You study the recruits' faces as the drop pod descends at breakneck speed unto the planet below. They are clearly anxious, as expected from their first assignment as scouts of the Raven Guard. You allow yourself for a moment to remember the first time you've made a landing behind enemy lines, tasked with locating the positions of enemy Nobz as they have been now. Two recruits died, and you were badly injured. Intel received from the Imperial Guard in the field had been incorrect. Still, your squad fulfilled its objectives, and you battle-brothers' deaths were avenged. You mutter a prayer for the fallen, muted by the roar of re-entry enveloping the pod.
You force your thoughts back to the present time. The Planetary Defense Force of Shataris IV, the planet you're currently en route to, has been at odds dealing with an Ork Waagh! for two months. Your company has made haste to relieve the defenders, but not soon enough to prevent the loss of several major population centers. While it seems as though the outcome will be a crushing defeat to the Imperium, there is still a small chance to turn the tables: the jumbled reports of the defenders seem to indicate the presence of different clans amidst the Ork forces. No ork would follow the leadership of another ork without it having an overwhelming advantage in power, and said ork being of a different clan, this advantage would have to be multiplied manifold. The xenos' tendencies could yet be used against them, should the leader be taken out and the Waagh! forced into a power struggle. A small chance of victory. Better than none at all.
Your musings are cut short as you hear an overpowering clang from below. An instant later, the pod's walls begin to twist and incarcerate at least one of the initiates. You fail to keep up with the happenings as your head is racked in every which way, and you manage to rationalize that the pod's begun spinning out of control due to whatever collided with it. The last thing you hear before losing conscience is a clang not unlike that of a moment ago.
You hear distant sounds of gunfire, guttural bellows and explosive ordnance. You open your eyes, but can't make out anything from your blurry vision at the moment. Slowly, you come to realize your body's been twisted into an awkward fetal position by the bending metal. As your vision clears, you also realize your current position has you turned upside down. "Squad, status!" Your voice comes out hoarse, and unanswered. Fearing for the worst, you manage to draw your combat knife and cut through the safety bonds. The pod's machine spirit must have left it at some point, that it did not have them retract. And then you smell it. An overwhelming smell of blood, emanating from the twisted metal walls around you. By the Emperor's mercy alone, you were spared their gruesome fate, entombed inside their own transport. You allow yourself a moment of grief for the inglorious death of your charges. And then you begin to work on getting out of the pod...
After hours of twisting and turning, you manage to extricate yourself from the wreckage of the drop pod. The only salvageable equipment was that which you were outfitted with; your carapace armor, bolt pistol and combat knife. Your vox unit was thrown off your helmet and is lost inside the pod, most likely smashed useless from tumbling around at high speeds inside a pod spinning out of control. Fortunately, none of your injuries were incapacitating. You climb atop the wreck to get a better viewpoint as you take note of your surroundings. To the south, a near endless horizon of red flame marks out the wide line of battle between the PDF and the Orks. Beneath the night sky of Shataris IV, it appears as though that part of the planet is burning, and it may very well be the case. There is little you can contribute to the front lines with what you have. It would appear the ongoing battle has produced a comparatively small skirmish some miles to the west, from where the sounds of battle are loudest. You can also make out some sort of structure to the northeast. You can tell some of the details, and mark it as a communications array.
Your enhanced senses make out the crunching sounds of metal boots approaching your location. Swiftly, you descend from your spot atop the wreck, and ponder what to do. A smashed drop pod in a smouldering crater is hardly the most inconspicuous spot to hide at the moment. On the other hand, it's unlikely the orks will expect any survivors from crawling out of such a wreck. An ambush here is feasibly, if not without risk. Alternatively, you can slip into the shadows and use the surrounding high grass as cover, and wait for a moment to strike on your own terms... Or escape a possibly fatal encounter no worse than before.
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Topic: WH40K Adventure: Flight Interrupted (Read 794 times)