A feral grin clenched my lips as I felt my fingers touch the smooth plastic of the Predators stock. The greenskins were in for a nasty surprise, this wasn’t going to be the slaughter they’d intended. The gun’s red targeting beam shone through the dimly lit room. I tried to end this fight as quickly as it had started, targeting the Orc leader.

The brutish Orc leader's brow knotted  and he grabbed one of his minions as the gun barked out in anger. The minion's skull shattered in an explosion of gore as the larger Orc used him as a meat shield. His sacrifice was not in vain, the Orcish leader remained unscathed.

The enemy dropped low to the ground as they realized they were taking fire, but there was little cover in the entryway. Dropping their knives, they fumbled for their assault rifles.

BOOM!

The Roomsweeper echoed loudly within the confined space. An Orc near Robinson flew backward, landing heavily against the wall. He left a bloody trail as he slid down it onto the floor. As he bled out, the Orc looked disbelievingly at the hole in his chest. Robinsons stubbly face smirked in the dim light. Always a light sleeper, he hadn’t needed any encouragement to join the fray. Battle was what he lived for.

Seconds later Sarge joined in, ever the traditionalist, his M-16 spat lead into the enemies crowded by the door. 

None of us has said a word so far, simply reacted. Trying to survive as bullets flew in both directions. Westcott hadn’t moved yet, I wondered if he was alive.

The Orcish leader has seen enough. "Fall back!" He barked, as he backed through the doorway. I tried to tag him before he escaped, but he was still hiding behind his corpse shield. 

The rest of their squad fled with their leader and the door closed behind them. They'd left four corpses behind. It appeared the Orc motto was more 'every man for himself' rather than 'never leave a man behind.' That being said, their attack had been clever. If I hadn't woken up, then we would have all been sleeping permanently.

"Good work, men. Report in." Sarge ordered, as if this was a regular part of our normal breakfast routine. Nothing ever seemed to phase the man.

"In better shape than they are," Robinson said with a smirk. He nodded towards the rapidly cooling bodies on the floor, but I noticed the muscles on his arms were still tense, he might be acting nonchalant, but the surprise attack had obviously freaked the man out. 

"H-H-Here," Westcott stammered as if reporting in at high school. I think he'd slept through most of the attack and really didn't know what had happened.

"Not even a scratch," I said, "They shouldn't have brought knives to a gunfight."

"Robinson, Westcott, I want you covering that doorway. Peters, you're on grave-robbing duty."

I moved over to the corpses quickly, keeping a wary watch on the closed doorway. If it opened, I'd be in the line of fire from the rest of the squad. 

The pungent body odor from the corpse made my eyes water as I examined it. Not only were the poor bastards pug ugly and green, but their personal hygiene was sorely lacking. All of the bodies wore a standard uniform, black leathers with a red skull patch embroidered onto the shoulder. There was no beating around the bush with these guys. At least they were honest about being the bad guys.

Like their clothing, their equipment was all jet black in color. They'd come kitted out for stealth. The look was pretty cool, and if it hadn't been for the flies circling their bodies and the bullet holes, I might have even considered adopting one of the jackets.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Even their viscous looking knives had serrated matt black blades.

Dendritic Cobalt Hunting Knife

Dendritic Cobalt is a super-performing, non-rusting cobalt alloy. It excels on cutting through tough fibers like hi-tech rigging, deck, and anchor lines as well as flesh. Because it is not steel, it cuts aggressively and keeps cutting. It is completely impervious to seawater corrosion and is non-magnetic.

The guns hanging at their backs were small submachine guns, similar to our M-16's and lacking the targeting systems that our new weaponry possessed.

ORSIS Semi-automatic Carbine

A cheap and efficient semi-automatic rifle, for when you want to sow destruction without breaking the bank.

'Cough.'

I jumped nearly a foot when the last of the corpses spluttered into life as I searched him. The Orc had two bullet wounds that I could see. One in the chest where a human heart would be, the other was a gut wound. I didn't give him long to live, dark green blood gurgled out of his mouth, and his eyes seemed unfocused as he lay unmoving.

Still, you never know. I pulled my first aid kit from its pouch.

"Peters, I asked you to search their corpses. What part of that didn't you understand? If you find an enemy that isn't a corpse, correct that mistake." Sarge's voice was cold and hard. Not an ounce of emotion showing. I hesitated, looking first at Sarge and then at the barely breathing Orc.

My blood chilled. The Orc wasn't a threat. 

"He .. he might have information." I ventured hesitantly, remembering what Sarge had indicated earlier. I was treading in dangerous waters.

Sarge's eyes narrowed, and for a second, I thought my time was up. Then the moment passed. Sarge lifted his weapon, and a single bullet split the Orc's skull in two. 

"No prisoners." Sarge stated.

A cold chill went through me and then I shrugged and continued my looting. What scared me most was that I accepted he was right. A mission was active, and there were only four of us. There was no way we could safely handle a prisoner. That didn't mean I had to like it, though.

I brought the small pile of equipment I’d looted over to the others, there were the Orc’s guns, their knives and a few fragmentation grenades. 

Robinson pocketed a knife, “The rest looks like shit.” He commented eloquently.

Sarge nodded in agreement as he checked his watch. "It's o' seven hundred, we need to be dug in on that hill by o'twelve hundred. I'm willing to bet that the remaining greenskins are camped outside this door, just waiting for us to show our faces. Any suggestions, people?"

We looked at each other; everyone seemed to be coming up blank. Seconds ticked by.

"Right," Sarge indicated, obviously deciding that motivation was the problem. "Anyone who doesn't come up with a suggestion will be the first person out the door when we decamp."

"We could stay here," Westcott suggested.

Sarge glared at him, “If we don’t complete the mission then we die. The idea, Westcott, is that we come up with a plan that keeps us alive.”

I leaned over to the rookie reminding him, "These missions aren't negotiable. If we don't complete them, then we're of no use to the Imperium."

Westcott stared at me silently in disbelief. I was starting to wonder just how dumb this kid was.

Robinson helpfully provided a non-verbal translation to emphasise things. He grinned as he ran his finger across his neck in a cutting motion. The man has issues.

"Robinson? Your suggestion." Sarge asked.

He shrugged, "Westcott can be the canary. He's expendable." 

Beside me, the kid paled, "He doesn't mean that, does he? He's kidding, right?"

I didn't reply to his question. The truth wouldn't be reassuring. Instead, I coughed, "How about we send one of the catering droids out?"

"Go on." Sarge requested, as Westcott sighed with obvious relief.

"I was able to program one to deliver me here last night, in theory, if I go to their storage depot, then I should be able to send one through the door to act as a canary."

“Sounds great, get to it!”

“There’s just one problem.” I admitted, settling down onto the couch. “I’ve no way to open the door, so I’m going nowhere until breakfast arrives."