the drunken freak


The Battle for the Valley of Mars
One To Write Home About
a couple of quick ones
buk was right
home p2
BFM p2
The Battle for the Valley of Mars

The general gazed out upon the field where the ambush would take place and reflected on what he was doing. The emperor's legendary thousand man army was on it's way to try making his small town join the imperial coalition. The townsfolk would not capitulate! Signing the treaty was as good as signing thier death warrant.

For years the villagers had watched countless other towns fold under the emperor's iron bootheel only to become slave labor pools for the imperium. Not Aries not today not ever!

the men tensed as they heard the approach of the emperors ranks. They came in five columns proudly marching with heads held high knowing that this, like all of thier attacks, would be swift and decisive.
As the third column passed the ambush point the signal was given and the soldiers let fly with spears. The officers were the first to go down, the spears homing in on thier targets with unerring accuracy. The third columns leadman took one in the shoulder at an ugly angle shattering the collar bones and shattering tendons. The arm was hanging on by a few tattered ribbons of flesh and the warrior quickly bled out onto the grassy field. The general officer caught his in the left temple, the heavy iron and wood shaft exploding through the frail grey matter as if it were only paper. As he fell the leaving the corpse to slide down like a flag slowly being lowered on a windless day.

as the emperor's men looked around for thier attackers the signal was given to loose the discus'. Each man carried at least thirty in hip pouches and knew how to put them to expert use. The air was filled with whizzing projectiles pouring into the imperial ranks in a hellstorm, severing limbs and smashing through armor and bodies alike. one unlucky soul had a disk crunch through his chest in a cloud of bone fragments and blood. The deadly saucer continued through to thunk heavily into another mans belly. A high pitched whistle sounded to signal the end of the withering fussilade. Let the swordplay begin!

BFM p2