were both behind a thick slab of concrete reinforcement placed by the Brotherhood of Steel engineers weeks before the fight. Fifty yards away from where the two soldiers are holding their position are a band of raiders or what is left from that band. The thirst for water had driven these raiders to the point that killing was the only way to get water -- they decided that fighting the Brotherhood was their best bet.
The hearts of men run cold with the blood of a soulless demon. Only shall the righteous prevail. Their concrete slab was being ate away by the pipe weapons the raiders had made out of scrap wood, copper pipes, screws and whatever adhesive they could get their hands on. Morgan, that's the commander's name, was only armed with a AER12 automatic laser rifle and a couple of fragmentation grenades. It was two soldiers against five other raiders still willing to fight for hundred gallons of water stored away in a A.P.C.. Morgan cursed under his breath as he leaned out and locked on a target through his reflex scope and fired a loud buzzing shot. The crimson laser bolts instantly met their target and quickly cut down the raider with red hot scorched holes filling his body. The raider was now a holy man.
A shout from a fellow raider comrade could be heard as he morns his brothers death. Morgan did not care and his radio man, a young sixteen year old squire were sitting there listening before the Brotherhood commander stood up and fired again. This time his shots missed by caught the attention of the raiders who all jumped up and opened fired. Again with the bullet cracks going over the two soldiers heads. The radio man shook with nervous shock that he was still alive but alas. The support gave way and a bullet managed to spear head the young boy through the back of his head and exit out his right eye leaving nothing but a gaping hole and a body splattered with brain matter.
"Radio high command on the Skyforge that we do not hold the A.P.C., I repeat, we do not -- oh god.. FUCK!" Morgan had grabbed a hold of the dead boy's body before knowing he was dead. Giving a command to a dead soldier and later finding out that a young man had died next to him. Morgan cursed every god there was before grabbing the radio receiver and calling it in him for himself. "This is Sentinel-Commander Morgan of Squad Victory, we do not hold the A.P.C., I repeat, we have lost control of the battle. I am the sole survivor! My coordinates are 34.7361 degrees North, 92.3311 degrees West! The Almighty, I say again, bring the Almighty." Morgan knew when he was out gunned, no charge left in his micro fusion cell for his rifle and his fallen brothers had nothing to offer him. The streets of Little Rock were about to be filled with fire, cleansing the streets of the wicked.
Quickly the soldier bolted for the heavily armored personnel carrier. The rusty, six tire machine was sitting just outside of the blast zone but it had to be reached first. More bullets whizzed by as he dodged them the best he could. His tight fully body suit uniform, jet black but covered in blood and torn in areas across his back; so much for the ballistic weaving. sliding into the back of the large vehicle, he opened the bulkhead and stormed in shutting it behind him. He laid on the floor of the vehicle just before the ground began to shake as if Hell were breaking through the ground, splitting it open for the horde to break through. The fire bombs washed through the streets of Little Rock, buildings scorched, bodies turned to smoldering ash. It would be a week before the fires died down and Morgan would be stuck there, considered KIA or MIA by his brothers. The A.P.C. turned from tactical brown to a scorched black with burnt tires. Morgan inside keeping alive by drinking the water he had been ordered to protect.
It was time to leave.
