V'running Man Part 2

The agonised screams of the Calculus Logi faded as Ramius raised his combi-bolter, the ancient weapon inscribed with the tear studded eye of the Grief Bringers, and granted him the Emperor's peace. Jarrett swallowed his horror and plunged his knife into the savant's brain a second time, feeling the point grate against metal. Two swift incisions exposed the implant, crouched like a spider on the left temporal lobe, an octet of wires integrating it into the web of neurons. As Jarrett wrenched the data module free of the soft tissue, the bark of Oren's shotgun was echoed from outside by a deeper roar.

"DOWN!"

At Oren's cry, Jarrett dropped to the floor as an autocannon stitched a row of holes as big as his fist through the wall. The warning had come too late for Cane though; the dark haired scout seemed to dance, flowers of blood blossoming across his chest as the shells struck home. As he slumped to the floor, his Larraman's Organ staunched the blood flow, sustaining him for a few extra seconds. Pinned down, Jarrett could only watch helplessly as the life faded from Cane's eyes. Oren peered round the edge of the window, the blood draining from his face as he turned back. His hoarse whisper was barely audible above the bloodthirsty howls of the Orks outside.

"Dreadnought."

As the Kommandos gained the riverbank, Jarrett rose to his feet, bolt pistol held loosely at his side. He began chanting the mantra of self-discipline, the first thing he had learned after being selected by the Chapter.

"Pure in thought, pure in word, pure in deed. Pure in thought, pure in word, pure in deed."

The first Ork ran screaming towards him brandishing a blood-spattered cleaver. Still chanting, Jarrett raised the pistol and fired once, hitting the Kommando cleanly between the eyes and blowing the back of its skull off. The Ork took a few faltering steps, a puzzled expression on its brutish face, before collapsing at Jarrett's feet.

Jarrett snapped off another shot, but the warbikes were bucking wildly as they crossed the rutted field and his shot went wide.

It had been a close run thing, the four scouts scrambling through the hole Ramius had carved through the wall with his powersword just as the Dreadnought tore through the front wall of the hut. The grenades they'd left in Cane's decimated chest cavity had allowed the dead scout to strike a final blow against the Orks, blowing off the dreadnought's right leg. The sound of alarms had followed them as they sprinted through the camp, the growl of crude engines echoing amongst the ramshackle buildings.

Now they were clear of the camp, but there were three warbikes and two trukks full of Orks in pursuit. Beside him, Ramius bellowed at Raines, telling the brawny scout to set up the Heavy Bolter ready to enfilade the approaching column.

Ramius racked the grenade launcher that jutted from the side of his bolter and fired, the grenade arcing through the air towards the approaching vehicles. The detonation momentarily drowned out the crude engines, blowing the tracks off the leading warbike. The warbike listed, the autocannon strapped to the side catching the earth and sending the machine tumbling. Caught in its dusty wake another Ork biker, his goggles covered in grease and soot, wrestled desperately with the controls of his bike before cannoning into the cartwheeling wreckage. The two machines exploded with an earth shattering roar that scattered derbis high into the air.

The last warbike swerved around the blazing debris and bore down on the scouts, the rider brandishing a chainsword. As Jarrett and Ramius opened fire, the Ork biker swept past them and drove the chainsword through Raines' back, the whirr of the teeth rising to a screech as they tore through his reinforced ribcage. A hail of fire from Jarrett and Ramius filled the air around the warbike, the rider flung from the saddle like a ragdoll, torn apart by the exploding bolts. Jarrett turned to see Raines slump to the ground, the hilt of the chainsword still jutting from his back as the riderless warbike tore away in a cloud of dust...

A Kommando fell, its leg severed at the hip by the explosive bolt. Seven Orks, two bolts left in the clip. As another Ork leaped forward Jarrett fired, whirling to let the body's own momentum carry it past him. One bolt. Jarrett sidestepped an awkward lunge and clubbed the Kommando on the back of the head with the butt of his pistol, hearing its skull crack like dry wood. He looked up to see an Ork's arm go back, the distinctive shape of a stikkbomb in hand. He squeezed the trigger, seeing the Ork drop the primitive grenade as it fell, the blast tearing another greenskin apart.

Jarrett holstered his empty pistol as the three remaining Orks fanned out, forming a rough semicircle around him. The largest stepped forward, waving an ornate powersword and an imperial combi-weapon engraved with the weeping eye of the Grief Bringers. At the sight of the sacred iconography defaced with crude Ork glyphs, Jarrett's self-imposed calm dropped away, rage boiling inside him as the Ork laughed and beckoned him forward

Jarrett could hear the mob of Orks to the left, crashing through the undergrowth and shouting to each other. He wasn't worried about them - the scouts could hear them coming from a klick away, and be long gone before the rowdy greenskins even got close. No, it was the silent forest to the right that was troubling. Jarrett, Ramius and Oren had seen two groups of Orks deploy from the trukks and enter the forest after them, but of the second mob, there was no sign...