Wolf Scout

[OnlyInDeath]

It was only two hours through his watch, and already Trooper Donnovan was bored.

 

He shifted his feet as once more he looked over his stretch of the line. There wasnt much to see, really. Situated on the far eastern edge of his platoon's firing trench, the only thing that he could see through the gloom was the unbroken wall of black that represented the forest standing at the edge of the no-man's land. In the deep night, the land between was a broken mess of blast craters and the tangled remains of barbed wire fences which cast macabre shadows in the dim light of the planet's twin moons. Neither was full tonight, so in random intervals the mortar squads situated a couple dozen meters behind him sent up phosphoresent flares to bring a small sun into the night. In the light of the flares, he could make out the shattered rooftops of the town of Narik behind him.

 

Pulling a taback stick from his faded coat, Donnovan placed it into his mouth but didnt light it. It wouldnt do for the night vision. Instead he wistfully dreamed of the rich smoke wafting over his face and filling his lungs back in his warm bunk. Anything to take his mind off the mind numbing watch duty. His boots squelched in the mud filling the bottom few inches of the trench as he shifted his weight to his other leg. Two hours and he hadnt seen anything. Not that he had for weeks previously. The lasgun resting on its strap across his shoulder hadnt been fired in anger in over a month. It was as if all the fight had gone out of the corpse-lovers.

 

Over four years ago, planet of Selsa 4, his planet, rose up in open revolt againt the Imperium after being bled dry of young men in the drafts of the Imperial Guard. With a splinter fleet moving in only a sub-sector away, the resources of all the planets in the region had been poured into the defense of the Imperium. Men, machines, food, water, and a thousand other things that was needed to keep the relentless Imperial army functioning and fighting. But nothing was returned to his planet and it fell into world-wide economic collapse. Finally, when a new generation of men came to fighting age, the local PDF rose up againt the Imperium of Man to fend for itself.

 

Of course, that didnt go with out repurcussions. It didnt take long for the guard to arrive, and for four long years, the fighting has ground itself into an ineffectual halt. The PDF, like Donnovan, were well equipped to fight a war for an extended period of time and boasted the same make and model as the Guard sent to destroy them. So instead, they destroyed eachother in equal measure until the lines on the maps grew static and the trenches extended from one town to the next, forming battle lines that extended over the entirety of the Selsa main continent. Towns like Narik formed the spurs for those trench works, and most had been pounded to dust.

 

As another flare went up, Donnovan watched it ascend to the peak of it's ark before a chute appeared and the white hot light drifted slowly across the field. He squinted across the pock marked landscape before sighing and slumping back down against the trench wall. As usual, nothing. He pulled the collar of his great coat up to shield against the cold of the night and grimaced as the stench of the latrines floated down the lines on a faint breeze in the night. Merciful Gods, he thought, could this night get any worse?

 

Suddenly, his musings snapped to an abrupt halt as he thought he saw a shadow move out in the no-man's land, thirty meters from the lines. He rubbed his eyes to ease the grogginess creeping up on him, and when the spots cleared, there was nothing to be seen but the same desolate landscape. It must have been the sputtering of the flares, playing with the shadows, he thought to himself...nonetheless he pulled the lascarbine off his shoulder and opened up the scope, playing it around the field in front of him. After four years of constant war, the PDF learned to be cautious. He thumbed the micro bead in his ear.

 

"Ralinski, did you see any movement from your position?" he asked. Ralinski was a corpral manning the heavy stubber nest ten meters down the line from Donnovan. He waited a few seconds for an answer, but none came. "Ralinski, damn it, no falling asleep on the the watch!" Still no answer.

 

"Frag it all," he muttered to himself as he snuggled the butt of his lasgun up into the crook of his arm. He began the arduous task of making his way back down the line towards the rest of his platoon, feet slipping on the treacherous footing and his boots becoming heavy with caked on mud. As Donnovan approached the first of the firing board positions, his sence of uneased increased as he found the positions abandoned where he expected to see the slouched, sleeping forms of the members of his squad. Stepping up on the firing board to make better time, he slow jogged the last few meters to Ralinski's nest. As he turned the corner to vent his anger at his squad mate, his feet slipped to a sudden stop, as he simultaneously made to raise his gun. He managed a strangled choke of alarm before his legs gave out and he fell rear first into the slop at the bottom of the trench. There, in the machine gun nest, stacked as neatly as corded wood, he could make out the pale, lifeless forms of the rest of his squad. The bottoms of the sandbags around the nest were already saturated red with the combined gore leaking from a dozen slit throats.

 

Mind racing, Donnovan dropped his gun and tried to claw his way up the slime encrusted wall of trench. He had to warn the rest of the platoon. It was finally happening! The goddamn corpse-lovers were finally making a move! Finally pulling himself to his feet with the aid of the wooden buttresses spaced along the wall, he inhaled sharply, and opened his mouth to shout a warning. Just then, he felt a sudden tug at the collar of his coat and found he had no more breath to give...

 

As his mind slowly withdrew into itself, the last thing Trooper Donnovan saw was the world spinning crazily for a few moments before finally coming to a wobbly rest. He was looking at the mud caked boots of a soldier...."my boots?" he thought to himself. The headless body came down next to him in several jerking motions, spraying a fountain of crimson across his field of vision. As the long forgoten tabbak stick falls from his mouth, he looks up to see another form standing over him. Covered across his shoulders with a giant wolf pelt, the man looks down at him under bushy eyebrows and a grin splits the shaggy beard hanging from his face, long white fangs jutting down from below his upper lip. As he stands back up and sheathes a long, wicked knife, Donnovan can just hear over the roaring in his ears "This is Torvald. Objective clear. Move up". As the world goes black, the last thing Trooper Donnovan sees is the wolf scouts eyes glowing golden in the light of the twin moons.

 

 

 

 

 

So I got bored tonight, and it occurred to me that nothing has been put on paper that really tells the story of a wolf scout, or wolf scout unit in action, so I thought I would follow Bran's example and start a lil bit of a collection of short stories about Wolf Scout Torvald Goldeneyes. If people actually like it, I'll keep going. If not, it'll die just like so many other threads ;)

[Bearboy]

Love it.

 

Although the nature of trench warfare would make sneaking up behind a trench almost impossible. Could wolf scouts be that good?

[Durfast Spiritwolf]

Cracking read and very well crafted.

 

Love it.

 

Although the nature of trench warfare would make sneaking up behind a trench almost impossible. Could wolf scouts be that good?

 

Trench raids were common place in WW1, gathering intelligence, capturing prisoners or just dominating no-man's land through aggressive patrolling.

 

This PDF force seem to lack night vision devices and ground sensors as they are using para-illum, so crossing the shell-pocked ground in front of the trenches undetected would be possible to even conventional troops.

 

Of course, there are many other options, WS may have infiltrated the lines elsewhere many days before and approached his objective from another direction.

 

Infiltration is still possible even against troops with modern sensors and thermal optics, so a WS against a PDF trench line - yeah, doable.

[clanfield]

very nice bravo....have some ale

[deathjezter6]

very nice would like to see more.

[OnlyInDeath]

"Getting slow, old man," Torvald thought to himself, looking down upon the headless corpse at his feet. He had almost missed silencing the last sentry before the call for alarm was sounded. That would have ended things very badly for himself and his pack. He settled soundlessly back on his haunches and opened up his enhanced sences to the night. He could catch various scents on the wind; the comforting smell of campfires and cooking food, the omnipresent stench of open latrines, and the varied smell of unwashed bodies from the PDF soldiers surrounding his position. Through it all, he could discern the familiar scent of the other members of his pack, growing stronger as they approached his position. He could not yet hear them, but he knew that they were there. He shrugged his wolf pelt cloak across his shoulders and found himself a shadow to disappear into, awaiting the others.

 

He didnt have long to wait. The first to arrive, from over the lip of the trench was Edvin, the youngest member of the pack. Fair haired and clean shaven, he had joined Torvald on his hunts at the ripe young age of 80, barely out of his claw. While he still suffered from the bloodlust of youth, there was no denying the pups skill at evasion and subterfuge. He also had an innate sence of demolition work that had proven more than useful on the handful of missions he had under his belt with the scouts. Unfortunately, he still had a lot to learn.

"You were seen," Torvald wispered in a voice akin to boulders grinding together.

Edvin jumped, swinging his body around to face Torvald's position while simultaneously bringing his bolt pistol to bear. Seeing a pair of golden eyes dimly glowing at him from out of the shadows, Edvin released a breath he hadnt realized he had been holding and lowered his pistol, settling into a crouch next to his pack leader.

"Only because the flare caught me in the open," he countered, "and no harm was done."

Torvald simply growled deep and low in his throat and Edvin took the hint, beginning to pull charges from his satchel as he set to work rigging the trench to collapse in on itself.

 

The others began to emerge from the shadows around him by this time, all of them cloaked in pelts hung with various elements from the landscape; wire, timber, and various metal piping, as well as copious amounts of the local mud caked into the pelt hair. Sjurd arrived in tandem with Gudmund, the former with his flamer slung low under his cloak with the pilot light doused, Gudmund with his shotgun held at the ready sweeping both ends of the trench line before they both set up sation near the T-junction leading back towards the command trenches leading to the city. Mikkel appeared as if a manifestation of the night, long black braided locks hiding his face from the light of the moons as he appered over the machine gun nest, plasma pistol cold and dark in his holster. The stealth of this stage of the mission meant that he went with his knife only. No sense in blasting small super novas all over the place if he wished to remain unseen. And remain unseen and unheard was Mikkel's specialty. An unfortunate encounter with an ork's stubber shell across his throat meant that Mikkel would never speak a word again.

The only man not to make a showing was Aravind, but Torvald knew that he was out there somewhere, whatever would be the most advantagous position to place himself and his sniper rifle. Now that they were all gathered, Torvald motioned the present members of the squad around Sjurd and Gudmund so that they could maintain covering positions while he grumbled instructions for the next stage of the mission. Not that he needed to, every man was as aware of what to do, but considering they had narrowly avoided one foul-up, he wasn't taking chances.

 

The section of the trench works they currently occupied was one in and endless strech of firing trenches, set out in T-formations from the main trench works that were set fifteen meters down the trench line that his brothers were now standing guard around. The main trench ran in a zig-zagged pattern unbroken for almost five thousand kilometers through the center of the main landmass. Situated roughly two kilometers behind the main trench was the town of Narik, and in the central plaza was their main target: the PDF artillery ranged to meet anything coming across the no-man's land in a thirty kilometer strech of the line with a veritable sheet of high explosive steel. Nothing, not even superheavy tanks or titans, could survive the punishment that would be rained down upon them.

The plan was to push forward as quickly as possible to the town to incapacitate the artillery so the main Space Wolf force could cross the trench line and create a hole that the rest of the Imperial forces could finally push through. After they had silenced the big guns, they were to assist the main push in whatever way they could. Much depended on the the success of these scouts. The mobilization of an entire Space Wolf great company, an entire division of tanks and accompanying infantry, as well as a small scout titan force, consisting of a pair of reavers and four warhounds were poised to strike at this small section of the line, in an attempt to sweep both east and west, unravelling the PDF positions. If all goes well, the war would be over in weeks, instead of months. If not, the losses would be grevious enough to keep the slaughter going for decades to come. That is, of course, if the Inquisition didnt just step in and virus bomb the planet.

 

Torvald looked down at the chronometer embedded in the ceramite plate around his wrist. They had roughly 4 hours of darkness left, and the main offensive was set to proceed at first light. It was time to move. He activated the comm and spoke to the rest of the squad.

"Move out on my signal. Stay out of the trench works, stay out of sight. Once we clear the main trench system we will make best possible speed to the first outlaying buildings of Narik. No bodies."

With that he pulled himself low out of the firing trench and wrapped his cloak around him, becoming one with the scenery. After a brief glance around himself to make sure there was no immediate threat, he motioned the rest of the wolves to move out. With a flurry of quick movements, they were gone as soon as they hit the broken landscape. Even Torvalds enhanced eyesight couldn't pick them out from the rubble. He allowed himself a brief lopsided grin as he bellied himself back towards the main trench.

 

This was what he lived for. After two and a half centuries of service to the Great Wolf and the God Emperor of Mankind, he still thrived on the adrenaline rush of combat. He enjoyed working alone, or with his small pack of brothers, operating ahead of the main force, outnumbered ten thousand to one, and operating on the keenest edge of perfection. The smallest fault could lead to the death of himself and his pack. And it was when he was operating on that balance when he felt most alive. His sences went hyper alert, straining at the smallest stimulus and feeding it into his methodical mind. In the low light, he was still able to make out movement up and down the main trench. He could smell the rancid smell of sweat and grime encrusted bodies from beneath the greatcoats that the PDF wore to fend off the cold. He could feel the icy touch of the night against his skin. Nothing made him feel more alive...

 

With an effort he pulled himself back to the task at hand. With patience born from a hundred battlefields and a thousand missions, he waited until the sentries pacing back and forth along the main trench both rounded a corner of the zig-zag pattern and flowed soundlessly to the floor of the trench. With a couple of swift strides, he had crossed the wide furrow and was over the other side, moments before the next sentries had crossed into the section. Too easy, he thought to himself. Months of inactivity in this section of the line had lulled the defenders into a false sense of security. That would all change in a few hours time. With only mortar pits and supply trenches between himself and his destination, he was able to pick up the pace, darting and slithering from cover to cover, making up ground almost as quickly as a normal man could jog, but silent as an assasin.

 

++++++++

 

They wolves had come together silently in the shattered remains of a small shop. Not much of the city had escaped some sort of bombardment or air strike in the years of war that has ravaged the surface of the planet for dozens of kilometers around the main trenchworks. As Torvald glanced about and saw the last of the pack filtering in, lacking as always the presence of Aravind, he motioned them to move out further into the city. They only had slightly over an hour left before their deadline, and already the sky was beginning to turn a light grey in the east. It was time for them to move, and move quickly.

 

The scouts melted from shadow to shadow, building to building in a staggered line, always giving eachother cover around each corner and alleyway. There was something along the lines of ten thousand infantry and armored personell garrisoned in the city, and it would only be a matter of time before they started to encounter the enemy. While stealth was still paramount to the success of the mission, the pressure of time was starting to weigh heavy on the pack.

 

As they pushed deeper into the city, they began to see signs of the occupying force. The flickering lights of small stoves and lumination globes bobbed in the windows of a row of shattered hab blocks on the road to the scouts left flank. They made to avoid it by moving from ruin to ruin along the stretch of shops that ran parallel to the habs. Several times they had to pause to allow a small squad of troops to walk past, chattering amongst themselves or yawning against the effects of a long night on patrol. Not far ahead, Torvald could see the road opening up into a broad plaza and he knew that the main objective was close. He motioned them into a large store front and they moved into the cover of the deep shadows.

 

Allowing himself a glimpse outside, he drew a sharp breath as he saw just how big the artillery park was. The main plaza stretched for almost a kilometer and a half to either side, opening itself into a large square parade ground. Spaced out within this space were hundreds of artillery pieces, ranging from heavy medusa mortars, the enormous bulk of earth shakers, dozens of locally manufactured pieces, and even a manticore or two in the mix. The raised barrells of so many big guns brough visions of the forest beyond the trench lines to his mind. Taking this many guns down would be no easy task. He turned back to the squad to formulate a plan when he froze mid movement.

 

A squad of patrolling troopers had come up from behind their position and had come to a stop on the road just behind the south wall of the shop. Motioning for silence, Torvald drew his long knife from the scabbard by his side and held it behind his back, masking the gleam of the blade from sight. He looked around and saw the rest of the pack follow suit. He thought better of using the power axe strapped to his back, the glow from the activated weapon would be too much of a giveaway and it would be too unwieldy in such close confines. Just as he feared, the troopers outside chatted amongst themselves as they entered the building, sleep in their eyes and speach slurred by long hours awake. About a full squad filed into the room and sat themselves around the center of the room, while in the darkest corners of the shop, the wolves pulled themselves as far as they could into the recesses, making themselves as small as possible.

The troopers were obviously trying to find a place to sleep for the night, pulling off thier packs and stuffing them behind their heads as they lounged about the floor. Torvald's eyes flashed as he saw one trooper reach into his pack and pull out a compact stove. The dark was the wolves' only ally. As soon as that stove was lit, they would be found. Cursing under his breath, Torvald raised his hand ever so slowly to his ear, trying not to draw attention to himself with sudden movement. Just as the man was struggling with the ignition switch on his stove, he clicked his earbead once. Go.

 

In one lightning swift movement, Torvald burst out from his alcove by the window and in one fluid strike had punched his monomolecular-edged blade straight through the skull of the trooper manning the stove. With a twitch and a grunt, the man died still upon his blade. At least, he thought, we still have the dark.

The other wolves had all moved from cover at the same time as him, and all had taken out a PDF trooper in the first seconds of the encounter. Sjurd had stepped up behind a man leaning against the pillar he had been hiding behind, slitting his throat before rolling over the ground between him and the first reclinging soldier, plunging his knife straight into the open mouth of the surprised soldier underneath him. Gudmund eschewed his knift and simply collapsed the skull of the trooper nearest him with the stock of his shotgun. Edvin dove from his place by the east window and simply launched himself into the greatest concentration of troopers, surprised shouts cut short by strangled gurgles as flashes of bright steel cut man after man down. Torvald didnt know which shadow Mikkal stepped out from, but suddenly he was in front of a trooper who was raising his lasgun in defense, pushing the weapon down and to the side as he punched his knife up through the trooper's lower jaw and into his brainpan. In the swirrling melee, one trooper tried to make a crawling break for it, not getting any farther than the nearest window when, with a small plink of glass, Aravind made himself known as a sniper bullet turned the trooper's head into a fine red paste on the floor. In seconds it was over.

 

The wolves stood silently, almost willing any of the corpses to move, but none did. It was hardly a workout, but it was a nice change of pace. Finally, after hours of hugging the shadows, they had been able to exact some small measure of the Emperor's vengeance upon the enemy. Edvin stood panting over the pile of corpses around him, drenched in blood. Sjurd strode over to place a restraining hand on the young wolf's shoulder, but the old wolf withdrew it as Edvin flashed him a look of blind malice.

"Easy, pup," Torvald growled, using his golden eyes to send Edvin a withering look. With a shudder and a blink, the rage had passed from Edvin. He nodded his appreciation and started hauling the corpses into a small supply closet in the back of the shop. Gudmund moved to assist the young wolf, as Mikkal once more disappered into the deep shadows in a ruined end of the storefront. Sjurd moved over to the opposite end of the shop to keep watch.

Reaching up to his ear bead, Torvald opened the squad comm. "Aravind, I need your eyes. We have to find a way to silence these guns, and we need it now."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ok guys, that's all I've got the energy for tonight. Next installment will be the Battle for Ravik, so stay tuned! Hope you all enjoy

[clanfield]

grand work please keep it going

[OnlyInDeath]

BTW, does anyone know how to edit the topic description line? I'd like to be able to say when I have another section of the story up. Any help appreciated!

[OnlyInDeath]

Ok, after a very busy weekend, I promise I'll try to get the finale to the chapter up tomorrow night.

 

Also, obviously, i found out about the above post <_<

 

C&C welcome as always guys

[Krave]

I like it very much. Keep up the good work.

[OnlyInDeath]

Torvald remained in a half croutch, studying the lay out of the plaza in front of him while Aravind outlined what he could see from his vantage point in the ruined remains of a bell towers a few hundred yards further east of them. It seemed that the forest of artillery was divided out into two pairs of gun lines, stretching all the way down the length of the plaza. Each of the pairs, both aligned east to west, and one sitting just behind the other, were essentially independent artillery batteries. Through the center of each line was interlocking set of conveyors that was able to feed each artillery piece specifically needed ammo from the main magazine buried somewhere in the depths under their feet. It was an efficient way to ensure that the main ammunition cache would be protected, while each of the hungry guns wouldnt go without a steady stream of ammunition. This also compounded Torvald's problem. How was he, with a handful of melta charges between his men, supposed to incapacitate several hundred field pieces staggered into two independent batteries? The answer hit him like the fist of Russ when Aravind finished his assesment with the last piece of information: the fuel dumps. Situated on either end of the lines, inbetween the batteries, were a pair of massive reinforced fuel silos, rimmed with several fuel tankers each.

 

The batteries were not comprised entirely of fixed artilery pieces. In fact, the fluid nature of the war up until it became a protracted trench fight, meant that most of the rebel PDF artillery was fixed into a self propelled chasis. For this reason, it was not an uncommon sight along the main trench lines to see massive fuel depots. While they might seem like prime targets, the silos and bunker systems into which the promethium was stored were reinforced to the point where they could take a direct orbital lance strike and still come out relatively intact. Fuel was the lifeblood of the rebel armor, but here Torvald was determined to burn these heretics to ash with it. A grin split his cragged features as he drew the scouts up around him, opening the squad comm for Aravind's benefit.

 

"I want us to split into two teams, one for each of the promethium dumps. Gudmund, Sjurd and Edvin, I want you on the nearest one, roughly two hundred meters straight down the main boulevard here," he said, pointing down the avenue running straight from the shop front. "Mikkel and I will make our way to the far end. Aravind, we wont have time for stealth, so I want fire support on us if we meet any resistance."

"Aye Brother," came the wispered reply.

Gudmund, the senior most wolf in the pac behind Torvald, creased his brow as he looked down the avenue. "How are we supposed to take out those silos?" he asked, voicing the underlying question on the minds of every member of the pack. He glanced over at Edvin, whose scent gave away his carefully hidden glee at the thought of a little demolitions work. "I dont think even Edvin could find a weak enough spot in the structure for us to do any damage, least of all to the guns."

"We will be leaving the silos alone," Torvald continued, the grin returning to his face. "Locate and commendeer any available tankers at the refuling stations. We're going to use the Selsan's inginuity against them." As he outlined the remainder of his plan, the looks from his packmates went from skepticism to manical glee. If this worked, it would be a fine saga to tell in the great halls back on Fenris.

 

"Lets move, we are almost out of time," Torvald told his pack. Wasting no time, they gathered into thier assigned groups and ducked into the ruins around them, making for thier objectives.

 

+++++

 

Torvald ran from ruined shop to runied hab along the length of plaza, covering the distance suprisingly easily. He knew that by now, the bodies in the main trench work had to have been found. As if in answer to his musings, he could see armed patrols moving up and down the streets branching off the main roads, obviously looking for something. In the grey light of the near dawn, however, the patrols didnt have a chance of finding the wolves if they didnt want to be found. Human eye sight was at its worst in the pre-dawn and pre-dusk light, unable to fully acclimate to the half light. The wolves did not share in that weakness, able to see in any light short of pitch darkness as if it were day. The scent of so many unwashed bodies reeking of fear and anxiety did nothing to hide the approach of the patrols either.

 

He would have preferred to cut straight across the battery to make this journey as short as possible, but he knew in his heart that even against the meager loading crews manning the guns, he and Mikkel would never have made it to thier destination before being cut apart by the sheer volume of bodies. Hundreds of artillery pieces meant thousands of crew and maintainence workers. Even as it is, as he drew closer to the north east corner of the plaza, he was having a harder time keeping out of sight. Mikkel, as always, was no where to be seen, slinking from one shadow to another, silent as death. Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, they had made it to the corner and turned south towards thier objective. Already he could see the massively tall, flat topped cylinder that stored the vast sums of promethium. Arrayed around it in a semi circle of twisted piping and release valves, hissing coolant into the early morning air, were series of pumping stations, each with a tanker standing at the ready.

 

Torvald assessed the situation quickly in his mind and come to the conclusion that it was time to deal with the rebels in a more direct manner. He could make out roughly two dozen workers manning the rigging of the pumping stations. Milling about with them were the drivers of the massive tanker trucks. Each of the enormous T-16 tankers had thier engines cold. There had been no action in this theater of the front for several months, and the need for continuous refueling had lulled. Yet again, however, this also made for idle, complacent soldiers.

 

Torvald slipped from the shadows, swifly and silently making his way across the open ground between the ruins and the station, drawing his power axe from across his back. Looking to his right, he saw Mikkel appear out of the ruins and move into position next to him. He had drawn his knife, keeping the plasma pistol wisely stowed in it's holster. Firing off super heated blasts of plasma was not such a good idea when one is surrounded by the most flamable substance in the Imperium of man. Torvald drew his knife as well and tossed it to Mikkel mid-stride before drawing his bolt pistol, making sure the safety was firmly in the ON position. They hugged the cover of one of the tankers, keeping it's bulk between themselves and the idly chatting crew members. Finally, rounding the corner, they struck.

 

The crew of the pump station had whiled away the long night hours trying to take what valubles they could from the tanker crews, setting up several rigged games of cards and dice on top of a collection of overturned crates. The night had indeed gone poorly for the tankers, and things were starting to get heated between the two crews with accusations, entirely true of course, of fixed games. The pump station crew, to save face, feigned ignorance and came back with insults of sore losing. The situation was quickly melting out of control, and was fuled by one tanker in particular, a massive brute with black electoos snaking down both of his arms, each as thick as a normal man's thigh.

"You best be givin us back our money you Emperor-loving fragging sons of whores! You don't want me to come over there and-" The mans rant was cut short as a sniper bullet found his left temple, spraying those of his comrades unfortunate enough to be standing to his right with bits of his skull and brain matter. Perhaps if he still had the capacity, he would have appreciated the marksmanship demonstrated by the 1200 meter shot to end his life.

 

Torvald saw the big man go down in a heap just as he and Mikkel struck with eye blurring speed. Aravind had taken out the biggest threat in the group, and Torvald tore into the remaining tankers with glee, smashing back and forth with his bolt pistol, caving skulls and chests in with minimal ease. The crackling blue headed power axe in his other hand bisected men as if they werent there, leaving them screaming, falling to their knees in an effort to hold in steaming loops of half-cooked intestines or clutching severed stumps of limbs. With his blood up, Torvald howled his pleasure and set himself into the task of slaughtering every man in sight. Most of the tankers had barely time to relieve thier bladders and attemp to run from the blood soaked daemon cutting them literally to pieces. The ones that did try to run found that they were unable to outpace the Emperor's finest.

 

Mikkel had bypassed the group of tankers by slitting the hamstrings of one and using him as a springboard to vault himself into the pump station crew. As silent as death itself, he landed with both daggers held like wings to his sides, decapitating the men to either side of him with consummate ease as he landed on the chest of another, flatting him out with a bone crunching thud. Raising himself up, gore dripping from the combat knives to either side of him, Mikkel looked at the frozen faces staring at him with a harsh glare before he whirled around faster than a normal human's eye could track, tearing apart the heretics before most had even recovered from seeing thier comrades beheaded. It only took him a matter of moments.

 

Torvald had taken a moment to appreciate the carnage that Mikkel reaped around him. Suddenly, he realized that one of the tanker crew, off to relieve himself before the fight had broken out, rounded the corner of one of the tankers and stared at the pair of blood-soaked wolves with wide eyes horror. The man stumbled back behind the tanker and did his best to run, tripping over his own feet in his terror, crying out at the top of his lungs for help. Torvald calmly rounded the frame of the tanker, thumbed off the saftey catch on his pistol, and planted a bolt round squarely between the man's shoulders, whos shrieks for assistance cut out as his chest cavity blew itself out onto the pavement in front of him. He took two more stuttering steps before he collapsed. Unfortunately for Torvald, he had lasted long to raise the alarm. Shouts were raised along the avenue on either side of them, and he could see movement in both of the artillery batteries, a hundred meters from him in either direction.

 

"Mikkel, take that one!" Torvald shouted, pointing to a tanker resting low on its axels, loaded up with several thousand gallons of supercooled promethium. He selected one for himself and set off at a dead sprint to reach the cab. As he rounded the engine block, he nearly walked over a small patrol coming to investigate the sounds of fighting. He raised his bolt pistol and loosed off a quick burst, the rounds punching through the bodies in front before detonating and shredding those in back in a hail of shrapnel. All but one of the squad collapsed mid stride, and Torvald simply headbutted the last man, caving his face back in on itself in a spray of bone and blood. He stepped over the bodies and hauled himself up the stair ladder to the door of the cab, pulling himself inside, starting the massive machine. Looking across the pump station, he could see Mikkel had already started moving his tanker off towards the southern most battery. Pulling a micro grenade from his belt, he set the timer for it's maximum fuse and lobbed it out the window of the cab. He slipped the tanker into reverse and couldnt help the grin that split his face, unnaturally long white teeth standing out in stark contrast to the gorey mess that caked his long hair and bushy eyebrows. As the grenade detonated, enhanced by the now uncooled and free flowing promethium, the pumping station vapourized in a massive fireball that light up the plaza in an early dawn. Pulling into position behind Mikkel's tanker, Torvald couldnt help but appreciate his own handywork as streams of bodies ran towards the raging inferno, leaving the two wolves unimpeded as they pushed thier tankers towards the southern battery.

 

+++++++

 

 

Torvald slipped the tanker into park as they reached the end of the line of artillery, a pair of massive earthshaker cannons rising up on either side of him. The tanker was nuzzled up next to the massive conveyor system that rose like a steel jungle between the guns, stretching off into the distance between the upraised barrels of artillery on either side. It reminded Torvald distantly of an honorguard. He pushed the thought out of his mind as he lowered himself out of the cab.

 

The crew from the earthshaker nearest him was already walking up towards the tanker, confused looks on thier faces. They were a fixed platform, without need of any fuel to power the massive gun. The crew leader had just reached the doorway when Torvald stepped out, still splattered from head to toe in blood. The man stopped, unable to find any words to say as his crew bunched up behind him, staggering to a halt. Torvald simply pulled out his pistol and gunned the men down where they stood, barely sparing a thought for those who had turned their backs on the Emperor's light.

 

He walked down to the side of the tanker until he came to the hose assembly, easily drawing out the heavy gague hose that was wrapped around a drum in the side of the tanker. Cranking the valve over to the open position, he strode back towards the conveyor assembly and placed the hose into the deep trench that the lattice work of metal was supported in. He opened the catch on the valve and stood back to wait. Mikkel approached from his right and copied his movements exactly. The easy work done, all they could do now was wait.

 

Torvald reached up and opened the vox bead in his ear.

"Gudmund, report."

"In position, brother. Our tankers are nearly dry. Experiencing only light resistance," he replied. Torvald could hear the strangled cries of Selsans in the background. The fighting would be hand to hand and fierce. The PDF couldnt risk detonating that much promethium so near the artilery pieces. In such a situation, there would be little the soldiers could do to stop the wolves.

 

Suddenly, Torvalds comm clicked to life again and Aravind's whisper of a voice could be heard. "Brother, the assault has begun"

 

+++++

 

From high up in his belltower, Aravind had an unequaled view of the city and the surrounding area. With the plaza spread out below him, he looked back out to the north of the city and watched as the grey light of dawn blossomed into a series of staggering explosions as the Imperial lines advanced.

 

Imperial tanks, mostly Leman Russ battle tanks with a few exotic variancies thrown in, led the main assault, creeping out of the treeline into no-man's land with sponsons blazing and main cannons spewing death. They took up positions in the deep craters left by years of shelling and made themselves as small of targets as possible, while keeping range of the trench lines so they could bombard the troops within. The PDF were not without teeth, however, and soon a hailstorm of anti-tank fire, from hand held missiles to high powered lascannons struck back at the tanks, finding kinks in the armor and sending turrets high into the night air on plumes of superheated air as tank magazines cooked off from the direct hits.

 

Suddenly, the forest itself seemed to step out onto the battlefield, and from the shimmer of blue haze obscuring his view, Aravind knew that the Titans had arrived.

 

A pair of Reaver titans lowered their guns towards the trenchlines, striding out into the hail of missiles which absorbed impotently into the void shields. With blinding flashes of light, the turbo laser batteries mounted on thier arms vaporized entire stretches of trench line and melted the earth and bodies together into a super heated glass. Even from this distance, Aravind could hear the crack of superheated air like a lightning strike. The rumble shook dust from the ruins around him.

 

Wheeling out between the legs of the reavers, Aravind could see hunched back shapes that strutted out into the battle field with amazing speed. He felt his heart leap into his throat at the sight. Warhound titans. If there was anything in the galaxy that could make Aravind reconsider becoming a Space Wolf, it would have been to be the princepts of a Warhound. It would be tantamount to feeling what it would be like to be Russ himself. Striding over a battlefield, the soul of the hound inside of you, merging with who you were, and sending entire companies of the enemy to their death with a single thought. It was enough to send even the cold, steady heart beat of Aravind into a stacatto.

 

Suddenly, Aravind was thrown out of his revierie by a sharp crack on the night wind. The anti-tank crews of the PDF had found the range on one of the Warhounds, and with a coordinated strike of lascannons had stripped the mighty warmachine of its voids and pierced the containment vesself of the plasma reactor. With twists of uncontained power coursing around its machine body like lightning, the Warhound stumbled, then fell chin first into the ground, before erupting into a massive blue fireball that scoured the Imperial lines around it, melting tanks where they stood and lighting up the grey sky for miles around.

 

Finally, as Aravind watched PDF troopers and tanks rushing at full speed along the streeds of Ravik towards the fight, he was able to see the familiar ice blue shapes of Space Wolf armor emerge from the treeline. With a growl audibel from kilometers away, the Space Wolves advanced into the teeth of the enemy, several Land Raiders and a score of rhino's rushing towards the PDF trench lines.

 

Reaching up, Aravind signaled to Torvald, "the Wolves are coming brother."

 

+++++

 

"Now, Edvin," Torvald signaled the young wolf scout. While he couldn't see the result, Torvald knew that the section of trench line that the scouts had infiltrated would erupt into flame and dirt as the carefully concealed charges went off. Serving several purposes, not only would this bury any PDF manning the trench along that line, it would also collapse the trench works in upon themselves, leveling the ground and making a clear beach head for the wolves to drive thier armor across, straight into the heart of the Selsan resisitance.

 

With the first part of the mission completed, Torvald looked down into the conveyor system, watching the liquid promethium wash down into the distance. The heady smell of promethium gas permeated the air around him, and Torvald had difficulty keeping his senses from overwhelming him. It wouldnt be much longer now, and the final stage of the plan would be ready.

 

Without warning, the booming report of heavy artillery cracked through the night air. Torvald's head snapped up as he saw smoke billowing from further down the battery line. The first report was rapidly followed by a dozen more as cannon shot ranged out from the line. The conveyor system came to life as it started feeding shells up and down the battery line. As Torvald watched, each cannon and missile system in the battery came to life and hurled death towards the Imperial lines. Finally, with a thunderous report, the pair of big guns closest to Torvald and Mikkel blasted into the night air, the proximity to the source of the promethium leak too much for physics to deny, and the world around Torvald erupted into a firey hell.

 

The air burst of vapour promethium was enough to singe the hair off of his wolf pelt and head, blasting him back a dozen meters into the hood of the tanker. Shaking his head, he saw Mikkel pick himself up from the ground, several meters back, smoking from any exposed area. With an effort, Torvald stood up and surveyed the scene around him. The artillery shots had ignited the pit of promethium pouring down the length of the conveyor away from the pair of wolf scouts. As long as the pressure in the hoses kept up, the narrow lake of fire would continue to move away from them, and the volitile pair of tankers at the end of the trench. However, with the conveyor working, it was only a matter of time before live ammunition started pouring from the underground magazine.

 

Even as he thought this, a large compartment opened up a few dozen meters down the line from Torvald and a new series of lifting conveyors burst into life, lifting a heavy siege shell from the magazine below. With a sudden realization, Torvald felt something that very few space marines ever felt. Fear.

 

"Get out of here, now! By the Emperor's holy buttocks, move Space Wolves!" he bellowed into the comm. Following his own advice, he sprinted down the avenue that he and Mikkal had come by. They met several squads of men rushing the opposite way, but they simply bowled their way through them, leaving a couple of micro grenades in their wake to discourage any pursuit, they ran just ahead of the shockwaves the small divices left after blowing a few squads of men to bits.

 

Back at the conveyor line, as the system efficiently fed shell after shell to the awaiting artillery, which continued to pound the oncoming Imperial forces relentlessly, the open hatches down into the magazine allowed for the burning promethium to pour, thousands of gallons per second along the length of the trench, directly down into the underground storage facility. The fire-fighting systems installed could only hold off the raging inferno pouring down from above for a short time, the outcome was inevitable.

 

As Torvald and Mikkel continued their headlong flight down the streets of Ravik, they ran into a full company of PDF making thier way the opposite direction towards the front line. The officer in charge actually had the capacity to order his troops into a firing line as the wolves barreled down on them.

"If you value your lives, I suggest running!" he bellowed at them.

As one, the company looked back towards the artillery park. Seeing the white hot flames licking up and down the conveyor line, they all came to the same conclusion as the wolves.

 

Run.

 

Suddenly, in a flash of light that rivaled the atomics of old, the magazine cooked off.

 

The blastwave leveled every building for hundreds of meters around the central plaza of the city, and the fireball could be seen from the orbiting Imperial surveilance craft from space. With a deafening shatter, tens of thousands of rounds of heavy calibur shells erupted at once, blowing the stratta of central Ravik into a low orbit for a short period of time. Reports would later say that dibris from the blast was found as far away as the Parisian Islands, some 6,000 miles away.

 

Torvald and Mikkel, barely a kilometer from the blast, were sent head over heels through the air for a hundred meters, smashing painfully trough the walls of the warehouse at the end of the road they had been running along. Only the enchanced survivability of the Emperor's Finest and the walls of the building allowing them to weather the intense heat and crushing blast wave that washed over them from the massive explosion. The company of men that had run along side the space wolves were a series of broken corpses littering the walls and pavement of the street.

 

With the heart of the city literally blown out from under them, the PDF defending Ravik were torn apart by the combined efforts of the Space Wolves, the Legio Titanicus, and the 192nd Cadian Mechanized Division.

 

 

 

 

 

 

OK guys, that's chapter one. Hope you all enjoyed, If there is enough calling, I will continue the saga of this war in successive chapters. Hope to hear some C&C!

[saphius]

Really enjoying this... If time permits and you have the desire, I will read on.

 

- Good work.

[clanfield]

great stuff mate cannt wait for ch 2 :lol:

[Krave]

Awesome. We want more!

[OnlyInDeath]

Well, seems like there's at least a few fans out there, so I'll be sure to try and get chapter 2 started up this week. Should provide a good opportunity to flesh out the characters and setting, as well as getting the ball rolling for a new mission or two for the scouts.

 

Glad you guys enjoy it. Hope it's taking the edge off the yearning for more Space Wolf stories from the BL! Got a few months before Prospero Burns comes out...

[Ant]

Excellent story! If you made a book i would read it ;). Also i remember soldiers used to sneak up to the German trenches in WW1 during the night to eavesdrop, so i think it is probably is possible? :\ More opinions needed most likely.

[Durfast Spiritwolf]

Fantastic stuff - very evocative!

[OnlyInDeath]

Just a quick update: I will try to get chapter two started up tomorrow. Got some free time, and it will either be spent writing on here or starting up my Ironclad conversion. Most likely will be writing, as it's easier to do keeping the young pup occupied.

[Beef]

I will read through this with a fine comb and give you some feedback,

[OnlyInDeath]

Sorry to keep you waiting guys, I will get the start of chapter 2 up either tomorrow or thursday. Rest assured that I do have some killer ideas on where to go from here, and it's just been a matter of having the 2ish hours to write a part to post. Should have some time coming up as I stated, so stay tuned!

[WG Vrox]

Very enjoyable, always great to know another brother's imagination in words. Keep rolling them out as best you can.

 

WG Vrox.

[hendrik]

I suggest you copy these and post them in the Sagas of the Wolves topic, this way you got a place to bundle the whole story in it's final form while here we could comment on it

 

keep up the good work ;)

[OnlyInDeath]

It was hot. Even after a week of cooling in the cold Selsan air, the crater still eminated an overwhelming heat. The smell of spent phylecine and promethium filled the air and almost choked the sensitive senses of the lone soul looking out over the scene of massive destruction. The setting sun caught the eyes of the figure, and they blazed golden in the dusk light. Suited in his scout armor, pitted and scarred from countless battles and the rigors of the clandestine operations, Torvald stood silent as a statue as he gazed upon the almighty destruction that he and his scout pack had wrought.

 

The crater was enormous, stretching the entire length of what had once been the central plaza of Ravik. It sank almost two hundred meters down into the earth at it's epicenter, though it was impossible to tell where the once mighty magazine had once stood. There was simply nothing left. Not of the magazine, the conveyor system, the hundreds of artilery pieces, nor the giant promethium storage tanks. Whatever hadnt simply vaporized in the intense heat of the explosion had been blasted far clear of the crater, far clear of Ravik for that matter. The promethium tanks, assaulted by forces from an unexpected direction, directly below, had gone off like a pair of massive liquid fuel rockets, the reinforced structures allowing for only a single outlet of the massive force of so much promethium detonating at once. Torvald had heard several rumors from the guard stationed in the city as to the eventual whereabouts of the tanks: landing in the garden of the traitor governor's palace, landing in island chains clear across the world, and even that the massive tanks had made it into a shallow orbit and still hung there, waiting to decend on some random part of the world. It didnt matter to him in the end. All that mattered was that the objective had been completed. The Imperial forces had come across the trench works with acceptable losses and had sacked the city. More importantly to him personally, the Space Wolves had suffered minimal losses.

 

Torvald sighed heavily into the night air. The scouts under his command had survived, if only just. Mikkel had ended up much like himself, punched through the solid wall of a building, though the young scout had suffered worse than Torvald, breaking his clavicle and fracturing his skull. He had been unconcious in the hastily constructed infirmary for the better part of two days while his body knitted itself back together. Already, he was up and about, fully healed as if he had never suffered such grevious injuries. Sjurd, Edvin and Gudmund had made it further away from the plaza, having fallen back as soon as they realized the danger from the artillery firing over a pit of promethium. Aravind had been lucky. Having stationed himself in the belltower, he had not been able to fall back as quickly as the rest of the wolves. He had just made it to an intact building when it all went to hell, ducking inside just as the blast went off. He had told Torvald afterwards that his silouette was clearly etched into the door from the intense heat and light that the blast gave off. Even with the dubious safety of his shelter, Aravind had suffered greatly in the heat that followed, the air searing his lungs and blistering his skin where it touched the ceramite of his armor. The structures just a few blocks from Aravind had been blasted flat, the wave of destruction only just weakening enough not to flatten him and his sanctuary in an instant. It had taken him longer than the others to heal, and even now he still bore the faint scarring of his burns. Torvald smiled grimly. It would just be a few more scars to the patinia that already covered them all.

 

From behind, he caught the sound of ceramite boots crunching through the rubble, and before the body of the space marine came into view, his scent precedded him and Torvald knew who was coming. "Brother Istan, come to enjoy the view?" he asked, without looking over his shoulder. Presently, the hulking form of Istan came into view from the rubble surrounding the crater. His power armor was bedecked with many trophies of the countless battles that he had been in: runic charms, teeth and tusks of fallen foes fashioned into necklaces, scraps of pelts and other exotic firs strapped to the plate. On his shoulders, Torvald could make out the great company emblem of the Iron Wolf, and also the tell-tale yellow and black heraldry of a Wolfguard. A magnificent combi-bolter hung under one of his arms, the nose of the meltagun imbedded into the bolter sticking out at a low angle.

 

"I should know better than to think I could approach a scout undetected," Istan quipped as he strode up beside Torvald chuckling.

 

"Aye, brother, you should," Torvald grinned back, his long fangs jutting out from his feral lips.

 

Istan took a moment to gaze across the crater and all the destruction that had resulted. "You know, Torvald, you didnt have to kill everyone. Most of the Bloodclaws still have thier adrenaline up. With so few targets and so many guard advancing alongside of us, barely a wolf was able to get blooded before it was all over with," Istand said with a furrowed brow. " I would have expected this to be the handiwork of Edvin, but not from yourself," the burly wolf joked.

 

Torvald responded with a sharp bark of a laugh. "Things did not exactly go as expected. We were just trying to set fire to the conveyor to stop the feed of shells. We didnt expect them to open the hatches to the magazine."

 

"Well, either way, you saved the lives of your brothers. For that we are in your debt," Istan responded. "You and your scouts will always be welcome in the halls of the Iron Wolf."

 

He paused, and took one more moment to appreciate the sheer scale of the destruction arrayed before him. "Speaking of which, the Wolf Lord would like a word with you. Best not to keep him waiting."

 

Torvald simply nodded and turned back towards the camp, Istan walking alongside him in silence.

 

+++++

 

The Space Wolf camp had been constructed in the loading yard and the shadow of a massive, shelled out manufactorium. The rhinos and razorback had been arranged in a line along one side of the camp, where the iron priests and thier menials toiled over them in a ceaseless ritual of care and appeasement to the machine spirits within. Even from a distance, Torvald could smell the pungent aroma of the incense used for the rituals. Looking away from motorpool, he could see row after row of hastily constructed shelters, fashioned into a mimickry of the longhouses that could be seen all across the tribal islands of Fenris. Instead of bone and seadragon hide, these were made of timbers and sheet metal from the surrounding buildings. Smoke could be seen issuing from holes in the roofs of the longhouses, and Torvald could smell the alluring scent of roasting meat drifting towards him.

 

Separate from the lodgings of the wolves sat the infirmary, set in a white tent that gave off an air of sterility, both from the smell of antisceptics that issued from it, and also from the stark cleanliness that held even to the white of the tent. Even with his enhanced eyesight, Tovald couldn't find a single stain of dirt along the outer wall. The serfs of the Wolf Priests tended to thier duties with honor and devotion, and would not let any hint of the taint of disease and decay, both symbols of the archenemy chaos, to sully the resting place of any wounded wolves.

 

Finally, on the far side of the camp, sat the artillery of the Iron Wolf. From his position entering the camp, Tovald could make out the bulky shapes of several whirlwinds, a trio of predator annihilators, oozing menace and death, a pair of vindicators, and most massive of all, three land raider crusaders. Most great companies could only boast a single Land Raider, but the Iron Wolf's penchance for heavy armor meant that he posessed many of the hallowed machines under his command. It was towards these engines of destruction that Torvald strode, Istan peeling way from him after nodding him towards a particular Crusader.

 

As Tovald strode up to the command Land Raider, he was greeted by several scents; One was strong and familiar, oozing self confidence and authority. Another was similar, but weaker and definately that of an outsider. And finally, he smelled machine oil and the sharp tang of coolant. Rounding the corner, Tovald realized that he had been called to a counsel of war. A trio of figures were seated around a portable holodisplay, obviously installed into the inner workings of the land raider for this occasion. With a slight bow, Tovald strode into the Crusader's massive internal hold, booted feet clanging up the boarding ramp in the front of the tank. Torvald took a moment upon entering to study those in the hold.

 

To Torvald's right stood a solid block of a man. It looked as if he had been sculpted of pure granite. Torvald looked him over and noted the ramrod straight posture, the cold, calculating look in his eyes, and above all, the rank pins on his epulates. This man was obviously the overall commander of the Imperal forces used in the spearhead. Across from him, to Tovald's left, was a body that was by far more machine than man. Covered over in the red robes of the Adeptus Mechanicus, sat a hunched figure gazing out from a bronze metal mask inset with a pair of glowing green optical sensors in place where it's eyes would normally be, and a simple slit in the otherwise featureless mask where a mouth would normally be. A nest of wires ran from the mask back into the main body, obscured by the volumous robes. Apart from this, Torvald could see little, as the arms of the magos where hidden amongst the sleeves of the robe, and the rest of the body was obscured entirely from view. However, Tovald could hear the whirring of the datastacks hidden in the form's shoulders, and smell the coolant leaking from the form in several spouts of steam.

 

Finally, Tovald gazed upon the massive form directly across from him, and beheld the Wolf Lord Fenring the Red, Lord of the Iron Wolves. He was a mountain of a man, huge even for space marine standards, enchanced by the bulky form of the tactical dreadnaught armor that encased his body. The plate of the armor was adorned with several intricate carvings of the imperial eagle and also of many fenrisian runes and iconagraphy. A large wolf pelt was draped across his shoulders, the bulk of the pelt forming a long flowing cloak, with the front legs draped down over his chest. His left gauntlet was encased in a storm bolter, and sheathed across his back, peeking out from the wolf pelt, was the reknown sword Djevelsverd. Rumor amongst the wolves said that the Wolf Lord had defeated an Avatar of Khaine in single combat, and took as a prize a shard of the shattered sword of the Avatar. Giving it to the Iron Priests, they reforged it into an incredible weapon of destruction. The sword stood almost as tall as the Wolf Lord himself, the blade forged to an icy blue and inscribed with Fenrisian runes of power. Torvald had heard tales of how the weapon had brought mighty daemon princes to heel and how it could carve through ceramite as if it were paper. Looking upon the massive and intricate form of the sword, Torvald held little doubt as to the truth of the stories.

 

Glancing up from the holodisplay, the Wolf Lord locked his gaze upon Torvald, and even with two and a half centuries of service under one Lord or another, Torvald stood transfixed where he stood.

 

"Come in Torvald," the Lord spoke in a low tone. He motioned with is massive gauntlets to either side of him. "I belive with your arrival, we can finally begin."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OK guys, that's all I got in me for tonight. Obviously, the Iron Wolf in here is not the most current lord, but I love my own Lord too much for him not to be included in my story. Just think of it a couple centuries before the Ragnar timeline. Hope you are still enjoying, I plan on fleshing out the story a bit, hope to make it a little more novel-like. C&C welcome as always!

[Ra1stl1n]

Really good,kept me reading on and on :woot: keep it up :cuss

[Durfast Spiritwolf]

you certainly have more than just some skill in this