Sign up now for a free
address & your own
Online Writing Portfolio!
Them's Fighting Words (Action Contest)
WEEKLY Fun action-writing prompt and contest! I post the pictures, you write the conflict!
By this stage in the siege, the forces of Hecabang expected to be in command of the River Bandits stronghold. With their superior technology spanning firepower and protective battle suits , it should have been a walk in the park.
It wasn't. And now, Sgt Bruin Amotep was the last man standing. Hecabang Intel failed to inform his unit of the antique pirate cannons the River Bandits used to decimate them, their armored suits no match for the balls of exploding metal.
Amotep's heads-up display bleeped slowly at him indicating his lowering reserves of energy. From where he was hiding, submerged behind a canal boat, he could just make out the infrared forms of the river bandits scavenging from the remains of his comrades.
"This is fubar," he hissed. He could easily take on the primitives, even with his lowered reserves, but those cannons were another thing entirely. He needed someway to isolate their effectiveness without turning himself into an exploding baked beans can. Nobody was left to even offer covering fire. There was no body in his unit left except for him and his battle suit.
Amotep mulled that thought over for a full minute. Could he handle that many river bandits by himself?
Inwardly, he crossed himself. Outwardly, his body tensed and his eyelids blinked instructions to his suits battle computer....
With a giant surge his tank-like body catapulted from the water. Rivulets reflected like blood coursing down his body, catching the firelight of his burning compatriots own suits of armour. Like a river god, he rose and like an avenging angel his guns blazed; catching the river bandit’s unawares like all good deaths do.
The river bandits on the banks scattered, those not shredded by the gunfire, their cries of action drowned out by the sound of the Hecabang Warrior’s jetboots roaring as he steamed ahead towards the barricades where the cannons had laid their own deadly barrage. Head first, he plunged through the turret-hole. The sound of new-technology slamming into hundreds-year old cast-iron. Gun meeting gun. Then, the explosion. A mini-mushroom cloud, a sucking of sound, the cries of the disbelieving river bandits as twisted metal scraps flew through the sky.
And Sgt. Bruin Amotep, sans- Armour, standing on a canal boat. Pistol in one hand, fallen river bandit sword in the other. His black neo-suit darker then the night, thanks to the blazing sky.
This time, he crosses himself for real. Before he sprints, and leaps, and lands on the muddy banks amongst his foes. Pistol smoking, sword whistling, feet pumping. He is the river-devil, come to life.
Artist, Writer, Father, Factory Worker.
(and husband too!)
Post a reply to Thundersbeard
Add a follow up message to the forum for everyone to read.
Send an Email to Thundersbeard
This is the way to send a private communication to the poster of this message.
The following section applies to this forum item as a whole, not this individual post.
Any feedback sent through it will go to the forum's owner, Thundersbeard.