The Front Line (Warhammer 40k)
(This is a WIP and I hope to upload more of it soon. Feel free to comment, rate, fave and whatever else you want to do :).)
Shit that's the only word to describe this place. We've been through hell to get here and we have over 240 miles of blood, sweat and shit left to go. I've seen dead men trying to run from this place with a rifle aimed at them from the men who are supposed to be leading them; fodder is the only word to describe them. This place isn't even for the dead, the monsters take care of that.
I've seen men impaled with their rib cages split open, they're the lucky ones who will have their bodies sent home; the unlucky ones I've seen are cut up so badly they look a pile of bloody porridge.
Last night I saw some poor bastard get grabbed by a Lictor; lucky bastard was dead before he hit the ground, nobody did shit to the body, we're not risking our asses for some corpse. He was on his way back to this MG position too; he was at the very end of my field of view so I had no chance to help anyway.
Right now I'm sitting in some rain filled MG nest with fuck knows what in the water flooding this hole. Screw watching for the enemy I'm just making sure a Lictor or some other mother fucker doesn't try and make me its next meal. Thankfully Dianos brought me some food from the canteen; tomato soup was the only thing on offer since our last two resupply convoys never arrived, but it's fucking warming on nights like these.
I often wonder how Tyranids so well out here with all these losses. The cold doesn't stop them, the heat doesn't stop them and bullets don't stop them. How do they do it?
Even thinking about all this shit makes the soup seem so fucking good, it's so good it makes me want to cry and I'm a soldier for crying out loud!
I hear stories of patrols that go beyond the river about 5 miles from her. One of them wandered straight in to a nest of 'nids. That place is a disaster just waiting to happen; at least the enemy will be "Merciful" and a quick death is a certainty if attacked.
Riok put the diary down and looked out through the small slit of the MG nest. There was fuck all but rain, mud, shit, jungle and monsters beyond this gun position.
"Why the fuck am I here?" He asked himself under his voice.
A quiet, but slightly audible beep started in the back of the black dragon's head, shaking him from his trance of negativity and causing him to look around and grab his rifle from beside him.
Suddenly something shifted in the bushes at the bottom of the small hill Riok was looking down; it was just before the right turn where his line of fire and vision was stopped due to the dense plant life. Riok took hold of the MG and slowly looked down the sights at the bushes.
WHAM!
Riok jumped and nearly fell over when the metal shield that the MG was behind gained a huge dint on its left hand side.
"Fucking...argh" Riok swore, a hand on his chest, heart and lungs racing as he slowly started to calm down.
Riok reached over the shield and his hand found a fairly big, rounded object. Taking hold of the object Riok lifted it and saw it was a blooded guardsman's helmet.
The helmet was deformed, it had either had the shit kicked out of it or a Zoanthrope had decided to "Crown" a victim.
The 'nids had become violent S.o.Bs, well...not that they weren't already, they were getting smarter and knew that a scared enemy was a dead enemy. Zoanthropes had particularly taken to the idea of scare tactics and had adopted a killing technique we knew as "Crowning". The Zoanthrope would use its power to crush the helmet of a guardsman while he was wearing it which would cause a frenzy of panic in surrounding troops. Crowning was mainly just for scaring us and was only done once, but attacks sometimes follow after the act was done so it's not like everything was over and done with when it happened.
Riok promptly removed his own helmet, not wanting to risk it, and jumped out of the trench.
He had to get out of here.