Warzone: Incursion from the Rust - Finale

Part 1 here

[url=http:///fortressat.com/index.php?option=com_kunena&Itemid=712&func=view&catid=20&id=30505]Part 2 here[/url]

Milton’s dogtag went red on Mattherson’s display. Since the beginning of this firefight, she had lost four members of her squad. She was down to Carter, Bonner, Rednour, DeMint, Patricks, and herself. Furious at the mounting losses, she popped the mike to her squad’s comm.

“All right, my little bitches, don’t play fucking hero! Take –“

There was a scream as Carter’s body, propelled by the heavy rounds from the Nepharite’s Handcannon, sailed off the brow of the dune and landed several meters behind and to the right of Mattherson. He landed face first into the dust with a sickening plop.
His dogtag went red.

“-cover,” the Sergeant completed her sentence, too late to save Carter.

The High Templar chasing the Recon squad paused in its pursuit and raised its Voriche to fire at them, when it stopped. It sensed the Fear wafting off the retreating humans like a contrail, making them obvious targets. However, it now sensed an intention to inflict great Pain coming from its right. It turned its head just in time to see a burly human break the dune’s crest. The wave coming from the human was strong, vibrant, obvious. He wanted to Hurt his opponents. This desire to inflict Pain outweighed the Fear by a large margin, and with that intent, the lone human proved to be a far more tempting, and more dangerous, target.

Sergeant Carter ran past the Airborne Rangers positioned on the dune and watched, detached, as one of them was forcibly removed from it by the Nepharite’s gun. When he turned his attention back to Recon, he saw that one of the Templars had stopped to fire at them but then spun the weapon in his direction.

“Aw, shit,” Sergeant Carter was only able to say when he saw the red muzzle flash and felt the sting of a bullet pierce his left shoulderpad. Instantly, he felt himself landing on his back from the hit and he ended up in a heap at the base of the dune. His left shoulder was on fire with pain. While he tried to get up, he watched with blurred vision as one of the Templars caught up with two Recon soldiers and cut them down as easily as saplings. The other Templars were firing burst after burst at the retreating Capitolian soldiers, but fortunately, their armor was holding. “ALL RIGHT, YOU RUNNING AWAY BASTARDS,” Carter yelled at Recon, “I’LL MEET YOUR SORRY ASSES BEHIND THAT DUNE! GET –“

A loud report echoed over the general din of the firefight. Sergeant Carter staggered and slumped forward, with a misshaped hole decorating his chest.

Nyssal lowered her Handcannon, her eyes twinkling with amusement at the Light fleeing from the formerly boisterous human. Within moments, the glow was gone and she then turned her attention to a Ranger sticking her head out from behind the tank. The Nepharite raised her gun again and fired. The round struck the vehicle, causing it to shudder like a wounded animal, and the Ranger ducked back. While Nyssal reloaded, she watched her beloved Templars march inexorably towards the humans cowering behind the tank, firing bursts at them to keep them behind cover.

Mattherson was amazed at what she saw, a trio of enemy soldiers marching towards her position; not running, not seeking cover, but plodding towards them at an even pace. They fired at her and her men, but it was mostly to keep them buttoned up. When the covering fire reached a nadir, she reacted.

“All right, on three, I want EVERYONE to throw down as much fire as they can muster at those fuckers heading for us. We’ll deal with their leader bitch when the time comes. Ready? THREE!”
In unison, the remaining Rangers popped up from behind cover and emptied their M50s at the Templars. If their enemies were human, the Templars would have been nothing more than carrion for the Dog Vultures after that volley. However, the Templars were not human.

Only one of them actually died. Patricks dropped the third Templar. The High Templar was felled three times, only to get back up thrice. Its subordinate went down once with a round to the chest, but also shuddered back to life.

“One down, two to go. RELOAD!” Mattherson yelled over the comm. Her men complied and resumed their torrent of lead at the remaining Templars. This time, the Rangers had a bit more success. Although most of the rounds merely bounced off their body armor, one went through the weakened armor plate covering the High Templar’s chest. It spun like a drunken top and fell down, face first, into the sand. The remaining Templar just simply refused to die. It didn’t matter which body part was hit. Leg, head, or chest; it was all the same. It would get back up and continue to march for their line. With a chilling roar, the remaining Templar drew his blade and charged Bonner and Rednour.

Rednour looked up from reloading in time to see the blade coming in, but could do little else. Her head was separated from her shoulders and her body flopped around like a landed fish. Bonner raised an arm as a shielding gesture, only to have it sliced off at the forearm. His scream was cut short when the Templar swung the blade laterally and nearly decapitated the human. With his closest targets eliminated, it raised its rifle in its other hand and fired at Mattherson. The round punched her armor hard, but the plate held. It still felt like someone had taken a bat to her chest. Breathing deeply, she felt the initial shock subside. After recovering, she clenched her jaw and raised her M50 to fire at the approaching, blood splattered, Templar.

Suddenly, she felt her heart seize up in what felt like a block of ice. A stabbing pain welled up in her chest and she began to find it hard to breathe. The M50 slipped from her grasp as she futilely gripped the chest plate covering her heart. Then the block contracted, squeezing her heart even harder. A death rattle flowed from Mattherson’s throat as she pitched forward and fell to the ground, dead.

Nyssal opened her fist, letting the Symmetry dissipate; its work done. Now, there were only two humans left on the dune near the tank. Taking aim at the human who killed three of her soldiers, she squeezed the trigger of the Handcannon; watching with satisfaction as the human’s head disappeared in a mist of gore and brain matter. She watched as the last Ranger plunged off the side of the dune and onto the top of the destroyed tank, the body riddled with Black Bullets from her Templar that charged the line.

Sergeant Jurgenson dove over a small rock outcropping near the base of a dune, her remaining three men following after. All of them were breathing hard, jumpy. “Bitchface” kept nervously looking behind him to see where the Templars might be. Millie’s face was contorted in a grimace, her free hand trying to loosen her torso armor in order to relieve the pressure on the knot on her back. Braeden’s hands shook as he cleared an empty clip and reloaded.

“I did NOT sign up for this shit,” Bitchface moaned, his voice cracking.

“Neither did I, but we’re here,” Millie said through teeth gritted in pain.

“And you’re still under my command, got it? Now, pull it together!” Jurgenson screeched at the whining soldiers. They all went quiet and listened. The desert was suddenly deathly silent. Activating her communicator, Sergeant Jurgenson tried contacting the Rangers. “Tango Blue Alpha, respond. This is Recon, over.”

Hissing static replied to her request.

“Tango Blue Alpha, this is Recon. What is your situation, over?”

More static.

“That’s not good,” Millie mumbled.

“No shit,” the sergeant snapped back. She hazarded a glance over the outcropping to see where the Templars were. None were to be found. Hunkering back down, she looked each of her soldiers in the eye and addressed them. “I’m not going to shit you, this is bad. But, if we stick together we can make it through this. Now, we’re going to scale this dune and head west, over to Tango’s last position. Maybe there’s just a glitch in the comm system,” Jurgenson lied unconvincingly to her troops. Their faces did not acknowledge it, but their eyes certainly did. Standing up, she motioned her men to do the same. “Come on, let’s go.”

The quartet crested the top of the dune, quickly stopped, and raised their guns. Waiting for them was the pursuing squad of Templars. They stood in a spaced line, weapons at the ready but not trained on them. Jurgenson leapt at the small window of opportunity.

“FIRE!” she screamed, raising her carbine and taking aim at the nearest Templar. She squeezed the trigger and the carbine beeped menacingly. Overload. Tears of frustration started down her cheeks. “Fuck!” she wailed as she tried to clear the round.

Bitchface and Millie sprayed the area with their CARs, but did little than kick up dirt around the Templars. Braeden fired several bursts and dropped one of them. He let out a miserable sigh as he watched the prone Templar twitch and get back up. He took aim at the recovering Templar and was about to fire when, in the blink of an eye, a new target appeared seemingly from nowhere. It was the Nepharite.

Reactively, Braeden spun to her and fired wildly. A few rounds ricocheted off her armor, but one caught the Nepharite in the left arm, leaving an ugly wound that seeped, not blood, but ichor. The Nepharite’s forbidding beauty was marred by the mask of anger at being wounded.
She pointed imperiously to the humans and wrathfully commanded, “Kill them!”

The Templars, like rabid dogs, fell upon the hapless Capitolians. The High Templar effortlessly swung his blade down upon Braeden’s skull splitting it like an apple. Bitchface went down next, blood flowing out of his abdomen like a gruesome waterfall.

Nyssal dropped her weapons, raised her hands at the last two soldiers, and invoked the Dark Symmetry. This time, it came when called, welling into her hands. She forced it outward, the raw energy leaping from her hands in the form of dark fire. Hungrily, the fire enveloped the two humans and set them ablaze. The Nepharite’s eyes shined with approval while she watched the doomed souls’ final dance in death. After a few moments, the Light fled from the charred husks like scavengers disturbed from a meal.

Nyssal’s laughter chased after the fleeing souls, its sound echoed eerily among the dunes.

Ilian was right.