A P.U.R.G.E short story set in the universe created by WendigoDoesIt

The air howled as a bioweapon’s projectile screamed through the air above Lieutenant Torvald as he clutched his helmet to his head, once he was sure it had flew past him he popped up from his trench, raising his FAL Defender with him and choosing a target in the valley below as his training had taught him, a hound, gaunt and fast though only protected by a flexible chitin shell as not to impede it’s movement. He gave the gun’s trigger a light squeeze and only released his finger when the thing fell away from the stampede and died on the ground spasming. Torvald gave a quick skyward glance that turned into a double-take as a piece of a razorwing plummeted toward him, blown apart by stitching lines of flak that were defending the trenches below from aerial attack, except it was alive and in one piece, so Torvald raised his rifle and shot it, blowing a chunk from it and sending it crashing into the trench causing everyone close enough to stop shooting and push themselves against the wall or stumble into someone as the thing thrashed and screeched, slashing wildly at anyone who got close as it swung for blood trying to do the only thing it knew how, kill.

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Torvald was the first one on it, propping his rifle up, pulling his knife and waiting till it turned around, then he struck. Kicking it in the side and dropping to a knee as he pushed its head to the ground and stabbed the knife into it before turning the knife to the serrated edge and sawed at the monster’s neck as it bucked wildly beneath him until it was completely decapitated. Torvald wiped his knife on the thing’s leathery wings before sheathing it and standing up, wiping the blood on his thighs and signalling everyone who’d stopped to watch to start firing at the creatures swarming past.

The worst thing that could’ve happened did, a few hours after the razorwing incident the breach alarm began to sound out from the Anti-Air batteries and the retreat to the command facility began as razorwings swooped down in tight arcs as they tore through Lasat Armour Weave and into flesh with not just the sharpness of their talons but the kinetic force of the drop, but to the bemusement of everyone in the trench who still lived, the razorwings lifted into the air and began flying in circles until there were none left on the ground and just flew off wailing their eerie siren’s song.

The devastating attack left half of the trench’s manpower dead or wounded, though not many survived; screams and moans of pain were answered as some of the troopers began carrying the wounded back to the facility as the rest ran towards the front of the trench, hurdling over their fallen comrades in a mad dash to man the main front before the next wave of monsters arrived.

Torvald stood on the trench’s firing step and surveyed the field, there were countless riftwalkers laid dead between the motion sensors a half mile away from the trench dug in at the top of the hill that opened into Sawtooth pass. The corpses, as one would expect, were either in pieces from the field cannon bombardment or the anti-materiel mines that littered the field or full of holes from infantry fire or, the majority that had been mown down by the Fifty cal. Heavy machineguns that lined the side of the trench facing onto the field. The land wasn’t in much better shape as it been cratered by shells and landmines that had detonated across it, though many were flooded with a miasma of blood, corpses and bioweapon ammunition that flowed freely from pierced ammunition sacs. Though this analysis was cut short as a haunting eldritch wail rose in volume till it resonated through the air, making some of the soldiers cover their ears, wince, or both.

Once the wail had ceased it was answered by shrill cries and howls that drew closer by the second and the creatures responsible appeared on the horizon, their visages gaining clarity and growing clearer as they approached.

On his orders the six field cannons and six 50 cal. Machineguns had been manned and reloaded awaiting command. The only sound was the rumbling footfall of the advancing creatures, the horde monumental in size, yet the somewhat meagre manpower under Torvald would hold the line as long as they could and if death came they would all go fighting.

As the monsters drew in he called to his sergeant, Knox, “Knox, get me eyes and tell me what we’re shooting at.” The sergeant did as he was told and opened a pouch on his webbing, removing a pair of binoculars and taking the caps off of the eyepieces before raising it to his face and panning over the enemy force, sounding off the designations of the monsters to Torvald; “Big one! Looks like a Siege beast! And waaaaay too many bipedals… Seems like a standard shellback and a mish-mash of helevrins and cyclopes.”

“Loaders! What have we got left?”, After a pause one of the loaders shouted up from the storage alcove, “Thirty-two shells, seventeen belt-boxes of fifty cal. and enough seven-six-two and frag grenades to keep us fighting for days!” Torvald considered for a moment before responding, “Bring it all out from storage and get it ready to go, equally distribute it between the weapons crews and put all of the grenades and ammo into a pile behind the firing step.” “Sir!” the soldier shouted as him and the rest of the loaders sprang into action.

Torvald made his way in between the loaders hauling cannon shells on small sleds, weaving through the bustling personnel as he moved to trade his command platform for a place on the firing step, next to the middle field gun. Pulling his sling he grabbed his gun’s carry handle and switched to a standard grip, bracing it against the ledge and checking his magazine, Dry, he tossed it underarm behind himself and reached to his plate carrier, removing a fresh one and checking it before inserting it into the gun’s port before slamming the locking mechanism into place with a firm slap to the bottom of the clip and pulled the bolt back with a click before turning the safety off.

They waited in silence for a few minutes, letting the enemy enter the firing range of the field guns, which were currently following the shellback which had now noticed what it had been sent by the hive-mind to attack and as it trundled clumsily towards Sawtooth pass its foetid, bulging eyes lit up with recognition and it began to move faster. Though, with being a mindless abomination made for war it had not realised that it had entered the effective range of the field guns which had begun to fire at will as commanded by Torvald, The first booming volley whistled off into the distance and landed with a series of rumbling blasts as the detonations sent monsters both whole and dismembered tumbling through the air, as the bodies fell and shrapnel rained the smoke cleared and showed that the Shellback wasn’t even fazed by the attack, its plating nought but scuffed and pocked with shallow chips.

Then the “jellies” fell upon the trench as the artillery organisms of the enemy force returned fire, the huge sacs sailed through the air above as the chitin disks that covered them began to drop the projectiles. Torvald shouted, “Heads down, jellyfish!” they landed with a sound of rushing water as acid sprayed out from the ruptured vessels, maiming the flesh of the luckiest and killing those unluckiest through sixth degree burns that melted through their armour, skin and bones, the howls of those so injured were deafening and the ones who could move shot themselves before anyone could react. Though, luckily, not many were hit and cohesion held within the defenders.

The ground began to shake even more violently as the Shellback began to pick up speed, with it having broken into a headlong charge, Torvald issued a focus-fire order to the whole line, the pause was momentary but the whole trench opened up on the Shellback, causing it to falter for a moment as it adjusted to the situation, now moving slowly but with its arms together, shielding itself from the sustained fire. The small-arms fire pinged harmlessly off of the carapace, the fifties weren’t doing much better, only managing to pick off a small amount of the shell, and then, the cannons boomed and the barrage slammed into the beast.

The Shellback’s face was burnt to the bone, the black blood flowing from the wounds in its carapace as a chunk of chitin fell from its collarbone down onto the trench floor as it mounted the ridge, swatting a trooper with a backhanded sweep into the trench wall, crushing him to pulp. The soldiers fixed their bayonets as the shamblers poured into the trench in the shadow of the Shellback, the trench descends into a state of viscious melee combat as Armour both human and abominable is pierced, skulls are cracked, heads are smashed with brutal finishing stomps, bones are broken by crushing blows and flesh is ripped and bitten. Men are dragged down and eaten as they fight right until the moment they die, kicking and biting and thrashing, yet not in pain or fear but in defiance, Torvald was about to call in a retreat when an impossibly loud shout of “Bastard!” rose over the sounds of battle as a young trooper rushed straight toward the Shellback with an IED he’d made with grenades and ammunition while no-one noticed, howling in fury, the monster let loose a guttural roar of anger as it was challenged. The men and women dove for cover and to the grounds as they saw what the trooper held.

Time seemed to slow as the defenders of Sawtooth pass bore witness to the act of defiance unfolding in front of them, as the young man was ran through his abdomen by the siege-beast, he only let out a grunt of pain as he was impaled upon the monster’s claw, it began lifting him towards its face as he hung limp, but before he could be devoured he raised his head as far as he could as his ragged breathing broke the pause, bloody spittle flew from his lips as he spoke, his voice barely audible as he croaked, “Y-ou, you too.” And with the last of his life he swung the bomb still clutched in his hand into the monster’s head.

The bang resounded for miles as the detonation blew the young trooper apart and the Shellback’s head into bony mush, the blinding flash a beacon of hope for the soldiers as the siege-beast was finally felled and they rushed back to arms as they cleared the trench of stragglers in time to observe what would likely be the last force they would ever fight against, it’s not that they couldn’t fight them or that there were classes of monster above shamblers, but it was that they hardly had ammunition. Though, they would not retreat, not after the young trooper’s act of martyrdom, because it reminded them what they were fighting for. The survival of their species, the future generations and everything that they held dear.

The ammo dump was dry, there was nothing left now, nothing but their bayonets and fists but now they were outside the trench, standing in front of the mouth of Sawtooth pass, ready to die for humanity. Torvald stood at the front of his soldiers as the monsters advanced, their howls preventing even the most close and loud of shouts from being heard, Torvald raised his arm and extended his index finger and swung his arm down in front of himself as he ordered his men to charge, and they did, the clash was brutal and cruel, many were killed outright but Torvald and a few others held the line. They kept a flow of violence going as they slashed, stabbed, smashed and stomped the monsters that threw themselves towards them. The sound was more deafening than before as the seemingly endless horde wailed and gibbered as they tried to fell the valiant few that stood in the face of death, undaunted.

Torvald swung his rifle at the throat of the helevrin charging him, cutting deep into it with his bayonet and stepping aside as it fell where he had stood a second ago, Not breaking his momentum he stepped into the next creature, running it through the chest and into its heart before tearing the weapon out from it and kicking it to the floor with ease then advancing to deliver a confirming stomp to its skull, smashing it to mush. When he looked up his heart raced as a leaper sailed through the air towards him, in that moment he knew he could do nothing but accept what was going to happen, he was going to die now.

Yet hope reached him again and the leaper that was now a few feet away from landing on him in a flurry of crazed claws slashing him to ribbons was shredded in a hail of high-caliber rounds and sent to ground with a wet thunk. Torvin and the others turned around and bore witness to a squad of men and women clad in exoskeletons and thick titanium plating carrying weapons and equipment that even a regular forklift would have a hard time moving, a testament to the riggsmen and their armaments. And then, as the riggsmen drove back the swarm a “Tidebreaker” tactical mech suit stood up on the ridge of the trench and it’s warhorn blared across the battlefield, a song of triumph and vengeance, a threat, then it charged.

And no beast stood before them, not for their firepower, or ferocity but because of their will to fight, a will unbreakable.