As a result, I thought I'd put one of my musings on here for people to have a look at, rather than keep all my ideas hidden away.
Obviously, the Warhammer 40,000 universe is the property of Games Workshop, and I intend in no way to infringe on their IP....
Anyhoo, here's the first bit....
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Forty-Two Days
His breath was calm, gently fogging his rifle’s scope as he searched the ruins for any sign of activity. Shattered windows filtered the light from dozens of fires into macabre shadows, broken edifices loomed over bullet ridden walkways, and broken corpses lay draped across the landscape, marking the shifting courses of the battle. This had once been home to thousands of families, but it was a charnel house now, littered with blood and bullets and death. Forty-two days ago the Orks had come. For forty-two days people had fought, for forty-two days they had died. Now the city was lost, only a few men left to treasure the memories of those who had filled the streets.
Movement in the ruins caught his eye. Delicately moving the scope, he let his breathing settle as the silhouetted figures came into view. An Ork patrol, fifteen of the creatures, their bulky forms unmistakeable amidst the debris. He waited patiently, his breath staying calm and measured, even as his heart pounded in his chest. They came into view, scrap metal tied to the corded muscles bulging from their green skin, their tusked mouths slavering as they bickered amongst each other.
His eyes narrowed as he brought the crosshairs to bear, resting across the face of the leader of the group. Exhaling slowly he squeezed the trigger, the metal cold against his bare finger. A shot rang out. The brute’s head snapped backwards as the round struck him below the nose, flinging him from his feet. The Orks cried out in rage, firing wildly into the air in an attempt to root out their assailant. He smiled as they ducked for cover, aiming at another of the creatures. One more shot, one more kill, the Ork tumbling from his feet and rolling into the gutter. Shifting his position slightly, his foot slipped, knocking some debris from his perch.
“Krark.” He cursed, freezing in position, hoping he hadn’t been seen. But a triumphant roar from the Orks told him otherwise, and bullets began to trace through the air around him. Cursing under his breath, he turned on his heel and vaulted through the window behind him, hurling himself across the street into the next building. He knew they were following, he could hear the Orks baying for his blood, their bullets hammering the masonry around him as he dived through a doorway. He had planned this however, he knew the city like the back of his hand, and his routes through it were clear. Leaping over a pile of rubble, he darted to his left, turning to catch his pursuers in his sights. Sure enough, they burst through the door frame, spittle flying from their mouths. He fired. The first Ork collapsed, tripping those behind him. With a wry smile he turned to flee again, nimbly sidestepping the treacherous holes in the broken building as he did so. The Orks’ cries had grown louder and more furious, their shots blowing through the walls as he sprinted, weaving to avoid the slugs that were showering him in concrete. He was nearly there, his breath still steady, the only sign of exertion being the beads of sweat trickling across his forehead. He pressed his left hand into the communication device in his ear, shouting over the cracking of bullets and crumbling stonework.
“Brennan to Hotel. We have inbound, twelve bogies, repeat twelve. Coming through building route 26-A. Repeat, 26-A. Brennan out.”
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