The gray mass of the rain laden clouds swirled off of the hull of the Giraud Dragonfly. The mist spun in damp helixes in the vacuum of the planes wake. It was beautiful, if one had the opportunity to care.
Sergeant Franz Maurer did not have the luxury. His mind was waging a silent war with his ten years of Blitzer training on one hand and a lifetime’s worth of common sense on the other. Moments earlier he and his men had been on the way to obliterate an Imperial artillery depot which had been impeding the advance of Bauhaus forces through the northern theater of the Ring of Fire. It would have been a simple job for Franz Maurer and his men, an excellent workout for a seasoned group of elite special forces Blitzers.
However, those magnificent Imperial bastards had managed to foul up this assault by staging one of their own.
An SOS had been intercepted claiming that a biological science envoy was under siege by Imperial commandos, heavily emphasizing that Janis Fieldhausen had been captured. The message promptly terminated, but the gravity of the SOS was conveyed. Franz Maurer was deeply shaken by the news.
As familiar a name as Steiner or Duval, Janis Fieldhausen was the heir apparent to the fortune and prestige of the Fieldhausen Motors, the infamous manufacturers of the finest Bahaus mechanized armor. To a lesser degree, she was an acclaimed botanist with a bitter and public contempt for Imperial conquistadors. She had been instrumental in the bold move to cease supplying the Imperial Corporation with Fieldhausen war machines during this time of sedition.
Hailed by the Homebuilders and bitterly condemned by the Imperials, her petition cemented her ascension to Kaiser of her families company. The Imperials obviously wished to express their disdain for the woman personally.
The envoy was directly in the path of the Dragonfly, and without seeking authorization, The Sergeant belayed his previous orders g this noblewoman.
Franz Maurer turned his head from the clouds to look at his squad. Their identical iron clad faces looked back into his own and he recognized them instantly. Up front was the Korporal Wolfgang Kiev, a compatriot of the sergeant’s on seven missions. Behind him was Specialist Peter Magnusson, an accomplished wall of meat hailing from the House of Bernheim, toting the bulk of a Giuraud Firefist. Blitzers Johann Schwartz, Hans Schmidt and Arnold Mauser rounded out the squad. Save for Magnusson and the Sergeant, all the Blitzers were armed with Grenade fitted Panzerknackers, MP-105’s and demo charges in anticipation of saturating an enemy entrenchment with molten death. They were ill equipped for a rescue and may as well have been performing filed surgery with a chainripper.
Even though this was suicide, it did not matter to Franz Maurer or any of his men. To even become a Blitzer was tantamount to ascension into the Brotherhood. To die as Blitzer was an honor unparalleled throughout the ranks of the Bauhaus war machine. A Blitzers death, almost without exception, would bring untold honor to his family and fame unto the corpse. A glorious death is the ultimate, unspoken goal of any Blitzer.
The red jump light began to flash signaling their arrival at the jump zone. Franz Maurer cocked his Hagelsturm and adjusted the position of his ‘ripper and demo charge. Franz Maurer toggled his jumpchute on and sharply inhaled.
As soon as the red light went green, Franz Maurer hurled himself from the plane. He quickly achieved terminal velocity and broke free from the suffocating clouds into a Venusian downpour. In an infrequent moment of calm, Franz Maurer quietly observed the motionless rain drops that engulfed him as they and he plummeted in perfect unison towards the muddy soil beneath them.
Snapping from his reverie, Franz Maurer toggled his integral binoculars on and began to transmit in real-time his POV to his men and the Dragonfly. Zooming in st below, he quickly picked up the muddy trail of troops and vehicles. Franz Maurer imperceptibly tilted his head to trace the trail. The Sergeant spotted the track makers, two squads of Imperial Black Berets in their unmistakable cancer-black armor moving double time behind a favorite Blitzer target, a Necromower. Most important however was the lone figure at the point of the infantry, a woman, Janis Fieldhausen. The lack of other prisoners incensed the Sergeant, these commandos had obviously slaughtered unarmed men in their haste. Franz Maurer locked his trajectory onto that of the gun toting murderer forcing Janis Fieldhausen to run.
A beep in the Franz Maurer’s helmet signaled the imminent firing of the jumpchute. He took a moment to check the EKG monitors that informed him that every member of his squad was breathing. The beeping became more incessant prompting Franz Maurer to draw his Chainripper and grimace beneath his helm.
The Sergeant took cold comfort in the knowledge that the last thing the murderer beneath his feet experienced was a belch of flame and death under Ministry of War issue boots.
The Sergeant’s entrance had stunned those close by and their inaction allowed him to sweep his chainripper across two commando bellies, leaving them fumbling after their disgorged intestines. Explosions and belching flames ignited all around the Sergeant, signaling the arrival of his squad. A glimpse at the squad’s EKG monitor informed the Sergeant that the Korporal Kiev’s chute had not fired. Franz Maurer’s friend had not complained, he died quietly, with honor.
The Sergeant unflinchingly turned his attention towards the hostage just in time to see Blitzer Schmidt place a demo charge on the Necromower that had come to a dead stop. Schmidt ran hard towards the squad of Black Berets. The explosion followed instantly behind Schmidt just as a volley of wire-guided missiles found the Necromower. The chassis blossomed into a flower of shredded metal and flam st Magnusson had done his job, the Sergeant knew Magnusson and his Firefist would be incapable of doing anything else until Janis Fieldhausen was safely away.
The Sergeant caught the eye of Janis Fieldhausen a mere two meters away. Her eyes jumped open in what the Sergeant mistakenly interpreted as fear.
It was a warning.
The impact of several assault rifle rounds to his back spun the Sergeant around to the ruddy face of his attacker. Instantly and without thought the Sergeant tore his demo charge off and slapped it to the black, and mostly composite, shoulder armor of the Imperial commando. Regardless of the charge’s precarious magnetic grasp on the armor, the Black Beret turned all his energy to the bomb’s disposal allowing the Sergeant to tackle Janis Fieldhausen. Screaming shards of cancer-black armor pierced the rain in accompaniment to the explosion.
Jumping to his feet, the Sergeant stared wide eyed at the now blood soaked noblewoman at his feet. She was drenched in it, and the Sergeant assumed that her wound must be grave. Hesitating only for a moment to assess the situation, the Sergeant hoisted Janis Fieldhausen over his left shoulder and began to run, regardless of her injury.
"We’re away. Kill them all," barked the Sergeant.
The clatter of automatic rifles and thump of grenades comforted the Sergeant during his tactical withdrawal. The symphony of cracking armor echoed through the woods as blood mingled with mud.
Imperial cries echoed the fury of the assault. At first they were screams of pain, then cries to rally. The gunfire ceased and the Sergeant knew his men were dead. A quick glimpse at his EKG monitor confirmed that suspicion. None had complained, they all died with honor.
The Sergeant was aware that he was no more than one hundred yards away from the salvation embodied by a Helitank evac. He knew that even the renowned sharp-shooters of the Black Berets would not dare fire at him as long as he held Janis Fi would have to engage the Sergeant hand to hand. All he had to do was outrun the commandos.
The slogging of boots other than his own prompted the Sergeant to unsling his autoshotgun and turn to greet his pursuers. In a breath, two Imperial commandos were on top of him with drawn swords. He turned just in time to parry a Chainripper with his Hagelsturm as the other glanced off his thigh armor then sunk into the mud forcing its wielder to his knees. The Sergeant kicked the kneeling Beret in the face and clubbed the other with the shotgun he had ruined. Five other Black Berets were closing fast which forced the Sergeant to run without dispatching the two at his feet.
The rain fell heavier now, pelting his helm until all sounds other than the rain were drowned out.
In his mind he was running faster than he had as a boy in Heimburg, following the tanks in the military procession. In fact, the Sergeant felt wonderful. Little did the Sergeant realize that was thanks entirely to his Combat Medic. It had automatically activated after the Sergeant had been mortally shot in the back. In fact, the blood that had drenched Janis Fieldhausen was not hers, but his.
The reality of the situation was that he was barely inching forward. However the Sergeant did manage to round a thicket where, no more than fifty feet in front of him, was the Helitank. The Sergeant knew if he stayed abreast of the Imperial commandos for a few seconds longer, they would be cut down by the Helitank.
Instead, a Black Beret blindsided the Sergeant from the left, knocking Janis Fieldhausen from his shoulder. The Sergeant clambered to his feet and went for his Chainripper. The commando that had felled him wrestled for the same weapon. A dawning realization reached the Sergeant through a haze of anesthetics; he was beaten. He looked at the face of the Black Beret and saw only a gleaming white grin. No honor would be heaped upon the Sergeant in death. He knew he would forever be remembered as t who lost Janis Fieldhausen to the Enemy. His name would be cursed and his family shamed. No worse a death would he wish on anyone.
And with that thought in his mind and that Imperial smile in his face, Franz Maurer died.