TheInsanityOfBobSemple
The Mad Russian Commissar with Vodka
(Hi, name's Semple, Bob Semple, and tI throw my hat into the ring from Action August. It's a rather large excerpt from one of the fanfics I'm writing. It's basically from the point of the view of the Imperials in star wars. Feel free to comment down below.)
The traitors were charging their position.
The barrage of blaster bolts so intense it was like horizontal rain, a multicolored storm of death. The dull crump of Imperial mortars sounded as they unleashed their load onto the dark shapes moving unseen in the mud flats. Grey shapes ran along the trench. They were clad in their grey waterproof capes, their faces masked by dull green gas masks. Their grey greatcoats and green webbing underneath had been stained by blood and mud. Their foe began their answer to their mortars in the form of a massive artillery bombardment from shells twenty kilometers away, signaled by the high shriek of falling shells. Their explosions providing brief flashes of illumination across the dark mud warped landscape. Black mud and toxic green rainwater that had gathered in the many holes rained down.
Captain Eckell Greyhound was lifted off his feet as a shell hit his section of the trench. For a moment it felt as if his soul had left his body and all his bones had broken, but he landed on his back, bruised but alive. Liquid mud drizzled down on him. Groaning and swearing, Eckell was trying to get on his feet as a massive siege mortar shell hit nearby, obliterated a communications trench where Imperial reinforcements were flooding in, killing nearly thirty, knocking Eckell to the filthy floor again. Rising to his feet again, Eckell looked all around. The sound of battle was testing his eardrums as more shells fell on their positions, shattering trenches, guns, bunkers, dugouts, and men. A dozen troopers entered the trench just as Eckell noticed something: the drizzle that fell on him was no longer water and mud.
There was blood and body parts in it.
“They’re in the trenches! They’re in here!” Someone at the end of the trench section was yelling at the top of their lungs, somehow drowning out the shriek of the blaster fire and the rolling bombardment of Rebel artillery.
From the mud plains, demons came, dark shapes of fury and death. They leapt into the trench lines, sharp white grins and flashing blades the only thing that could be seen in the darkness.
Eckell crushed the skull of the first Rebel that landed on the floorboards with the butt of his E-11 blaster. At the same time the Imperial troopers screamed as the fight turned into brutal hand to hand combat.
The Rebels were in mismatched uniforms that were basically rags after a month of attrition. They wore bowl steel helmets that served as bludgeoning tools as they fought their way through the Imperial troopers.
Men and women screamed at the top of their lungs as they butchered each other. Many lost their weapons in the chaos and resorted to their fists. An Imperial Trooper lost both his hands to a frag and resorted to his teeth to take his vengeance. Passionate men and women killing each other in this brutal Melee.
More bodies fell into the trench. At the same time, more Imperial reinforcements arrived, clogging the trench section with bodies in the most brutal melee that Eckell had ever experienced.
Eckell ripped a long vibroknife from the writhing body of an Imperial. He caught the first Rebel over the lip of the ditch in the belly with his knife. The rapidly vibrating blade tore apart the Rebels guts, blood washed the front of Eckell’s face and breastplate. Eckell threw him over his head as he rolled. Eckell turned and took off the screamings man’s face with a high powered shot from his blaster. An act of mercy underserved.
Five Rebels jumped down. Eckell turned his blaster to full auto and cut them all down before he heard a cry from behind. His barrel felt hot to touch even with Eckell’s khaki green gloves.
Another one was charging at him, Eckell raised his blaster to blow his head off but it only produced a dry clacking sound. The rebel swung his knife randomly and in wide arches. Eckell jumped backwards a dozen steps, blocking what would lethal attacks with his empty rifle.
The man lunged forward and slipped past the guard of Eckell’s barrel. Eckell raised his left forearm. The tip sheared through his blocking left forearm and sprayed blood across the muddy floor. The pain was lost in Eckell’s battle adrenaline but he rapidly backed away, staring at the Rebel’s growing sneer.
The Rebel made a lunge too far. Eckell beat the blade hand away and lunged forward with his still smoking barrel. The barrel found purchase in the Rebel’s throat and burned through his flesh. The man fell back, gagging and choking on his own blood, taking Eckell’s blaster with him. Eckell took out his pistol and fired a fully charged round right into the writhing man’s face.
Eckell killed three more before his pistol went dry again. He threw it aside. The floor of the trench was covered in bloody muddy bodies.
A Rebel body-slammed Eckell into the wall of the trench, winding him. Breathless, Eckell fought back, bruising his knuckles on the side of the traitor’s face. The Rebel kicked out Eckell’s knee, dislocating it with a loud snap. The two went down throwing blows in a confusing ball of violence. Eckell felt his vibroknife leave his grip.
Eckell unleashed a flurry of blows but a single stunning blow by the Rebels bleeding bare-knuckles knocked Karl to the bottom again. The Rebels's left hand found it's grip around his throat. Karl gagged, choking, his vision swimming as his neck muscles fought against desperately the tightening grip. His left fist continued hailing blows into the Rebels side while his left hand dug around in the mud until he found it.
Karl gripped out his vibronife. He swung in a stabbing arch at the Rebels side, but long thick fingers were suddenly around his blade-hand, crushing it and slamming it into the mud. Four slams and Karl's hand gave up. The dagger whipped away. His vision was turning dark.
Eckell broke the man's nose with a smashing punch, blood violently spluttered out and tears appeared at the edges of the Rebels eyes. But his grip was still ever string.
His fist fell away, too starved of air to move anymore.
The Rebel went limp, a great gaping hole in his chest. More Rebels fell. Eckell, gasping for air that he never thought could be so sweet, pushed the corpse off him and looked behind. A full squad of Imperials entered the trench section. In front of them was a heavy trooper weilding a Z-6 rotary blaster that cut down every single Rebel in the open. At the same time, accurate blaster rifles threw off the Rebels who were still fighting with the surviving Imperials. Their bodies piled on each other, Imperial and Rebel alike lying in their own blood and guts. In the mud, one could not tell the difference between them.
Eckell looked up to see a beaming heart shaped face looking down at him with a big smile across her face. Her face was muddy and bloody like Eckell, her eyes red but bright.
“You owe me, Eckell.” She said, offering her hand which Eckell took, lifting himself up.
“Of course I do, Malkie. The finest Domaine de la Maison.”
“I always have to save your ass.” Malkie snarked, her face proud.
Eckell was about to say something equally snarky but he stopped when he realized it was no longer raining. Something felt strange, so very strange. It took Eckell a second to realize that the pounding artillery was no longer falling and only the occasional sharp crack as snipers cut down the retreating traitors.
But there was no other sound than that, only the crackle of fires and the distant groaning of the wounded.
It was all over.
The traitors were charging their position.
The barrage of blaster bolts so intense it was like horizontal rain, a multicolored storm of death. The dull crump of Imperial mortars sounded as they unleashed their load onto the dark shapes moving unseen in the mud flats. Grey shapes ran along the trench. They were clad in their grey waterproof capes, their faces masked by dull green gas masks. Their grey greatcoats and green webbing underneath had been stained by blood and mud. Their foe began their answer to their mortars in the form of a massive artillery bombardment from shells twenty kilometers away, signaled by the high shriek of falling shells. Their explosions providing brief flashes of illumination across the dark mud warped landscape. Black mud and toxic green rainwater that had gathered in the many holes rained down.
Captain Eckell Greyhound was lifted off his feet as a shell hit his section of the trench. For a moment it felt as if his soul had left his body and all his bones had broken, but he landed on his back, bruised but alive. Liquid mud drizzled down on him. Groaning and swearing, Eckell was trying to get on his feet as a massive siege mortar shell hit nearby, obliterated a communications trench where Imperial reinforcements were flooding in, killing nearly thirty, knocking Eckell to the filthy floor again. Rising to his feet again, Eckell looked all around. The sound of battle was testing his eardrums as more shells fell on their positions, shattering trenches, guns, bunkers, dugouts, and men. A dozen troopers entered the trench just as Eckell noticed something: the drizzle that fell on him was no longer water and mud.
There was blood and body parts in it.
“They’re in the trenches! They’re in here!” Someone at the end of the trench section was yelling at the top of their lungs, somehow drowning out the shriek of the blaster fire and the rolling bombardment of Rebel artillery.
From the mud plains, demons came, dark shapes of fury and death. They leapt into the trench lines, sharp white grins and flashing blades the only thing that could be seen in the darkness.
Eckell crushed the skull of the first Rebel that landed on the floorboards with the butt of his E-11 blaster. At the same time the Imperial troopers screamed as the fight turned into brutal hand to hand combat.
The Rebels were in mismatched uniforms that were basically rags after a month of attrition. They wore bowl steel helmets that served as bludgeoning tools as they fought their way through the Imperial troopers.
Men and women screamed at the top of their lungs as they butchered each other. Many lost their weapons in the chaos and resorted to their fists. An Imperial Trooper lost both his hands to a frag and resorted to his teeth to take his vengeance. Passionate men and women killing each other in this brutal Melee.
More bodies fell into the trench. At the same time, more Imperial reinforcements arrived, clogging the trench section with bodies in the most brutal melee that Eckell had ever experienced.
Eckell ripped a long vibroknife from the writhing body of an Imperial. He caught the first Rebel over the lip of the ditch in the belly with his knife. The rapidly vibrating blade tore apart the Rebels guts, blood washed the front of Eckell’s face and breastplate. Eckell threw him over his head as he rolled. Eckell turned and took off the screamings man’s face with a high powered shot from his blaster. An act of mercy underserved.
Five Rebels jumped down. Eckell turned his blaster to full auto and cut them all down before he heard a cry from behind. His barrel felt hot to touch even with Eckell’s khaki green gloves.
Another one was charging at him, Eckell raised his blaster to blow his head off but it only produced a dry clacking sound. The rebel swung his knife randomly and in wide arches. Eckell jumped backwards a dozen steps, blocking what would lethal attacks with his empty rifle.
The man lunged forward and slipped past the guard of Eckell’s barrel. Eckell raised his left forearm. The tip sheared through his blocking left forearm and sprayed blood across the muddy floor. The pain was lost in Eckell’s battle adrenaline but he rapidly backed away, staring at the Rebel’s growing sneer.
The Rebel made a lunge too far. Eckell beat the blade hand away and lunged forward with his still smoking barrel. The barrel found purchase in the Rebel’s throat and burned through his flesh. The man fell back, gagging and choking on his own blood, taking Eckell’s blaster with him. Eckell took out his pistol and fired a fully charged round right into the writhing man’s face.
Eckell killed three more before his pistol went dry again. He threw it aside. The floor of the trench was covered in bloody muddy bodies.
A Rebel body-slammed Eckell into the wall of the trench, winding him. Breathless, Eckell fought back, bruising his knuckles on the side of the traitor’s face. The Rebel kicked out Eckell’s knee, dislocating it with a loud snap. The two went down throwing blows in a confusing ball of violence. Eckell felt his vibroknife leave his grip.
Eckell unleashed a flurry of blows but a single stunning blow by the Rebels bleeding bare-knuckles knocked Karl to the bottom again. The Rebels's left hand found it's grip around his throat. Karl gagged, choking, his vision swimming as his neck muscles fought against desperately the tightening grip. His left fist continued hailing blows into the Rebels side while his left hand dug around in the mud until he found it.
Karl gripped out his vibronife. He swung in a stabbing arch at the Rebels side, but long thick fingers were suddenly around his blade-hand, crushing it and slamming it into the mud. Four slams and Karl's hand gave up. The dagger whipped away. His vision was turning dark.
Eckell broke the man's nose with a smashing punch, blood violently spluttered out and tears appeared at the edges of the Rebels eyes. But his grip was still ever string.
His fist fell away, too starved of air to move anymore.
The Rebel went limp, a great gaping hole in his chest. More Rebels fell. Eckell, gasping for air that he never thought could be so sweet, pushed the corpse off him and looked behind. A full squad of Imperials entered the trench section. In front of them was a heavy trooper weilding a Z-6 rotary blaster that cut down every single Rebel in the open. At the same time, accurate blaster rifles threw off the Rebels who were still fighting with the surviving Imperials. Their bodies piled on each other, Imperial and Rebel alike lying in their own blood and guts. In the mud, one could not tell the difference between them.
Eckell looked up to see a beaming heart shaped face looking down at him with a big smile across her face. Her face was muddy and bloody like Eckell, her eyes red but bright.
“You owe me, Eckell.” She said, offering her hand which Eckell took, lifting himself up.
“Of course I do, Malkie. The finest Domaine de la Maison.”
“I always have to save your ass.” Malkie snarked, her face proud.
Eckell was about to say something equally snarky but he stopped when he realized it was no longer raining. Something felt strange, so very strange. It took Eckell a second to realize that the pounding artillery was no longer falling and only the occasional sharp crack as snipers cut down the retreating traitors.
But there was no other sound than that, only the crackle of fires and the distant groaning of the wounded.
It was all over.
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