mardi 10 juillet 2012

Officer of his Majesty

It had been several days since they left the foothill of the Glasgow Island.

While navigating through the mist of the Britannic Archipelago, they had been less than happy to stumble onto that uncharted island, but it was their duty to cartography each island of the archipelago and cleanse that degenerate mutant infection
that had taken roots among its population.

The last member of the Royal Family, the General Hell 'Ington (whom had somehow survived his last encounter against the Emperor) had ordered the reconquest of the Archipelago.

The worst part of that infection was the virus ability to turn undead mater both human and animal into that semblance of a life whose only purpose was to feed on the livings.

Today, they moved their trenches further inland, they had set some landmines backed up by razor wires.
The thick toxic mist had prevented a quick reconnoissance of the island, anyways, sooner or later, at nightfall, far away howlings and wailings would give them an idea of the monstrosities dwelling on this island.

It mattered little, for John, proud in his Captain's regalia caressed the grip of his Hell pistol while proudly flexing the fingers of his new Battle Fist he and his men were ready to carry on their duty.

Later that night, they had arrived, the mines had taken their toll but it was not enough against the tide of zombies, the razor wires had only stopped the first few to reach them, quickly becoming entangled meaty carpets enabling the others to cross with no more hindrance than their already ungainly pace.
Heavy ordnance had become silent for the enemy was now too close from the trenches, hand to hand would now be inescapable thought John.
He raised his Hell pistol and ordered "Hold it until you see the white of their teeth, then fire at will !!!" while in his mind he couldn't help to finish the sentence "but keep a last shot for yourself".....

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