DEATH STRIKE

“This is it goat feth-ers!” I shouted. The fortress loomed ahead of us, brimming with activities from the worshipers of the most foul of gods. We are the Death Strike kill team. Assembled from those that sinned and are given one final chance to repent. Basically, we are a team of expendable killers, and outlaws that are sent on suicide missions. Normally, Death Strike units only last a mission or two at most, but not my team. The first fething team in the bloody history of humanity, to actually survive not only one but four missions that were suppose to be our impending death. Sure there have been losses but what would a man or two matter when this planet has a lot more criminals to supply.

Back to reality, as our fifth mission, we are ‘granted’ (as if we had a choice) an opportunity to repent once again. We are to find our way into the Fortress of Dead Metal and bring the head of Helicon, leader of the heretical tribes back to our superiors. When they name it a fortress, they were NOT kidding. Walls ten times the human height, high tech auto turret emplacements, scout towers, snipers, and many more death dealing items you can possibly imagine. Then again, if you can actually think of those items then you might as well be a heretic yourself.

This would not only be a suicide mission but it would be totally impossible to break in without a full scale siege war. Not for us, first of all, my team consist of people that had their asses fethed by the life of the slums unlike those noble bred soldiers, second of all, since we are suppose to die anyway, so no one bloody cares about their lives, and last of all, we were just told that our dental plan got abolished, nothing I repeat NOTHING can make a man more fething furious then the loss of his fething dental plans. As usual I want to finish this mission knowing that my head is still intact with my shoulders. So of course we don’t plan to stay any longer than we have to. The plan? Head in, shoot anything that moves, kill target and then run out as fast as hell. For the last four missions, this plan seems to work pretty well. Problem now was, how the hell do you get into a fortress teeming with insane heretics and then get right out (with out asses intact of course) after killing their boss.

A shot hit a hands breath from where my face is. This is going to be a long and bloody day. Just when I thought we could at least sneak in quietly and take the boss out easily, then only cause chaos on the way out. It seems the gods aren’t going to make it easy for us this time. We’re just at the gates and it feels like we went and jumped right into hell.

“ARKHAM!!!”
“Called for me sir?”
“Get your fething ass down here before someone thinks it’s a good idea to shave it off for you!”
“Sorry sir.”
“You can say sorry all you want later but now I need you to rip the last gun emplacement before it turns us all into cubes. Get Falkrin to provide cover fire, then feth that turret like the fething goat feth-er you are.”
“Sir yes sir!”

This is not going well. We’re down to our last RPG and that’s not counted the one Arkham is going to use.

“Better make that shot worth something or else ill get Bondo over there to feth you like how he feth-ed the cow we had for dinner yesterday!”

A bright flash. Good, at least the turrets aren’t there anymore. Why do my men have terror in their faces? As I looked up I began to understand. The bright flash had not been the explosion of the turret. It was a targeting device. Now what in the nine fething hells would need such a large targeting reticule? Realization dawned on me. Only one weapon would need that. A Nuclear Desecrater Bomb. Nothing survives that. Especially with the amount of radiation of the fallout after the blast. This isn’t fair, not fair at all. Given time we would have succeeded again, we would have survived to die another day.
The last thing that came through my head (literally) was the blast that came right after the bomb impacted the fortress.

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