Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Zorlond
Title: Kron, Knight Errant
Part: Chapter 04
Summary: The Adventures of Kron, a powerful warrior in a universe of
technology and fantasy.
Keywords: no sex, non-sexual viol, magic, penis size



   Chapter 4

   "Eyes forward, yeomen!" The bellow came from an armored Knight standing
next to a viewscreen, one hand firmly upon a handle bar to maintain
balance, as everything around him shook and rattled.  With a tap of an
armored finger, he called up a display, barking further orders as the
visuals followed along.  "We are now landing on planet Orjanus, and
directly into the path of battle.  Three hundred yards east of our landing
site will be a small village.  That village will be your fortress today,
and you will slaughter any foe that comes your way.  The main force of
Knights will revolve on our anchor, and annihilate all opposition.  Further
orders will be forthcoming." Turning the display off, the Knight glared
hard at them through the opaque visor of his helmet.  "Yeomen, today you
shall be blooded.  Or you will die."

   "Yes, my lord!" Kron shouted alongside the other eleven Yeomen beside
him, standing in the landing craft while holding onto various handles. 
There were no seats on this flight.  To be fair, in the armor they all
wore, they were too big to even fit in most seats, even though Yeoman armor
was nowhere near as large or as powerful as a full Knight's.  Kron looked
down his arm to be sure every strap was properly aligned, each armored
panel and joint moving smoothly with his own.  While a knight's armor
covered every inch in metal, padded fabric was still a significant portion
of a yeoman's gear.

   Kron's gaze moved on to the rifle in his hand.  Larger and of
significantly higher quality than the System Guard rifle, it was still on
the lower end of what Knights had available.  He'd spent several weeks
training with his new gear, learning the maintenance rites, getting used to
the design and feel, especially the enhanced strength his armor bestowed
upon him.  Hand-to-hand training, intended to precede training in melee
weapons, filled the rest of his time.  But all that was in the past...

   Today, he would see war for the first time.

   The craft's engines roared as it approached the landing site, the force
of it being felt hard inside the troop bay.  After softly muttering a word
of thanks to the landing craft for bearing him to battle, Kron set his jaw,
and took aim one-handed towards the bay door, ready to cover their
approach.

   The moment the door cracked open, searing hot wind and sand blasted into
the bay.  Kron's helmet quickly lowered it's visor against the barrage of
particles, shielding his eyes and nose from the stinging gale.  A moment
later, the furious storm was joined by a hail of weapons fire.

   A wet sound burst next to Kron, immediately followed by a body hitting
the floor.

   "Contact!" Kron shouted as he sank to one knee, rifle steadying and
sending a long burst back to where the shot had come from.  In the
dust-clogged horizon, a barely-visible shape jerked and fell back, but
others quickly moved for cover.

   "Bring judgment upon them!" the Knight roared, and weapons fire lit up
all around Kron.  A Yeoman screamed as he was struck, a wet thud resounding
as his rifle...  and much of his arm...  landed on the floor of the craft.
Rushing forward, Kron lept out of the craft, hitting the ground ten feet
below and rolling right back to his feet.  Firing heavily towards the
enemy, he ducked behind a short rock, doing his best to keep heads down as
his fellow Yeomen dropped from the landing craft to join him.

   Massive thuds resounded through the ground as the Knight's boots landed.
"Grenade descending!" he shouted, arm swinging forward.  Ahead of them, the
shapes rushed out of cover a moment before a blast tore through the air. 
What few evaded the explosion were exposed and easy pickings for the
Yeomen's fire.

   "To the village!" the Knight commanded.  Immediately the group began to
run, those in the lead diving behind what rocks and dry, scraggly bushes
they could find to briefly take cover and aim their rifles in all
directions, seeking any target.  Rounds tore through the air as ally and
enemy alike saw each other, and unleashed their fury upon their foes.  As
Kron reached the head of the formation, he saw the edge of the village up
ahead, large shapes in the continuing sandstorm, just before diving behind
a low stone wall to cover his squad as they rushed past his position.

   A massive shape jumped out of a building, releasing an inhuman roar as a
heavy weapon began rattling.  Kron heard another Yeoman scream his last as
Kron ducked below the wall, bullets exploding against the metalcrete. 
Another grenade exploded ahead, and the heavy fire stopped long enough for
the Knight to charge past Kron's position, plasma sword flaring to life. 
In the sand-clogged wind, Kron saw the blazing blade swing back and forth,
and something roared in pain and fell.  With the heavy weapons dealt with,
the Yeomen began their push once more.  As the last Yeoman ran past Kron,
he got back up and resumed the run.

   The village was difficult to distinguish from the desert around it. 
Cheap metalcrete pre-fab buildings that had been slapped down haphazardly,
with a few short walls to make ill-defined roadways between, probably
assembled a hundred years ago or more.  And likely abandoned shortly after
being placed.  The Empire had many places just like it.  But today, this
one was theirs.  As the squad reached the village proper, individual Yeomen
peeled off to take defensive positions, manning windows and small walls
across the tiny village.  Kron slammed his shoulder up against what was
once a large metalcrete support column and peered cautiously around it.

   The sandstorm hid much of the desert around the village, but Kron was
sure he could see something out there, moving just near the edge of his
vision.  Tapping the side of his helmet to activate his comms, he intoned,
"I have possible contact to the northeast.  Perception is limited."

   The Knight's voice crackled over the comms, "The greenskins no doubt
summoned this storm to cover their approach.  Hold fire and stay low. 
Assault them only when your perception is unquestionable."

   So Kron hunkered down where he was, keeping an eye on the distant
shapes. Tense heartbeats passed.  Were they other Knights of the Sanguine
Blades?  The storm would hide their approach as well.  Or were they
Greenskins, seeking anything living to rend limb from limb?  Kron pushed
aside such thoughts.  A clear view will decide his actions.

   Soon enough, he had it.  Rushing headlong, guns up and firing wildly
before them, mouths wide open in a hoarse battle-cry, beefy figures came
into view.  Dozens, hundreds of them, Kron had no time to count.  Weapons
fire lit up across the village, and the roaring mass charged on, heedless
of the bodies dropping all around them.  Kron emptied his magazine into the
mass, reached for another as the empty dropped from his rifle.  But before
he could reload, they reached the village.

   Massive, overhanging jaw.  Mouth full of inches-long sharp canines. 
Cheeks etched with stretch marks.  Small, sloped forehead.  Brows hanging
low over yellow, glowing eyes.  Heavily thickened muscles bulging under
every inch of green skin.  An Orc.  It was the first living Greenskin Kron
had ever clearly seen.  It swung it's pistol like a club in a backhand
stroke.  Kron ducked, letting the pistol slam harmlessly into the column
that was his cover.  Fresh magazine still in hand, Kron reached up and set
his hand against the back of the orc's shoulder, setting his own against
the outstretched wrist.  Elbow locked, the orc's own arm was used to lever
it's body forward, continuing it's forward rush, but now in an arc of
Kron's choosing.  Halfway through the turn, Kron let go and shot out a
quick kick into the orc's hip.  Off-balance, spinning around, the orc
yelped in surprise as it staggered into an uncontrolled spin.  Right into
the open, and into the clear sights of the other yeomen.  It fell within
two seconds.

   Kron finally got his rifle reloaded, but just as he got the first round
into the chamber, he had to step back to avoid the downward cut of a knife
as big as his forearm.  Grabbing the creature's wrist, Kron turned it in a
circle, heaving the orc's own mass over and headfirst into the ground. 
Continuing the motion, Kron kept hold of the thick wrist, three-fingered
hand stubbornly hanging onto the huge knife, and brought it right around.
Dark blood squirted as the orc's own knife pierced it's flesh.

   Kron stood his ground, resuming fire upon the orc line, resorting to
melee as the few surviving orcs managed to reach his position.  He could
hear screams of the dying in the village around him, and not all of them
were from orc throats.  Yeomen were giving their lives today.  And then a
blast tore through the village that shook Kron where he stood.

   Turning around, all he could see was a fading swirl in the sandstorm,
bigger than the buildings near him.  It wasn't until the blast sounded
again that Kron saw what was happening.  Metalcrete shattering into chunks,
the Knight crashed back-first through a building as the explosion sent him
flying back.  As the Knight struck the ground, dust plowing up into a
billowing trail, Kron heard the heavy 'chak-chak' of the weapon being
cocked again.  And through the sand, a nine foot tall beast stepped into
sight.

   Where orcs were thick and overmuscled, this thing was lanky, almost
emaciated in scale to it's height.  It's chin and nose pointed long and
sharp, lips spread around a pair of long, thick tusks stabbing forward. 
Over-long arms swung around, two-fingered hands holding a single-barreled
gun the size of a small cannon.  Thunder echoed, and another large chunk of
building exploded as shot tore through it at close range.  The creature
laughed, a guttural cackle as it yanked back and forth on the stock again.
Chak-chak...

   "TROLL!" Kron bellowed, rifle coming around to fire upon the greenskin.
The creature was heavily armored, much of the rounds deflected harmlessly
away.  But Kron had it's attention, and as the troll swung it's massive
shotgun around, Kron started running, angled towards the troll.  As it's
weapon neared him, Kron carefully timed a diving roll...

   The shot tore through the air just barely behind him...  And through the
obscuring sand right towards the orc line.  Much of the remaining orc
battle-cries went instantly silent.  Still trying to get a shot on Kron,
the troll cocked it's gun again.  But as it drew a bead on him, blazing
fire struck it's midsection from behind.  The Knight, back on his feet,
tore his weapon free and swung again, only to be blocked by the troll's
shotgun.  The troll shoved, trying to get just enough distance to bring the
barrel around, but the knight kept on it, hacking and slashing at the
massive gun.  But the beast let go with one hand for a moment, heavy fist
shooting out to slam into the Knight's face, knocking him onto his back. 
Cackling again, the troll started to take quick aim on the prone Knight...

   With it's attention full on the Knight, the troll didn't even realize
Kron was there until it felt Kron's weight on it's back, enhanced legs
allowing him to easily scale the creature, one foot finally passing it's
head to slam down hard on it's long, forward-thrusting tusk.  Head forced
downwards, the gap opening between heavy helmet and thick backplate showed
a wide stretch of blue-green skin, and was an easy target for Kron's rifle.

   The troll collapsed face-first into the sand and was still.  Kron rolled
as it's fall sent him flying forward, and as he came up, he did a quick
scan of the area before turning to the Knight, intending to offer a hand
up. But the Knight was already back on his feet.  The Knight looked down at
the fallen Troll, and back to Kron.  "Well slain, Yeoman.  I shall recount
your actions to the Maester when the battle is done." With that, the Knight
gestured towards the pillar Kron had been using for cover.  "Take your
position.  We hold steadfast until the day is ours."

   The battle was long, the small village assaulted time and again.  But
the greenskins made no headway against the small band of entrenched yeomen.
And, as the storm finally broke, Kron could see the plumes of distant tanks
crossing the desert, echoing retorts speaking of distant cannon fire.  As
the flow of greenskins ceased coming their way, the order came down to
return and resupply.  Landing craft came down to retrieve Kron and his
fellow Yeomen, back to the massive ships hanging in orbit.

   Towers and archways, ramparts and windows, miles long, each ship was a
traveling fortress unto itself.  Massive cannon bristled down sides and
front, ready to repel any invading force.  Each main ship was the center of
a cluster of smaller escort ships, each only half a mile long, but bearing
their own rows of cannon.  Any ship that came close to the planet would
quickly be destroyed by unrelenting fire.  But the greenskins on the planet
below were an endemic problem, having lived and died there since their
first invasion thousands of years ago.  And thousands of years of war had
not quelled their numbers.  The Sanguine Blades thus used the entirety of
Orjanus as a trial by fire for new recruits and veterans alike.  Thus, the
ships stood ready, but quiet, as the landing craft entered the hangar bay.

   As was their routine, the Yeomen disembarked and headed to the
Alchemist's lab, while their Knight detatched to speak with the Maester of
Training, reporting on the progress of the various Yeomen.  Meanwhile the
Yeomen themselves met with the Alchemist.  As Kron entered the lab, he
heard the Alchemist absentmindedly speak over a shoulder, while gesturing.
"Yeomen, form a line there.  Four of you today?  More than usual..."

   Already used to the procedure, Kron took his place in the line to wait.
Soon enough, the Alchemist turned to them, going down the line and checking
them over.  And, part of Kron's personal procedure, he took a moment to
look over the Alchemist.  She was a woman, of perhaps twenty-five years,
blonde hair straight and pulled back tight away from sharp features.  She
was attractive, beautiful even, in that cool, severe way.  Kron had
sometimes wondered what she looked like under her all-white Knight's armor.

   Yet he'd never tried to find out.  It wasn't that he didn't want to, or
that he was concerned about propriety.  No, it was much more the fact that
every time the Alchemist looked at him, he could sense no interest in her
face.  Even now, as she walked up to quickly look him over, seeking any
obvious battle damage, her interest was clearly only medical.  Seeing
nothing that needed attention, she moved on to the Yeomen beside Kron, hand
already taking out a sealer from the pouch at her waist to deal with a
minor flesh wound.

   As the sealer clicked loudly in it's work, ramming pronged bands of
metal into flesh on either side, forcing the wound closed, the Maester
entered, an older grizzled man.  Glancing down the line of Yeomen, the
Maester casually asked, "Alchemist, any issues to report?"

   "Nothing of significance," the Alchemist calmly stated, triggering the
sealer one more time to finish.  "Two came back on the descent craft.  One
was already expired, the other should be capable of returning in three
days, once his arm is replaced.  These four Yeomen are still battle-ready."
Placing her sealer back in it's pouch, the Alchemist began going down the
line again, this time from behind.  "If they are called to battle again, I
will be done in but a few moments, after I check their sacraments." Tugging
open a bit of cloth on the back of the nearest Yeoman, the Alchemist
reached in and took hold of something, twisting and removing it.  Holding
up a clear vial, the Alchemist held it up to the light to inspect the fluid
within before replacing it.

   When she stepped behind Kron to check his own sacraments, removing a
vial from the elutriation implant so recently installed just under his
lowest rib, the Maester spoke.  "Called to battle, yes, but not that one."
With a jabbing finger, he indicated Kron.  "I declare him Blooded.  Prepare
him for the First Blessings.  The rest of you, report to the hangar once
the Alchemist releases you." With that, the Maester left once more.

   The Alchemist quickly checked the other sacraments and released the
other Yeomen.  They would have to return to the planet, and earn the the
right to be declared Blooded.  Or not return at all.  As for Kron, the
Alchemist took him deeper into her workrooms, where an astounding array of
tubes and mystifying devices churned endlessly at a multitude of colored
liquids.  The room couldn't have been less than a hundred yards square, and
yet, standing in the middle of them, Kron could reach glassware all around
him and could not see the walls...  As the Alchemist led him to a larger
gap in the maze of mixing, she gestured to a pair of examination tables. 
"Disrobe and recline." She continued on to open a nearby crate to root
inside

   Kron casually did so without question, placing segments of his armor on
one table until his body was uncovered, then lay down on the other.  The
Alchemist was only busy a few moments more before she approached Kron.  She
looked over his form.  "Hmm.  You're having an interesting reaction to the
Adonis Philtre sacrament." Her gauntlet poked at his bulging muscles here
and there across his torso, before going lower to touch his leg.  "Yes,
unusually exceptional results.  How is your flexibility?"

   "I haven't noticed any issues.  Should I demonstrate?"

   "Mm, perhaps later.  I shall progress you to the next sacrament
tomorrow." The Alchemist didn't even acknowledge Kron's cock, bare and
laying there.  It had taken a week before the life energy of the Shrine had
fully exhausted itself in Kron's system, whereupon it seemed that the
Yeoman's sacraments had taken up the task once more.  Kron's cock hung down
to his knee, as long and thick limp as it once was when hard, with
testicles approaching the size of fists.  And it didn't seem intent on
stopping now.  Yet the Alchemist had no reaction to it.  Not eager, not
disgust, nothing.

   It nagged at Kron, an annoying little thing that wouldn't let go.  He
was fine if a woman didn't want him, he wasn't about to force the issue,
either physically or mentally.  But 'why' still bothered him.  But then,
the Alchemist ended her examination, and took up a small knife, coming up
towards his head.  The operation was thankfully brief, ending with a few
clicks of the Alchemist's sealer.  Kron flexed his jaw, feeling the
presence of wires settling in under skin.  Running a hand along his face,
Kron felt two slightly raised knobs just behind his jowl.

   Raising a hand to her own head, the Alchemist touched the same spot. 
"Do you percieve me, Yeoman?" Her mouth barely moved, yet Kron heard her
not as a human voice, but a rougher sound inside his own head.  Kron
nodded, then listened carefully as the Alchemist instructed him on the
rites of farspeak, how to use his new tool to contact the individual or
group he needed, and speak to them as if they stood within arm's length.

   "Excellent," the Alchemist told him once he had grasped the tool's use.
"You're quite inured to pain, Yeoman.  Most farspeak implantations leave me
half-deafened from the screaming.  Roll over." As Kron rolled face-down on
the table, she continued, "Fortunately, for this next part you'll be facing
the table..."

   Later, Kron touched the back of his neck, feeling the exposed metal of
the topmost of six implants, all placed down the length of and into his
spine.  He shifted his shoulders, seeing if the flesh of his back could
settle to a less uncomfortable position.  Directed to stand, the Alchemist
looked over his back to see how the implants sat.  "Very good." She walked
off towards a crate again, setting bloodied tools of her trade down.

   "So what are these for?  They're a little inconvenient to reach for in
battle," Kron asked.

   "Oh, you don't reach for them," the Alchemist said.  Casually turning,
her arm came up and flickered forward.

   Kron's hand shot up, two fingers upwards.  Held tightly between them, a
knife had been caught neatly in mid-air.  Kron looked at his hand with no
small amount of wonder.  He had seen the Alchemist's intention, and his arm
reacted.  It almost seemed to react faster than his will could even begin
to direct it.  "I percieve..." he quietly said.  After a moment, he threw
the knife back to the Alchemist, aiming for a spot a few inches to the side
of her head.

   Easily catching the knife by it's handle just as it began to pass her,
the Alchemist put the knife with it's kin.  "You are Blooded, Yeoman, and
have been given the blessings of your station, the Blessings of Farspeak
and Quicksilver." Kron did a few simple melee strikes with his hands,
noting the increase in speed and precision the new blessing gave him.  "You
will remain at that station for a minimum of one year, after which the
Knight's Council will review your performance for possible elevation to
Squire.  You'll receive the Blessing of Immaculacy if you merit such
elevation."

   Kron looked to her, his brow furrowing slightly.  "Immaculacy?"

   The Alchemist nodded.  "The vital essence of your physical form will be
extracted, refined, purified, then kept in an implant within you for
maintenance and safekeeping.  If you fall in battle, this essence will be
retrieved, and aid in the creation of sacraments for many future
generations of Knights.  This is done for all Knights.  Progeny as the
commons do would be nothing but a source of suffering for a Knight. 
Besides, that would never fit in the armor." The Alchemist ended her speech
with a general gesture towards Kron.

   The Alchemist casually turned back to her tools, and as Kron
contemplated her words, his farspeak sounded.  "Yeoman Kron, report to the
hangar for deployment," came the voice of the Maester.  With nothing more
to ask, Kron responded with an affirmative and began girding for battle
once more...

   Months of unrelenting war passed, as Kron continued to train and battle
upon the planet's surface.  Many a greenskin fell to his growing skill and
enhanced traits.  And while other Yeoman fought and died, Kron lived on, an
unstoppable force of destruction.  With rifle and grenade, axe and hammer,
weapons that became as much a part of him as his own arm.

   As his first year approached, Kron was assigned to a unit of ten Blooded
Yeomen and three Squires, led by a single Knight.  Tearing across the dunes
of Orjanus in a trio of fast APCs, large tires kicking up plumes of sand in
their wake.  In a neighboring APC, Kron could hear the Knight call out his
instructions.  "Sanguine Blades, enlighten.  Ahead lies a greenskin
encampment.  It has been sending out regular attacks upon our main force's
flank.  The attacks are minor, but we will no longer tolerate the
distraction.  The encampment is likely small, a thousand orcs or less.  We
shall cleanse it for the glory of the Nine."

   "For the Nine Empresses," Kron intoned to himself.  Less than a thousand
orcs?  Fourteen Blades might be a bit much.  But then there were probably a
dozen trolls among them, that'd make it a more even fight.  Stuck in the
back with little to do but wait, Kron did a quick check of his rifle for
proper sight alignment.  Fortunately, he did not have long to wait.

   "Encampment ahead!" called out the driver of the APC.  Kron heard the
turret above him open fire, and with a lurch, he felt the vehicle skid to a
halt.  "Disembark Left!" The rear of the vehicle fell wide open, and Kron
rushed out with the two Yeomen beside him.  Turning immediately to the
left, Kron was met with a high wall made of crudely forged metal slapped
together into a primitive defense work.  Random sprawls of paint gave it a
hodge-podge of color that made Kron's eyes itch.  Slamming bodily against
the ugly wall, just in time for the APC to close it's ramp and roar off,
turret firing the entire while.

   Peering around the wall, Kron saw the encampment right ahead.  He had
been dropped off practically on the doorstep of an angry horde of orcs. 
Good, that meant he wouldn't have to walk far.  Kron opened fire on any
greenskin he saw.  The three APCs, having dropped their cargo, drove around
and through the encampment, striking fast and hard before rushing away,
intent on staying mobile.  Across the way, Kron could see one of the
Squires, vibro-axe in both hands, cleaving through the ranks of orcs.  The
battle was fully joined.

   The orcs fought hard, machine pistols and heavy weapons blazing.  Kron
eyed a sentry tower, little more than an open-topped metal box on stilts,
with an orc heavy gunner raining fire down on any in the camp.  As an APC
rushed past, it's turret fired on the sentry, but could not land a solid
hit from the low angle.  As the gunner returned fire on the departing APC,
Kron took the opportunity of the distraction to charge forward, arm arcing
in an upwards lob as he ran past it and into an alcove between two
structures.  The orc had only a moment to notice the grenade neatly landing
at it's feet before it exploded.

   Kron kept an eye out for any sign of a shotgun troll, but the only troll
he saw was chasing an APC around with paired throwing axes.  Not an idle
threat, as the axes were big enough to cleave a grown man in two.  Even
though the APC refused to sit still, a hit, an then another, tore a wheel
from it's body, and then the crippled vehicle could only limp about, turret
trying to keep the orcs at bay but ultimately failing.  The damaged APC was
swarmed and disabled.

   As the APC was failing, a Squire rushed the axe-throwing troll,
vibro-sword in hand and swinging with precise strikes.  The troll fell to
one knee, neatly bringing it's head down to meet a final upward sword
swing. Holding his sword aloft, the Squire declared, "For the Empre..."

   The thunderous retort cut his words, and his life, short.  The shot had
gone clean through his chest armor, and Kron's gaze swung the other way. 
In the distance, behind a rise, he saw a two-fingered hand take hold of a
lever and pull it up and back.  Chak-chak.  "Troll sniper on the west
rise!" Kron declared over his farspeaker.  The thunderous retort rang out
again, and Kron saw a Yeoman fall.  The two remaining APCs drove fast,
swinging around the rise for an angle, but the sniper saw them coming,
jumped the rise and slid down into the encampment.

   Which brought him down to where Kron could easily place a thrown grenade
at it's feet.  The blast knocked the troll down, and as it struggled to
stand, Kron finished it with his rifle.  Glancing around, Kron pushed
forward to a new defensible position, his two Yeomen following on his
heels. The battle was rougher than expected, but the greenskins were losing
ground.  There didn't even seem to be as many of them as expected.  But the
level of fight within them was so great...

   "Knight, Enlighten!  There's a..!" the communication cut off suddenly,
and Kron could almost swear he felt a tremor in the ground as it did.

   "Squad, report status," Kron heard the Knight intone.  A quick set of
reports fired off, Kron speaking for himself and the Yeomen with him.  And
then quiet.  Two Squires unresponsive and unaccounted for.  "Squad, meet at
the encampment center."

   When Kron had fought to the center, the APCs roared up just in time for
the Knight to arrive, running towards them fast.  "It's a Boss camp!" the
Knight yelled.

   As his words reached them, a crude orc structure behind him was torn
asunder as through it charged the biggest orc Kron had ever seen.  It was
almost as tall as a troll, and twice as wide as any orc.  Decked in massive
armor, the orc Boss came roaring forward, gaping maw enhanced by the false
fangs of it's chinguard.  Slamming down a hammer as big as a Knight in full
armor, the shockwave knocked Kron off of his feet, along with the Yeomen
with him.

   Before the Knight could regain his feet, the huge orc rushed over to
him, grabbing hold of an armored leg.  A flare of light slashed across as
the Knight tried to cut the orc down, but it did barely more than scratch
the heavy armor.  Roaring again, the Boss slammed the Knight down, again
and again, flailing the landscape around it with the Knight's entire body
before flinging the Knight into the wall of a building, which immediately
collapsed on top of him.

   The APCs, the Yeomen inside recovering from the shockwave, opened fire
again, tires ripping up sand as they rushed to circle around the Boss. 
Kron took cover to fire.  But it was unclear if the orc even noticed the
hailstorm of fire being directed at it.  With a heaving upward stroke, the
Boss' hammer slammed into an APC, the force knocking it off it's tires,
straight into the path of the other, which swerved to avoid, but still got
clipped, skidding out of control and rolling onto it's side.

   Throwing his last grenade, Kron tried to knock the orc from it's feet.
But the blast only seemed to make it mad.  Bodily grabbing a Yeoman
climbing from one of the APCs, the orc threw the unlucky soul.  While the
throw missed Kron, it struck another Yeoman behind him.  Searching for an
answer to this behemoth before him, Kron looked all around, until his eyes
fell on the plasma sword, slipped from the Knight's grasp on his flight
into the building.

   Taking an opportune moment as the Boss' attention was caught by only
other living Yeoman, Kron ran across the battlefield, snatching at the
sword's handle.  Behind him, he heard the orc's hammer strike, and knew he
was alone now.

   Facing his foe, towering over him, Kron's sword flashed into burning
plasma.  The Boss was not unharmed, but far from mortally wounded.  There
had to be a weak point...  There.  The only place.  Backing up as the orc
stomped his way, Kron's eyes flickered to the side to verify the crumbled
building near him.  That support strut, bare but still planted.  Yes.  Time
it right, let the Quicksilver flow.

   The Boss raised it's hammer, and brought it down two-handed.  A
shockwave blow.  Just as it was coming down, Kron leaped.  The shockwave
passed harmlessly underneath, Kron's foot struck the exposed strut, turning
his upward rush to forward.  There, the one exposed spot right in front of
him.  Searing blade lit the interior of the orc's gaping maw.

   The orc jerked back, the sword slipping from Kron's grip.  The orc made
some sort of yelp, before staggering sideways and falling over, buildings
around it shaking with the impact, the handle of the plasma sword sticking
out of it's mouth like some strange silvered tongue.

   Kron breathed, then quickly drew his pistol, looking to all sides,
seeking any sign of more greenskins.  But the camp was quiet.  Completely
quiet.  Standing slowly, keeping an eye out for any movement, Kron walked
over to the fallen Boss, and, having to use both hands and a foot on it's
face, managed to pull the sword free.  Heading to the collapsed building,
Kron searched until he verified the remains of the Knight.  Not knowing the
rites to retrieve the Knight's stored essence, Kron settled for clearing
what he could so a later mission would easily find the body.

   Kron tried his farspeaker, but it's range was limited, and he could not
signal for a pickup.  He would have to get himself out.  A check of the
APCs revealed that the one that had taken the direct hit was hopelessly
crushed, it's crew killed instantly.  But the one on it's side appeared
functional.  It just needed to be righted.  But, enhanced as he was, Kron
couldn't heave the armored vehicle over himself.  Perhaps a lever could be
found, the plasma sword wasn't near long enough.  A slow search of the
encampment didn't turn up much.  He found the two missing Squires, at the
bottom of pair of hammer-shaped craters.

   Kron entered a nearby building, having to shove the door to get it open.
A quick look around turned up nothing, and he was about to leave when a
weight slammed into his back and something wrapped around his neck. 
Stepping forward, Kron grabbed at his neck with one hand, leaning over
sharply and bucking forward.  As the weight flipped forward over his head,
Kron reared his sword-arm back...

   And froze.

   His hand held a slim wrist, trailing down an arm to a dangling body that
was perhaps four and a half feet standing, topped by a round face and two
large eyes, broad nose, and a wide mouth slightly opened to reveal a row of
sharp canines.

   It was a girl.  An Orc Girl...



   *****

   This is a work of fiction, if that wasn't clear enough.  Nothing I write
about has ever or will ever occour in reality.  Any resemblence characters
may have to real people is entirely coincidental and unintentional.  And I
can not and will not condone real sexual activity involving minors.

   I do however, condone positive feedback, and encourage it.  :)

   If you feel like sending me some feedback, you can reach me at zorlond
AT yahoo DOT com.