The Loxian wars

[Guest Musketeer12]

C+C welcome,

 

Prologue

The darkness engulfs the land threateningly, its grip touching all that venture beyond the compound’s walls, rendering all but the largest objects or hab-blocks disappear beneath its waves. The 13^th province of Loxia III was a miserable posting for any PDF trooper with its bandits, deadly foliage and the occasional predator left behind by one of the multitude of aristocratic hunting parties that come for a country retreat. There was a painful lack of almost anything in many of the villages; running water was seen as a luxury, very little food was available due to the high tithes and anything that might pass as infrastructure amounted to little more than seasonal dirt roads. This was not a bountiful area for the Loxian sub-sector; it provided very little in the way of manpower and lacked almost any mineral resource. Indeed, the only purpose that Loxia III (as well as her very similar sister planet Loxia II) achieve is to feed the teeming masses of Vubrio through its immense array of industrial sized farms.

 

These farms are the only reason that the 33^rd company, 12^th Light Infantry Battalion, the Loxian PDF is deployed here. The 13^th province has long been a wasteland of sorts, the hills and mountains that loom over the vast array of tilled fields rumoured to harbour things far worse than bands of marauders within its stone enclosure. The populace have long learned to lock their doors for the few who do not quickly disappear without a trace- spirited away into the night never to return. These were initially rare occurrences once every few months and only happened to those who were careless, but the pattern had now changed to once a week at least. Perhaps most chillingly the doors were found miraculously open, as if the doomed themselves had welcomed their captors. Whatever the case, the 33^rd company had quickly been posted to the 3^rd district of the province, which was closest to the uplands that seemed to be the origin of these raiders. They quickly constructed the compound they now occupied- an impressive position with eight foot walls, several mounted heavy weapons, an admantium gate and a courtyard that fully encompassed all the needs of the garrison. But still the disappearances had continued apace, despite numerous sweeps that yielded nothing more than disorientated bandits with no knowledge of the kidnappers or the disappeared workers.

 

A fog slowly moves in from the mountains, a pale blanket that begins to smother the few lights around the outlying control posts. Infantrymen Lassan and Bertelsen wearily took over from Infantrymen Hjolt and Povlson, angered at the constant shifts that characterise the 1^st platoon’s deployment to 1 post on the rightmost flank of the compound’s surrounding razor wire. Sergeant Thygesen had been detailed to join them by Lieutenant Korsgaard on account of the fog that had been reported in by a forward meteorological post. The fog that was getting that pup all antsy Bertelsen muttered, as he chucked his Lasgun into the right corner of the post and after throwing himself down after it began to smoke profusely on an iho stick. Thygesen ignored the comment; Bertelsen had served off-planet for three years during the relief of Palgoria and was well known for both his short temper and proficiency as a soldier. Thygesen settled down onto the vox whilst Lassan manned the heavy stubber, performing a perfunctory sweep every few minutes to try and give the impression he was actually focused and awake.

 

The position they now occupied- 1 post- was little more than an open shed about 50 meters from the edge of the razor wire entanglements. It was spartan in both condition and space, containing two mounted heavy stubbers (though the mountings seemed to shake incessantly for hours after they were fired), a vox for communicating with either the compound itself or any patrols, and several ammunition boxes holding everything from grenades to emergency rations. It was connected to its adjoined ‘barracks’ (in truth little more than a requisitioned house that was packed to breaking point with the men of whatever platoon were unlucky enough to be given it) by a narrow slit trench that seemed to flood with the merest provocation from the heavens. All would prefer to be within the compound, or even better back in the capital Jomoft with its amsec and women and as much food as you could eat.

 

The fog had descended upon 1 post fully now, cloying around the position like a vulture does a corpse. It was far thicker than the forward post had initially anticipated and restricted virtually all, prompting an angry message from Bertelsen who quickly began to try and break the boredom with some good old fashioned aggression after grabbing the speaker from a passive Thygesen.

“Forward post, this is 1 Post, what the frack are you playing at? This ain’t some stupid minor fog you iho-stick-smoking smack, this is a bloody soup bowl! How long is it going to last? An accurate prediction this time, if you would be so generous as to actually do your damn job.”

“1 Post, all the signs said that the fog would be practically gone when it met you, are you sure you’re being serious? By current wind patterns it should be gone in a few minutes.”

“Can you confirm that this time you stupid ass servitor or do I need to come up there and do it myself?” Bertelsen was clearly not impressed with the smugness that the meteorological personnel were showing him, though Lassan and Thygesen suspected that this was more due to the fact that they were paid exponentially more than the angry private than any disillusionment about the accuracy of their report.

“1 Post, we are absolutely sure that-”.

 

The vox cut out suddenly, emitting a sharp metallic screech that careened through the otherwise serene night for several seconds before Thygesen, clearly fed up by Bertelsen’s antics, thumped the set with his foot. The screech continued unabated for several more seconds before it suddenly cut out, silence returning once more to the night. The forward post did not answer any new voxes, despite repeated attempts from Bertelsen (that grew ever more aggressive and vulgar).

 

Lassan, by far the youngest of the trio and the only one without any combat experience, quickly called out whilst his more experienced comrades dealt with the vox. The darkness was still all encompassing, the only lights visible those of the compound and 2 Post to his left. But now a new light, far brighter than the others, began to spread its reach across the deep midnight sky from one of the crevasses in the mountain. It was a strong purple, radiating beautifully in the darkness.

“Sarge.. isn’t that where the forward post is?” Bertelsen’s voice was halting, thick with fear. Lassan now began to swing the mounted heavy stubber with a new found purpose (no doubt fuelled by the prospect of actual combat) whilst Thygesen now proceed to vox the compound.

 

The same metallic screech once more emitted itself but was this time far more powerful to the point of being debilitating. Lassan shouts out once more, this time there is a series of small flashes surrounding 2 Post, then nothing. The metallic screech has stopped, and all three troopers turn with a mixture of trepidation and terror at the vox as Thygesen begins to call the compound. He is met by nothing by static, sending an icy shiver down the spines of all three men. Lassan slowly walks back towards the edge of 1 Post, still facing the vox as he reaches the edge of safety.

 

A hand latches itself onto Lassan’s mouth as a knife slicing across his throat with terrifying efficiency. Lassan falls to the floor with little more than a whimper as a vibrant pool of blood slowly begins to surround his body. Bertelsen screams something incoherent in terror before blazing away at the darkness as Thygesen now begins to plead, pray and use all the profane words under His light with the vox to try and send a signal.

 

A huge shadow vaults into the Post, towering above the trembling guardsmen. Bertelsen barely has time to fire with more ineffectual shot at the hulking figure- that does little more than sizzle on its thick armour that is littered with damage, spikes and trophies- before his cranium is neatly ruptured by an effortless jab. The infantryman’s corpse falls onto his comrades, the pure white bone sullied by a mixture of his brain and escaping blood. Thygesen stares up at his soon to be executer whilst his mouth gawks at the sheer size and terror of the thing; he is too paralysed by fear to cry out, run, or even soil himself. He is swiftly dispatched microseconds later, his head neatly severed from his body.

The dark figure surveys his work, his visage almost cavorting into a leering grin as he takes in the one sided slaughter. His deep voice thunders through the night, its coolness matching that of the night apart from the momentary lapses into excitement.

“My lord, border posts eliminated. The compound is yours for the taking.”

 

At this, a wave of dark creatures seemed to rise up at once out of the darkness, and the slaughter of the 33^rd Company whilst they slept began.