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Written by Mac Coxhead & Steve Blease
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Friday, 01 February 2008 00:00 |
Lieutenant Sharke ran his finger under the collar of his faded green tunic. The lice that infested his clothes were only a momentary distraction however. Crouched on a cold open plain, his trusty Bakur rifle tipped with its huge saw-edged sword bayonet in his hands, he stared through the dark night at the breached fortress wall.
Badajobz... The very name struck fear into any attacker. A huge fortified Dark Elf town now occupied by Mordred's forces, the Orcs knew that they must capture the fortress-town if they were to make any headway into Catalucia.
Sharke knew the facts. He knew Badajobz had to be taken. He knew that the Iron Duke wouldthrow his troops into the meat-grinder to ensure success. The facts did not cheer him up.
He strained his ears over the shuffling and whispering of the troops behind him. To his front, illuminated by braziers, he could hear the bastard Elves laughing and joking; planning to smash any attempt by the Orcs to force the breach opened in the fortress walls by the Orcs' mighty siege artillery.
Suddenly the night sky shone red. An Orc rocket exploded above the plain, illuminating the waiting attackers and the breach. The signal to attack.
A huge growl rose from the waiting Orcs.
Sharke stood and raised his rifle into the air. "Charge!" He yelled. Turning towards the breach, he ran as fast as he could. The air around him came alive with a cacophony of sound. Musket-fire and cannon-shot whistled by. Behind him, he heard explosions and the cries of wounded and dying Orcs. He kept running.
A stone ricocheted up and struck his face, drawing blood. Sharke winced. He glanced up and saw that he was almost upon the breach. He skidded to a halt. He knelt, picked out an Elf atop the fortress wall, and aimed his rifle. With a resounding crack the Bakur rifle smashed back into his shoulder. The Elf screamed, his face blown away, and he fell into the rubble of the breach. Some Orcs fell back as musket balls tore into their bodies. Their uniforms were a mix of colours, the red of Orc line infantry, the green of the Orc Ryfles, even the blue of the Engineers.
Sharke stood and started upward. Suddenly the world exploded in mass of light and sound. Flesh, uniforms and muskets, torn to shreds, flew through the air.
Sharke fell to the ground as the concussion of the mine threw him back. He shook his head to clear his blurred vision.
As he wiped the blood from his eyes, a primal force, almost as powerful as the Elven mine, lifted him to his feet.
Sergeant Harpy stood grim-faced as he pulled his officer upright. "You wouldn't be letting those Elf bastards get away with that, would you now Sir?" Picking up his seven-barrelled gun, the huge BogOrc launched himself up towards the Elven defenders, yelling a fierce battle cry in his strange native tongue. Sharke drew his sword and charged after him.
Jumping over the rubble of the smashed breach and ruin of mangled Orc bodies, the two Orcs led the renewed assault upon the Elves: A crash of cannon fire split the night and Sharke heard the whisper of death as the load of caseshotte whipped past his left cheek. To his rear, Orc redcoats were torn apart as the iron balls found an alternative target. Suddenly Sharke was among the Enemy.
His sword sliced through the air, its blade gleaming in the pale moonlight. An Elf artillerist parried the thrust with his rammer, then fell in screaming agony as Sharke counter-swung upwards into the Elf's unprotected groin.
A bayonet jabbed into his greatcoat as the Rifle Lieutenant buried his sword point into a Garde sergeant's eye. Twisting he hammered the guard of his sword into the face of another Elf, smashing the Elf's nose. To his side he saw Harpy, now carrying an engineers axe, swinging it over his head and burying it into the back of a retreating gunner. He saw a redcoat slip on some blood and receive an Elf bayonet in his guts as he struggled to regain his balance. Sharke decapitated the bayonetteer.
Spinning around, his feral eyes searched for more prey. He found none. Around him lay the bloodied remains of many dead Elves, interspersed between them lay the corpses of a great many Orc attackers. Sharke glanced round and picked out the panting Harpy, his bloodied axe resting on the ground, his eyes still burning with a killing fury.
A small figure stepped up to the Orc officer and stood by his sleeve.
"Dragon's teeth sir", Purkins cursed." We did it! We bloody well did it!"
Webmasters Notes
This story was first published in Grapeshotte.
If you're looking for the scenario that follows on from this story then click here. |
