Index: Planetfall | The Dismemberment doctrine
Doom.
Mighty, invulnerable even, the Taz’aran noble warrior assumed himself. Clad in brand new combat suit, augmented by extra thick armor-plating, sporting all amenities one such as himself, a noble, deserved. He would gain glory and attain riches; stroll over the ancient battlefields of this wretched world with impunity and, in style. His thoughtful mother, the head of their House, she gifted him her own armored cape, now gloriously fluttering on the hot wind, as he chased his prey.
Yet, mere star-second before he could pull the trigger of his family’s olden assault rifle, his entire perspective changed. Again, only for a short second since his thinking faculties and eyes splattered all over his two, still obliviously joyous comrades. Body now limp, his exoskeleton reinforced hands dropped the venerable particle-beam rifle.
No longer immaculately clean, the lavishly decorated weapon rolled in the dirt. The bleeding, slowly stumbling away Avern’a witnessed not, nor heard the demise of her pursuers. Too tired and hurt was she, to pay any attention to what was happening behind her.
Two seconds ebbed away and two more dead “heroes” made indentations in the earth.
A ghostly shadow leapt from one concrete pillar onto the next, dispensing liberal amounts of swift doom. So quick did this spectral hunter act, that from the fifteen strong Taz’arans engaged in jubilant slaughter of Avern’a slaves, ten expired before anyone was the wiser.
Three entered the dim space between a large column and a ruined shelter. Strolling without a care in the world, guns casually flung over their shoulders, these taz’arans never walked out back into the light. Silently mowed down by a hail of railgun pellets, their gored corpses joined the rotten piles of garbage already beautifying the ground. Flown many light-years the three did until, finally, they were united with their one and only, true kin.
A small child, whom these noble fighters chased after, she collapsed unconscious seconds later. Quickly, one invisible hand injected her dilapidated body with a life-saving dose of medigel. Tucked away, hidden inside a hole in the walls, the girl would eventually sleep through everything that occurred after. Better it was this way, for oft death was too great a burden for the weary.
Four other taz’arans, one of them armed with a powerful auto-beam gun, found their deserving end out in the open.
Most of the still breathing slaves were chased by this bunch – a man, three children, and four women. The only Avern’a male left alive freed one hand from his grav-shackles; in part by chopping his other with a sharp rock, and in part by gnawing it off.
He leapt out from behind a crumbled wall and charged the taz’arans, silent as a corpse. Him wielding a simple metal pipe would present little to no danger to the aliens, them being armed and armored so well.
The dread stalker chose this most opportune moment and picked off the startled taz’arans, one by one. Shooting short bursts of armor-piercing, flesh rending railgun pellets aimed at their heads, the shadowy doom took out the heavy weapon specialist first.
For a split second, a transparent shape flickered into their view and then... darkness took them.
Two rolled in the gory dust, their faceplates pierced from point blank range by a handful of needles. The nigh impossible to hear and scan projectiles, indeed they did induce great terror since these in particular were forged from a compound stealth and megasteel alloy. Not that the dead cared what exactly had perforated their faceplates or splattered all their thinking meat through the holes.
After haphazardly firing a couple of beams at the charging, one handed Avern’a man, their panicked comrade opened his faceplate. Forced to resort to vocal means of communication, he aimed to alert the rest of his party, yet was not given the chance to speak. Such was the fright that took him, that even after witnessing his comrades’ demise, he still resorted to this course of action.
The man attempted to cry out for help and in a moment fell dead, face turned into mush. Felled the mighty “hero” was and in a most inglorious fashion, by a pipe wielding slave. Helmets, indeed they worked perfectly well, until one removed or opened them.
The ghostly hand appeared again and only for a second – long enough to throw the bleeding Avern’a man a medispray.
People knew when they were being saved; after witnessing the doom of their would be killers, all the Avern’a quickly ran into a nearby ruined building. This action of theirs, however, provided them with only a temporary respite. If found they would be instantly slaughtered.
Despite his speed and efficient dispatch of the enemy, late was the hour in which this life-saving shadow appeared.
Ill luck befell most of these unfortunate slaves – only a handful of them survived, and by the skin of their teeth. While this invisible horror traversed the ruined abodes with dazzling speed and unalived half the enemy number, most Avern’a perished. Even the woman whose three pursuers he’d killed early on, now her terror-filled shriek echoed across the ruins.
Followed it was, by a string of coherent orders; bellowed calmly, cheerfully even and in perfect Taz’aran nonetheless:
“We are in luck, oh dear fellows of mine! It would seem that in our most noble pursuit to relax, we’d stumbled upon... an adversary. Friends, I advise you to advance together; stay in cover, keep your fingers on the trigger, scanners set on maximum.”
If the four plus one taz’arans expected their ghostly stalker to engage them in a duel of words, they instead faced an eery silence. Not that their jolly leader cared though; it would seem he, at least, had nerves of metal and bravely dashed from cover to cover.
Clad in heavily-armored battle suit, nevertheless, his movements were more akin to the steps of a noble, one who effortlessly pranced around some glamorous dancing hall, not a dusty ruin. What was worse, it would seem that he was leading his comrades exactly where the Avern’a hid!
Taz’arans were well known for using sentients as shields – sometimes they even hid behind their own. Out of nowhere, sandy wind hit the coliseum-like open space with an almost deafening screech, before the five taz’arans could move in closer.
“The sneakiest of opponents, those equipped with the best TOC devices, even they cannot withstand nature! Look around friends, our wozzie should be quite shootable right now.” – Once again did the taz’aran in command chuckle, voice so strong that he overpowered the roaring wind.
Armed with a heavy particle-beam rifle, fitted with a long bayonet, this man seemed well-trained and experienced. Not that his elaborately encrusted and lavishly painted armored suit bore any of his Imperium’s battle honors or, by that matter, a rank. He could be ex-military, the son of some disfavored by the court House or, just a bored young noble.
It was utterly irrelevant who any of them were and where they came from.
From the moment their boots set foot on Avern’a, to the shadowy deathbringer they were dead aliens walking. Not for any other reason would their kind come here, but to torment an otherwise molested beyond measure people. Killing sentients for the mere “kick” of it all was a degeneracy, made even more vile by the fact that these people were shackled slaves.
The shadow of death was determined to make of this ruin a nice mass-grave for these taz’arans. Unseen by them, even with all of the sand particles flying around, the one who hunted the hunters repositioned himself. Behind a large column he moved, so the wind couldn’t nullify his stealth and then, readied himself for assault.
Something flickered in their field of vision, and, guided by their scanners, the taz’arans immediately opened fire. Hissing, a literal torrent of particle-beams hit the wavering out of existence target and one of them shouted:
“That was a holo decoy!?”
“Our adversary is full of surprises, it seems. Recalibrate your scanners friends, and next time – do fire with prudence.”
Three used up power packs loudly clattered on the ground.
The now three and one taz’arans feverishly looked around, yet saw their fourth comrade not. Vanished without a bleep or trace, only the indentations of where his boots stomped the dirt remained. There was no one on their scanners either, for this highly-ionized wind also carried with it some sort of ray distortion.
Whatever it was – a natural phenomenon, radiation, pieces of beam deflecting armor coating turned into dust by the ravages of time, they had to adapt or fall.
“Well, wouldn’t you know it! It would seem that nature was not on our side...” – sniggered the cocky noble and after making a sweeping move with his shimmering bayonet, added:
“Not on our nigh invisible adversary’s side, either. That ionized wind will force all of us to shoot by eye and the beam dispersion effect would make our weapons pretty much useless at long-range. You all know exactly what this means, my dear friends.”
“I am pretty good with my vibro blade.” – said one of the three taz’arans, after he shouldered his snub gun.
“Mine is already affixed to my assault rifle, and I’ve trained for one whole year with my House’s noble retainers.” – Proudly stated another taz’aran.
The third, however, said absolutely nothing.
He just stood there, unmoving, as if resting, hands still holding his gun. Their comrade was a heavy trooper, armed with a short-range particle-beam weapon which the Vog’ra specialists called a TEC rifle. Instead of asking him a follow up question, the now two and one taz’arans assumed a new formation.
They moved back to back; eyes strained and muscles, both flesh and metallic, ready to react. Their friend’s neck was twisted at an unnatural angle, such that would result in many of his vertebrae being snapped. No one could suffer this and live to tell who... hugged them.
A few star-minutes ticked away in ever-growing tension.
Even though he was clad in an opulent-looking, heavily-armored battlesuit, the snarky noble did not act overconfident. Nevertheless, the taz’aran had to act, do something quickly or he could end up dead. Since neither of the three would risk being surprised from behind, they advanced with their best possible speed toward the Avern’a.
Their best wasn’t enough.
Finally coming into full view, their shadowy stalker came dashing, shooting short bursts on the move. Seemingly, the ionization had little effect on his aim and since the tubular rifle he was armed with fired physical projectiles, neither did the beam dispersion.
Only one of the attacks miss; the noble danced away from his two now headless and very dead comrades, firing as he ran. No longer did he offer snide remarks, while railgun pellets missed or grazed him, shaving off pieces of his elaborate armor. In his stead, the noble shot one entire power pack from his high-powered particle-beam rifle, at the fleet-of-foot deathbringer.
Steam hissed from the suit of his no longer stealthed adversary and was immediately blown away by the wind. The noble quickly reloaded his rifle with a spare, this time dual power pack and continued shooting. His exoskeleton and skilled footwork allowed him to win more precious time, so he could get closer to the Avern’a.
It was painfully evident now – that ghostly hunter was outfitted with a Terran-made TOC system. Nothing else could suffer under such brutal conditions and maintain cloak for so long a time.
Both particle-beam rifle and assault railgun, their heatsinks clogged with dust, soon overheated. The stalker unsheathed a broad, quite vicious-looking vibrodagger, and moved in closer. Even though the taz’aran initially assumed his long rifle and bayonet would give him the range in close combat, he was gravely mistaken.
The heatsinks of his adversary, after releasing all that steam, they gave out one barely audible click. Then the shadow became partly invisible and, if that wasn’t the worst, moved with an even faster pace!
One glancing hit, two, and then three – this was more than enough for the snarky noble to decide his next action. Relying on his near overheating exoskeleton the taz’aran leapt high in the air, while simultaneously he dropped one grenade-shaped canister. The shape of his ghostly enemy rolled back, as far away from the soon-to-come explosion as possible.
Instead of a loud boom and flying shrapnel or the violent hiss of the ever-growing plasma blob, a large cloud of green smoke appeared. It was quickly expanded and then carried away by the wind; everything it touched immediately began emitting a faint, greenish glow.
“Oh no, you wouldn’t like to chase me, my sneaky adversary! I just called for an artillery barrage on this spot and you know full well what that means.” – Stated with calm assurance the noble, soon after his now also hissing battlesuit finished its long jump.
The shadow stopped dead in his tracks.
Taz’aran-made holo-optics, even on maximum focus could barely see the outlines of this supremely well-made stealth suit. However, the noble was almost able to feel the hesitance of his enemy, while he leapt once more.
“Chase after me, and these poor Avern’a will burn alive. Or get blown up, whatever munitions my generous Jaern hosts are willing to use today.”
He leapt one more time and managed to reach the ruined stadium’s highermost ledge, before the suit’s heatsinks gave out.
“Make your choi...”
The taz’aran noble wasn’t able to finish his almost triumphant rant since the back of his suit was hit by a hail of railgun projectiles. The snarky sentence ended with a loud, terror-filled scream, as his heavily-damaged, overheated battlesuit fell from the ledge.
A scream whose only “listener” was him since shortly after, the area behind him was blanketed by artillery shells...
***
Will these tormented slaves and their ghostly rescuer survive? What is the fate of our snarky, noble Taz’aran? This and more in the next part of our stormtrooper story!
What an exciting episode. I could just see the looks one their faces as one by one they either vanished or died.