Meet the Madd Mutts[/size]
Howdy. I've been trying to formalize some fluff for my IG regiment for some time (some of you may remember earlier attempts) but I think I've finally settled on something I like: Imperial Privateers. I've always preffered fluff through stories, so this is basically meant to give you an idea of how the Regiment operates and introduce you to potential characters. I'd like to hear which characters you liked and, just as importantly, which characters you hated and why. Comments welcome. Anyway, without further ado:
"Alright Pooches, Here’s the Skinky":
Commissar Jenkins walked into the command room that would serve as his briefing room for the next mission of the 1st Imperial Privateers, codename "Madd Mutts", from a low platform. The room included a holographic projector, which he did not intend to use, in the center surrounded by stadium seating on all sides. It seemed designed to make the speaker feel surrounded by his officers, which it did quite well. Of course, most Commissars might feel somewhat threatened by this insinuated weakness but not Commissar Jenkins. After all, he wasn’t even a real Commissar.
"Alright pooches, here’s the skinky. The target’s pruney, well proportioned, and pimpled on the south side, so this isn’t a French waltz. Grandma’s staying orbital so the be-atches are gonna kiss the pimples while the Dumples take a brown plop. Once the pimples are high the Love Doves sweep the taxmen out of their nest while the Frumples take a wet one and light a couple wicks. Meanwhile the Dumples load up the Aunt Vicky and set a Fizzle-Fazzle. Once the Love Doves bend over, the Dumples and the Frumples kiss the medic and take a glove up the rump while the Love Doves and the be-atches serenade like Germans. Once the Fizzle-Fazzle empties the keg to cover the bill we give Grandma a hug and jump in the sleigh before the Accountants find the mortgage."
"The target’s Pruney, Well-Proportioned, and Pimpled on the South Side, so this isn’t going to be a French Waltz":
Squadron Leader Andi Nuisseh waited in orbit around the Molotov Maiden with the rest of his squadron, the Steel Toes. Even before the crunchies were dropped, they, his squadron, would engage the target. Bellow them sat the Tau colony world of Nau’Makh’Lul and its capital city, whose name Nuisseh hadn’t even bother to learn. Somewhere in there, the reason some 5000 souls were going to be fighting there in a few minutes, lay a collection of advanced Fusion cores. Wanted by the Adeptus Mechcanicus for study, not to mention by a few worlds for less enlightened purposes, they were the perfect pirate booty, worth a tidy sum yet relatively lightweight, at least compared to, say, a load of adminatium. If left where they where the Tau would eventually stick them into a reactor to power their own cities but right now they were just a load of raw power with enough juice to power an entire sector for years.
Of course, something that valuable would be well guarded and this place was no exception. The capital city not only boasted it’s own defense force but several bunkers a few miles to the south, protected by a mountain range, and pack full off Railguns and plenty of other weapon systems. They had enough raw firepower to scare off any orbital assault and allowed the city defenders to retreat to a superior position if attack by overwhelming force. The worst part, however, was that all those Railguns could fire on any approaching space craft, such as the entire assault force about that was about to come down on the Tau city. While his squadron, in Lightnings, might be able to dodge their attacks, the drop ships behind him certainly wouldn’t be so capable. Off course, even without the bunkers there was still the local defense force to worry about, but at least that wasn’t his problem.
The radio crackled and Commissar Jenkins spoke, "be-atches, kick down the door"
"Grandma’s staying orbital so the be-atches are gonna kiss the pimples while the Dumples take a brown plop.":
Major Antonio Rasqual was an Angerian but in his Command section alone he counted a Valhallan, a Mordanian, and two Nordians, including the rather beautiful medic Anna. He had once counted how many different world the troops just under his own command, four platoons, had come from, and had ended up with fifty-six. Looking out the monitor at the hundreds of similar drop ships arrayed around him, each with their own Major and subservient platoons, he could only guess at the number of worlds they represented. How Commissar Jenkins had assembled such a force was beyond him, but perhaps that was merely the cost of assembling your army from the scraps and discards of other armies. Major Antonio preferred not to think of such things, especially not when there were more important things to do, such as take a peek at Medic Anna’s supple rump as she bent over to pick something up.
He knew that as an officer he was forbidden from fraternizing with the non-coms but here, at the literal edge of the Imperial Guard, such rules were lax. Besides, Antonio though, he’d served his time, he’d fought his good war, now it was time for him to get some of those rewards he so richly deserved. The Commissar certainly wouldn’t have a problem, he’d never put his foot in the private lives of his soldiers, and it wasn’t as if the girl wasn’t willing. Emperor’s boots, any girl who could make a rectal exam feel like THAT certainly wasn’t adverse to a romp in the bunks. Still, old habits, seven years of them formed with the Angerian 73rd, die hard.
He looked back out towards the monitor and between the hovering drop ships he fancied he could spy one of the Lightning Strikers. They would be the first to go when the order came down to…
The radio crackled and Commissar Jenkins hollered, "be-atches, kick down the door".
Speak of the Devil. He watched as the Lightning Striker he’d seen flew below the massive drop ships, who themselves were orienting themselves down towards the planet, joined up with it’s fellows and made a mad dive down towards the planet. The pilot turned towards him and said, "Sir, we’re about to be dropping. You need to get into the drop chamber and buckle up."
"Of course," replied Major Antonio, since he and his Command team were the only ones still in the pilot’s cabin. He turned back, flanked by his staff, and marched into the drop hold. Everywhere were soldiers strapped into their crash netting, waiting for the inevitable drop sickness and following battle. A few even looked likely to be sick now. Time for a motivational speech, though Major Antonio.
"I know that for some of you this is your first time in a drop ship and I know that for some of you this will be your first battle. Stay calm, follow your Sergeant, and don’t worry if you vomit on the way down. You all should know by know that we’re dropping onto a Prune world. We’re security topside, so find your marks, take positions, and make sure we don’t miss anything. While we’re guarding the roof area, a couple other platoons are going to be emptying the warehouse of its valuables, so make sure your shots hit Prunes and not friendless. You shouldn’t have to worry about suits, as the Love Doves are gonna sweep things clear, but stay alert in case they miss anything. This job should only take twenty to thirty minutes, we won’t be there long, and hopefully we won’t even have to fire a shot. The Frumples are gonna be keeping the streets chaotic, so we shouldn’t have much to worry about, but let’s make sure when they double back to us we don’t get sloppy and they get shot." He waited a moment, then added, "This is a cake walk boys, and the cake is damn big. In forty minutes we’re gonna be rolling in whores and booze."
Underneath him, he felt the ship move under him and quickly sat down into the crash webbing. The ship lurched down and soon they’d be flying straight down through the atmo, buffeted by high winds, which would slam the ship from side to side. For now, however, all they were experiencing was a zero-G environment, since the gravity simulator couldn’t work during a drop. As he felt his hair climb upwards, however, he looked across at medic Anna and decided, watching her breasts fly up around her neck, that there were some good advantages to zero-G.