Assassin's Tango

[DeadpoolCory]

A short story excerpt that I am submitting to black library, feed back please

 

 

He hated ships. Flying wasn’t something a man was supposed to do. If they had been meant to fly they would have wings. As the ship rocked again, his head slapped the metal hull behind him and he winced. This pilot was going to get them killed. There’s no way there should be this much turbulence.

Wait, the pilot hadn’t gotten on the intercom. Maybe he had died. Maybe they were plummeting towards the planet below them at terminal velocity. That meant one of two things: either they’d burn up in atmosphere, or be atomized as they hit the ground, leaving only a crater and scorch mark on the planet below.

Sly Marbo closed his eyes, trying to shut the voice up in his mind. They were fine, they had to be. He hadn’t felt any impacts on the hull, and even IF the pilot had died from natural causes then the co-pilot or the navigator would have taken over.

 

Suddenly they plummeted another thirty meters and Sly grabbed the seat’s arm rests hard enough to dent the cheap metal. A kit bag flung across the hold and smashed a private in the face. Sly growled, baring his teeth. “Get this frakking death trap on the ground already.”

Suddenly, as though the ship was scared of Sly, the ride immediately smoothed out. The private whose nose had been broken by the free flying kit bag coughed and sputtered, but was otherwise unharmed. Sly took out a handkerchief and handed it to him. The private looked at him, his eyes wide and fearful. Sly sighed and tossed it on the kid’s lap, who jumped.

“Skids down in five, sorry about the bumpy ride. Hit an unpredicted weather pattern.” A voice over the intercom crackled, distorted slightly.

Sly stood up, and quickly grabbed a hold of one of the straps hanging from the roof of the Valkyrie. He looked out one of the small port holes in the side of the troop transport, seeing a grey sky with green forests below it. He knew that he wasn’t even going to see those forests, the fight was in the hives that sprawled out to the south, but it comforted him knowing that there was somewhat familiar territory that he could fall back to if this fight went to the Eye.

 

He felt a massive deceleration through his legs and he bent his legs to compensate. There was a sudden shudder and the ship stopped moving. He inhaled deeply feeling like it was the first breath he had taken the whole trip down. He grabbed his kit bag from the overhead net and was the first to the door, quickly getting his feet back on solid ground. He looked around, the beret on his head completely out of place with the rest of his outfit. He wore his standard digital style camouflage, which allowed him to blend in with nearly any environment as soon as the photo reactive polymers woven into the fatigues was brushed with whatever he wanted into blend into. It was a custom piece, something made for him specifically. The material used for it was generally used for scouting or sniping cloaks of ghillie suit. As Sly was both, he felt it was necessary to be able to blend in. His boots were matte black with dulled metal loops for the strings. He had spent hours carefully dulling the metal on his entire uniform with boot polish. Any commissar wanting to chastise him for it would get the twenty centimeter long blade through his throat.

Any commanding officer would have written Sly up if he were anyone else. His unshaved face, long hair, non-regulation weapons and gear and the list went on and on. That beret though. . . it through Sly off completely. It was crimson, with a big old gold sword medal on it. He hated wearing it, but it was the only thing in his whole kit that was regulation, and plus it kept his hair looking manageable while he was around officers. His kit in his right hand, he walked towards a Caribou four wheeler. In it was a man in full uniform of a colonel. The thick muscles of his body indicated that the Catachan Devil patch was earned, not given. He wore reflective sunglasses, though there was not a lot of sun to reflect. Sly threw his kit in the back and hopped into the Caribou with the colonel. The colonel, who was smoking a thick cigar, offered an unlit one to Sly. Sly shook his head. The colonel smiled.

 

© 2011 by Cory Sisco. All rights reserved

[Grotsmasha]

Niiiice, I'd completely forgotten about GWs Rambo rip-off. I love Sly Marbo. Great short story, just one hitch this time. The story implies the Valkyrie is capable of space-flight and I'm not sure this is correct, so maybe be sure about that prior to proceding.

 

Otherwise, like I said in your other thread, I'd really like to read the rest, cheers,

Jono

 

EDIT: Just realised this story isn't Power Armour, which it needs to he to be on the B&C. Maybe Sly runs into Telion or Naaman? :P

[DeadpoolCory]

Haha, I'll post more when I finish it. It'll all become clear ;)

[Grotsmasha]

Sweeeeeetttt

[thehumanvolcano]

I like it, but then that might not mean much since I like pretty much anything involving ram- I mean err Marbo the completly original GW character that was spawned purely from the minds of the writers and any similarities to any currently existing action heroes real or fictional is completly coincidental ;). All kidding aside though I really liked the story and will look forward to the rest of it.

[DeadpoolCory]

In all honesty I'm tossing the Rambo likeness out the window and trying to develop something a little bit more gruff and weathered rather than just a killing machine.

[Brother Tyler]

It needs to get a power armour focus really quickly or it will be closed.

[DeadpoolCory]

Only can write so fast! It's coming I swear!

[DeadpoolCory]

Any commanding officer would have written Sly up if he were anyone else. His unshaved face, long hair, non-regulation weapons and gear and the list went on and on. That beret though. . . it through Sly off completely. It was crimson, with a big old gold sword medal on it. He hated wearing it, but it was the only thing in his whole kit that was regulation, and plus it kept his hair looking manageable while he was around officers. His kit in his right hand, he walked towards a Caribou four wheeler. In it was a man in full uniform of a colonel. The thick muscles of his body indicated that the Catachan Devil patch was earned, not given. He wore reflective sunglasses, though there was not a lot of sun to reflect, and his shaved head was just beginning to grow some stubble. Sly threw his kit in the back and hopped into the Caribou with the colonel. The colonel, who was smoking a thick cigar, offered an unlit one to Sly. Sly shook his head. The colonel smiled.

 

“You need to learn to enjoy the things in life, Marbo, otherwise there is no point in living.” The colonel said, starting to drive off the tarmac.

 

“I thought my job was to fight so others could enjoy the things in life, Thrisk.” Sly said, looking out at the bustling troops in the camp. “Why did I get recalled from Tero? The ministorium and I had a bet on that I could get that war done and over within five months, not two years. You better have five hundred coin to pay me back.”

 

They passed through a check point, the guards saluting quickly at the Thrisk.

 

“We require your skills more here. You’re going to be guard duty.” Thrisk said, pulling over to allow a trio of Leman Russ tanks to pass them.

 

Sly’s look could have melted ceramite. “You’re frakking kidding me right. You’re putting me on a guard duty? Good frakking lord. Should have frakking known it.”

 

Thrisk pulled a file out between the seats and handed it to Sly. Sly flipped it open and his grimace hardened, but the anger in his eyes died. “Frak me.”

 

“Now you see why we needed the best man we have?”

 

In his hands, Sly held the docket on an Imperial Governor, Renkshlein. He was a top priority of protection in this campaign. Chaos insurgents had slowly corrupted the majority of the P.D.F, which had then led to the civil war. The majority of the planet had fallen in a single night. But if there was any chance of the re-stabilization of the planet, the Governor had to be kept alive.

 

“But you haven’t answered my question: why me?” Sly growled, tossing the docket between his feet.

 

“Because we received intel that the insurgents have sent their best assassin to kill the Governor and you are the best assassin we have in the general area. You’ll know what to look for, and how to stop it. And it is your duty to do as the Emperor commands.” Thrisk said, turning again up towards a large mansion.

 

“Or in this case, you.” Sly said, taking off his beret and stuffing it into his kit bag. “Let’s just get this fraking over with.”

 

 

It had been a week since he had arrived on planet. He had hated every day. He was a killer, a monster in some people’s eyes. These balls, the functions, the nice clothes. . . none of these were things that Sly enjoyed. The governor was a prick, through and through. The little slime ball had ascended to power like most politicians, through tricks and deception and probably a lot of illegal activities that would never ever be linked back to him. Sly wasn’t a good person, he knew it. But at least he had honor. He faced his enemies, they knew who had destroyed them. This governor was a puppeteer. And all of his puppets danced to his tune.

 

 

 

It was night time. Sly was on the roof of the governor’s mansion. He liked being away from the soft cushy beds and sweet smelling sheets. The elements was where he was most comfortable. But this night was different. The sixth sense that Sly had developed over years of solitary soldiery was screaming at him that danger was close. He crouched, quietly in a shadow, his fatigues having blended perfectly with the grey slate of the roof top. He was near a vent, so his body heat was masked by the steady warmth blowing from it. He was sweating like a sinner at mass, but he sat, perfectly still, gazing through the night. He wasn’t using any sort of night vision or heat scope. He never trusted them. He’d rather use his own eyes. They were less likely to fail him.

There. A shadow, across the roof from him, moved. Then another, and another until five shadows, barely visible, slithered along the roof, unaware he had seen them. There was a rustle, and the cloaks hiding one of the shadows slipped slightly. Sly’s eyes widened, and he growled to himself.

 

One shadow moved right next to wear his hiding spot was. It was much bigger than Sly, but of a similar muscular build that no amount of weight training or genetic splicing could accomplish. It was a body honed for war by war. The shadow paused, looking away from Sly.

 

Most people think that hiding in complete darkness is the best way to be stealthy. They were wrong. The best way to hide was just beyond bright light, just within its shadow. There was a function below, a ball. The governor was about to make a speech to ensure the noble families of the planet that the war was going smoothly. It was a public relations stunt, the war was going to hell. The chaos cultists were to wide spread, too well armed. They seemed to know every move the Imperial Guard was going to make before they made it. Casualties were in the hundreds of thousands, with very little blood in return from the traitors.

 

Sly watched as the shadow shifted slightly, along with the others. Long rifles, massive by normal human’s standards, were raised and aimed at the governor. Sly knew what they were going to do, and knew that his duty.

 

Simultaneously, five whispers sounded. The governor simply ceased to exist. His body exploded in a red mist. There was a silence, long and drawn out. The only kind of silence that happened when the human brain could not grasp what had just happened. The talking ceased, the music stopped. Even the wind seemed shocked, and not even a small breath stirred the air.

Then it began, the screaming, the shrieking crying. Women fainted, men drew ornate useless fire arms and waved them around, looking for the source. A few guards looked up at the night sky, but like Sly, the Space Marine Scouts were invisible, hidden by the glaring light from below.

 

A booming voice echoed from below Sly, blocked from his line of sight by the roofs ledge and the massive figure in front of him.

 

“I am Inquisitor Malicrok, and every single one of you is under arrest for sedition against the Golden Throne and for working with traitors. I declare you HERETICS!” The voice was thick, accented, obviously off world. Sly’s eyes narrowed as Storm Troopers in full armor seemed to appear from behind the grass itself. With them a Space Marines in gun metal armor, trimmed with red, stepped into view, hefting a massive bolter in his hands as Sly would a las rifle. A man with a drawn gun fired a shot, and from Sly’s guess missed his intended target as he heard a woman screaming, which soon turned to a gurgle. The Space Marine raised his weapon, almost casually, and fired a single, deafening shot. The man exploded, offal hitting his immediate peers.

 

“Anyone else?” The helmet giant asked. The other men with drawn weapons dropped them. The storm troopers quickly rounded everyone up.

 

The Inquisitor stepped into Sly’s line of sight. He was a large man, armored in gold power armor, carrying a scroll with the Inquisitorial “I” in one hand and an inferno pistol in the other. His head was shaved clean of any hair.

 

Sly raised his own rifle, aiming over the shoulder of the Scout in front of him. He sighted in on a head, shaved and sparkling in the light.

 

“For the Emperor.” He said out loud.

 

The five Scouts whirled around in time to see a small flash from the suppressor on Sly’s rifle.

 

Colonel Thrisk’s head exploded like a melon, his sunglasses split neatly in two falling to the ground at his feet before his body fell over. No one screamed this time, but the Space Marine and Inquisitor whirled around glaring at the roof top.

 

Sly’s hands were already raised, his gun pointing in the air, but his eyes had not left Thrisk’s body. The Scouts were all training their weapons on him.

 

+CEASE FIRE DAMN IT!+ A comm bead crackled. One scout, the leader if Sly were to guess, reached up with one hand and pressed a button on his throat, still keeping his weapon aimed steadily at Sly.

 

“Wasn’t us, sir. We’ve got it under control.”

 

Sly lowered his rifle slowly, his eyes finally glancing at the Scouts.

 

The leader pulled back his hood, revealing a stern scarred face with dark eyes.

 

“What?” Sly said, but the only response he got was a lightning fast smack to the head with the butt of a rifle.

 

 

 

Sly came too, his head ringing and his face hurting. He couldn’t open his left eye, and from the smell of it he had dried blood on his face. In front of him, the Inquisitor sat, patiently staring at him from across a metal table. Behind him, the Space Marine, still fully armored and his face hidden behind his helmet, stood like a statue, his arms crossed over his massive chest. Sly took the room in without looking around. Small, stone, probably underground from the smell of wet mold with a single door with no interior handle. He was trapped, no way out, even if he was able to somehow overpower two armored opponents with nothing but his bare hands. In many other situations Sly would have tried, just to see if he could do it. But this time he sat quietly, and looked the Inquisitor in the eye.

 

© 2011 by Cory Sisco. All rights reserved

[atin]

nice one, I enjoyed the read.

my only point is, the explanation why the governor is killed seems short.

looking forward for more.

 

but one question: you watch battlestar galatica? ;) frak -_-

[DeadpoolCory]

Ciaphas Cain and Battlestar.

[Leonaides]

So the title is an homage to 'Assassin' and 'Tango and Cash', both Sly stalone films? (or is that just me failing to watch good movies?)

[DeadpoolCory]

Very perceptive, but the completion of the story will also explain better as well.