[Sharpe]

I was feeling creative this afternoon while I was thinking about my new IG kill team and came up with this. Enjoy!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Most people would find Ostia to be a dull world. It’s grey ash wastes and crumbling rockcrete and plasteel cities. Long ago Ostia was a base city for the Damocles Gulf Crusade. When the crusade turned sour many of these Imperial planets were taken in by the Tau but Ostia still resists. Now the planet is a battle field. Wars rage between the Tau and the Ostian Breach Troopers of the Imperial Guard. Also Ork waaghs pass through the planet frequently. To add insult to injury a good sized portion of the population has turned to the dark Chaos gods, fearing that their border world has been forsaken by the Emperor. Other than that though the grey ball of a world was dull.

Ostia was not dull for Sergeant McLennard. He sat huddled against the wall in a hab block, his augmetic arm slowly venting steam as he waited for just the right moment. The Ork patrol he had been following was going to pass through here and now was as good a time as any to wipe them out. He could already here the grunted speech and clanging of the Ork’s metallic boots. McLennard slowly began counting to himself.

The Orks casually walked down the hallway, there shoota’s long perforated barrels resting on their shoulders or in their palms. One made an especially crude joke that caused the whole group to stop for a moment laughing. The Orks kept walking but soon one of their number notices something at the end of the hallway. It seemed man shaped, draped in some sort of heavy cape and with an Ostian helmet strapped on. The Orks whooped and cheered as they broke into a mad charge down the hall way.

They didn’t even see it coming. McLennard punches his augmetic fist through the weak rockcrete of the hab block and scythed the legs of the first Ork out from under it. Shocked and surprised the Ork fell to the ground with a cry of alarm before the blast of a bolt round silenced it forever. One of the remaining two Orks, a tall one ugly by even an Ork’s standards, raised his shoota and pulled the trigger. The heavy gun clanked and banged as it blanketed the wall with shells, jittering and shaking the Ork wielding it but McLennard had already dove back into cover.

Soon the Ork’s shoota’s clip was empty and the wall was now more of a pile of rubble. He decided it would be a good idea to check for any good loot so he drew his choppa to inspect the pile. Both Ork’s began working their way through the pile when McLennard made his appearance. With a yell he dove out of the pile. McLennard took the nearest Ork by the neck with his powerful augmetic fist. One could almost feel the crunch as he snapped the creature’s neck in two, leaving the head lolling awkwardly. The Ork with the choppa turned and swung at him but McLennard parried the blow with his metal arm, body and all, and then riposted by hitting the Ork in the temple with the clip of his bolt pistol. The Ork, snarling but otherwise unfazed, grabbed onto his bolter-wielding hand and snapped it back. McLennard cried out as he was forced to release his grip on the weapon. Enraged he kneed the Ork in the gut and released the body before swinging back at the creature with his augmetic arm. The Ork blocked the blow with his choppa and kicked McLennard back.

The sergeant fell back, protected by his flak vest from the blow, through the weak walling and down to the floor below. McLennard fell onto a plasteel table that collapsed under his weight. The Ork jumped down on top of him knocking the wind out of McLennard and pinning his augmetic arm to the ground. The Ork raised its choppa for the finishing blow but then mysteriously stood there. A look of shock crossed its face as it stood there rigid, the tip of a foot long Ostian bayonet sticking through its chest. The Ork fell forward as it received a kick from behind from a man wearing a grey cameleoline clock, red fatigues and greatcoat and the black flak vest of the Sabers. He wore a helmet with a targeting visor that had a faint green glow as he stood over the Sergeant, waiting for something. He also carried a rather dangerous looking black lasgun with the aforementioned bayonet.

“What would you do without me?” the man asked with a smirk.

“I might get to have some fun myself! Now get this damned thing off o’ me!”