Post by The Major on May 11, 2014 12:12:01 GMT -8
As boots smash into the aging shingles of a sloped rust colored roof, Karl can feel the shock of a less than optimal landing, racking his double wrapped ankles which no doubt would have been pulled to the wounding point had it not been for the precautionary tape-skin and stiff black leather of his dust slicked jackboots. Despite the momentum, his backpack uses the attached jump jet to autocorrect his wild motion, puffing out two stiff gouts of gas that secured him in a pose ready for action. With his knees spread this way and feet maintaining balance upon their balls, he was supposedly ready to engage any enemy and vanquish any threat. . .
. . . except for them.
They let out a plethora of bloodcurdling moans that shivered his resolve and triggered hormones screaming for flight. Fighting back the overwhelming grief that was represented by hairs standing erect upon his nape, Karl advanced forward to the rooftop’s edge, hesitant to see what remained of the truck transporting “high” valued citizens. Indications hinted at a situation beyond any form of recognizable repair- as was manifested by the rising smoke stack curling to the ash choked sky, bringing with it the foul odor of burning fabric and singed flesh. He knew it was bad because there were no cries save for the grumbling moans they emitted; still, he clenched and winced at the sight: beneath his perch, the overturned hovertruck had combusted. Even the petrol tank had managed to catch, and the results were horrifying. Bodies lay charred by a bright flame; bodies both of the escort squad and their charges. Now they could not be identified, for the melting arms and burst stomachs popped into a soup like blend that slurred into a single, bubbling edge. He shoved the protective scarf drenched with sweat and mucus against his mouth, doing his best to suppress the sudden wave of nausea and revulsion caused by discovering the moist, throaty crackles of human lumped shapes as they were cooked to a phlegm-like smear.
Luck had 2nd Lt. Rippach assigned to the left flank once the scout ahead reported more of the unidentified hostiles amassing up along the avenue. They were supposed to use Meletic’s Panzerfaust to explode a hole in the teething horde, but then this. . . accident? Attack? Happened. Luck meant that Karl was maneuvering a jump between two taller apartment complexes just as the lorry went up with explosive force, sending cargo, chunks, and bits of equipment propelling upwards. Luck had the last man alive on the left flank just barely missing what he thought was the gun metal gray blur of a flying stahlhelm that would have smashed up his pelvis had it struck between the extended and arching legs. Luck meant that he was still alive, and could at least report what had –
Another growl from street level, and now he watched as the shambling parodies stomped, jerked, and waltzed down from the intersection towards the licking flames. Much to his astonishment, the enemy did not seem fazed by burns. They plodded past from third to first degree burns, until the cackling fire jumped upwards and caught them as they hunched over the blood porridge steaming down beneath Karl’s frozen senses. They gurgled and gasped- not because they succumbed to the pain of literally having their own tangled messes cooked off, but because they were shoving the remains of the broth into their blistering, gaping mouths. His own mouth suddenly so dry it stung, he jumped backward and away from the edge, doing his best to hold himself together. Distraction. There must be something to do to distract from the cannibalistic, wet, and sloppy sounds slapping together as teeth tore what remained of the bodies.
Report. This must be reported. The officers would know what to do, regardless of how absolutely abysmal the entire city looked, as different spots were aglow with more fires, more tragedies and more loss. Clouds throbbed with rolling heat waves as the smoke carried up more tinder only to bring it back down as salty snow. He reached up and grabbed unto his right shoulder strap while facing his wrist towards his face. From upon his sleeve a holographic display formulated, synced up perfectly after hours of calibration to the movement of his pupils. A screen showing the status of the rest of his platoon is scrolled unto, then a red warning light pops up and pings an alert that needed consideration: the names of his entire platoon were filled in red font, and the electrocardiograms represented in tiny boxes all showed multiple lines all doing the same exact thing- they were each flat.
“Oh Hell no! No.”
Activating the comlink proceeded properly, and it struck as another wrong that the superiors monitoring the progress of the mission didn’t already have orders specified. Karl barked into the receiver, hoping that someone was listening. Certainly, someone at the command center had to have monitored the radio chatter, the attacking. . . things, the loses, the explosion, why the Hell did they not have instructions ready? Unless. . . they weren’t alive anymore either.
. . . except for them.
They let out a plethora of bloodcurdling moans that shivered his resolve and triggered hormones screaming for flight. Fighting back the overwhelming grief that was represented by hairs standing erect upon his nape, Karl advanced forward to the rooftop’s edge, hesitant to see what remained of the truck transporting “high” valued citizens. Indications hinted at a situation beyond any form of recognizable repair- as was manifested by the rising smoke stack curling to the ash choked sky, bringing with it the foul odor of burning fabric and singed flesh. He knew it was bad because there were no cries save for the grumbling moans they emitted; still, he clenched and winced at the sight: beneath his perch, the overturned hovertruck had combusted. Even the petrol tank had managed to catch, and the results were horrifying. Bodies lay charred by a bright flame; bodies both of the escort squad and their charges. Now they could not be identified, for the melting arms and burst stomachs popped into a soup like blend that slurred into a single, bubbling edge. He shoved the protective scarf drenched with sweat and mucus against his mouth, doing his best to suppress the sudden wave of nausea and revulsion caused by discovering the moist, throaty crackles of human lumped shapes as they were cooked to a phlegm-like smear.
Luck had 2nd Lt. Rippach assigned to the left flank once the scout ahead reported more of the unidentified hostiles amassing up along the avenue. They were supposed to use Meletic’s Panzerfaust to explode a hole in the teething horde, but then this. . . accident? Attack? Happened. Luck meant that Karl was maneuvering a jump between two taller apartment complexes just as the lorry went up with explosive force, sending cargo, chunks, and bits of equipment propelling upwards. Luck had the last man alive on the left flank just barely missing what he thought was the gun metal gray blur of a flying stahlhelm that would have smashed up his pelvis had it struck between the extended and arching legs. Luck meant that he was still alive, and could at least report what had –
Another growl from street level, and now he watched as the shambling parodies stomped, jerked, and waltzed down from the intersection towards the licking flames. Much to his astonishment, the enemy did not seem fazed by burns. They plodded past from third to first degree burns, until the cackling fire jumped upwards and caught them as they hunched over the blood porridge steaming down beneath Karl’s frozen senses. They gurgled and gasped- not because they succumbed to the pain of literally having their own tangled messes cooked off, but because they were shoving the remains of the broth into their blistering, gaping mouths. His own mouth suddenly so dry it stung, he jumped backward and away from the edge, doing his best to hold himself together. Distraction. There must be something to do to distract from the cannibalistic, wet, and sloppy sounds slapping together as teeth tore what remained of the bodies.
Report. This must be reported. The officers would know what to do, regardless of how absolutely abysmal the entire city looked, as different spots were aglow with more fires, more tragedies and more loss. Clouds throbbed with rolling heat waves as the smoke carried up more tinder only to bring it back down as salty snow. He reached up and grabbed unto his right shoulder strap while facing his wrist towards his face. From upon his sleeve a holographic display formulated, synced up perfectly after hours of calibration to the movement of his pupils. A screen showing the status of the rest of his platoon is scrolled unto, then a red warning light pops up and pings an alert that needed consideration: the names of his entire platoon were filled in red font, and the electrocardiograms represented in tiny boxes all showed multiple lines all doing the same exact thing- they were each flat.
“Oh Hell no! No.”
Activating the comlink proceeded properly, and it struck as another wrong that the superiors monitoring the progress of the mission didn’t already have orders specified. Karl barked into the receiver, hoping that someone was listening. Certainly, someone at the command center had to have monitored the radio chatter, the attacking. . . things, the loses, the explosion, why the Hell did they not have instructions ready? Unless. . . they weren’t alive anymore either.
