Man Down.

Nov 12, 2018
The Syndicate
Rank: None
Service Points: 0
“In early 2102, the Baalites declared a holy war on the Terran Union. Having taken over much of Mesopotamia and destabilized the region, these extremists assembled the most massive army in existence totaling 200 million from every corner of the world.”

March 3rd, 2104 - The Baal War

4 clicks south of the Euphrates River

Corporal Kendros, head to toe in heavily-worn Class Three armour, sat perched on a sun-bleached rock, disassembling and cleaning his M6 service rifle when word came from up top.

Throwing his hands up in frustration, the CO kicked sand across the littered plains of Baalite territory with a grunt; the scouting party had gone dark, communicators offline entirely. This could only mean one thing - the Baalites were close, and knew the TDC were gunning for them. The scouts were dead men, regardless of whether or not they still drew breath.

“So much for the element of surprise, eh Sir?” Lamral remarked, sighing as the mechanisms of his rifle clicked back into place.
Two minutes - not entirely bad for a complete strip and clean.

“These fucking savages will be the end of us at this rate, Kendros.” His CO, Captain Malkav, barked - a flash of fire in his eyes. His heavily built frame slumped for just the briefest of moments as he mulled over just how to approach this.

“Ready yourselves, Squadron. We’ll take up defensive positions as best we can here. Best stagger out slightly, and for the love of Terra, don’t let them flank us this time. Split into teams of two.”

Kendros and the others spread out, as ordered. The Corporal elected to take a green-as-grass Private Simons along for the ride with him; the pair hunkered down beside a ruined wall that was once likely part of some poor sod’s home. One by one, over comms, the squad checked in.

“In position, Sir. Over."

It wasn’t long before they made contact - the first few shots from the Baalites whizzed past Simons’ head.

Suddenly, Malkav’s voice echoed through the communicator network.
“I’m counting... twelve of the bastards. Grenade out! Keep your wits about you, lads.”

As the grenade burst into life, claiming the lives of three insurgents, Lamral poked his head out from cover; letting loose several rounds at a target caught out in the open, before ducking back down.

Screams filled the air as the squad hit back against the Baalites with full force - even Simons was doing his part, taking potshots at one of the Baalites closing in on the CO’s position.

Within moments, half of the Baalite forces lay dead - the Corps had yet to take casualties.
Things were going well, for once, in this long and bloody war.

Suddenly, the communicator crackled: “Target on the roof to the east, take them down!”

Lamral poked his head out of cover, eyes facing east - he spotted the aforementioned target brandishing a stolen Grenade Launcher, no doubt taken from the body of a scout. Lining up his shot, Kendros steadied his breath.

Opening fire just a fraction of a second too late, the Corporal found a grenade hurtling towards him with deadly precision. As it impacted against the wall the pair were using for cover, the entire thing collapsed atop them.

A sharp, sudden pain, before what felt like an eternity of darkness.
The communicator crackled, but the words fell upon deaf ears.


Finishing his line of Coca, Lamral Kendros leant back in his chair and exhaled deeply, running a finger along the metallic surface of the table to collect what remained of the powdery substance and rubbing it against his gums eagerly. He glanced down briefly at his old service rifle, before collecting his thoughts. Sighing as he looked around his father’s apartment, it wasn’t long before a figure emerged from the darkness of the hallway he found his one good eye lingering on.

“Ready for another job?” the Kyodai queried.
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