#wasnt gonna post this yet but in light of new insta posts.....

[peoplesprincessgeorge]

nortrell + txt posts = true 4.0

[harlockauxillia30k-blog]

♞ – Black Knight — Are you creative? In what ways?

Harlock and his men were dropped off on this moon three weeks ago, with the expectation to hold their designated fire base, eliminate hostile troops, and keep the landing zones clear for a future astartes reinforcement.

That was fine, because this particular jungle was nearly a death world. Perhaps not as mean as some, but soldiers were being eaten occasionally by stealthy plantlife, half the unit had minor to severe cases of what medics had begun to call ‘rickets’ (no actual name for the condition existed beforehand) due to irritable spores, the bogs sporadically placed around sucked you in, and if you stayed in too long, would act like quick sand, and the few animals encountered were all mean, terrifying, and hostile.

The locals had the right idea. They gave up on jungles for the most part and lived on mountain cities, using tunnels to move around faster. They did fight in the jungles with the Army however, just to oppose and attempt to eject the defenders. That was where groups like Harlock’s came in.

It could have been worse. Harlock had for himself a hill mercifully free of bogs and heavy foliage. After knocking some of the trees down he had the makings of a good position. Harlock cut trenches laterally into the earth in a steppe pattern on all sides, until the hill looked laced with a zigzagging set of cuts all around. The ammo dumps he kept in small dank dugouts, and his company set about adding to the dangerous landscape mines, barbed wire, and conventional traps and pitfalls.

The 2nd Centauri were poor at this at first, but Harlock had years of experience over these regular troops, and had learned most of these tasks firsthand. He lead seminars on the digging of the defenses, showed how to pile the sandbags just-so, made an example pitfall spike trap, and routinely reminded squad leaders how to identify them lest they cause friendly fire.

So, without incident beyond the terrifying jungle itself eating them alive, Harlock’s company dug into the hill, all the while the intrepid Captain lead recon missions whenever possible to try and get an idea of the immediate environs. Most of it was indecipherable, save that a swift running river was to the east, and awful bogs/swamp land surrounded it.  Beyond that, Harlock couldnt distinguish- perhaps due to his straining and status as an officer of infantry, not a forward observer or recon element in a light infantry force. The men under his command did not see much either, so the company settled into a calm misery. Harlock tried to keep them alert, and harshly punished sentries caught off guard, but could not keep the entire unit as sharp as he was. It was the jungle: it blocked sight lines, and due to the Centauri’s unfamiliarity with the terrain it would be easy to sneak up all the way to the treeline, and there was only a scant 55 meters from the furthest tree to the first trench line.

Harlock observed this, and ordered a set of small dirt-and-flakboard pillboxes be cut into the current trench line to cover the communication trenches connecting the first and second trench lines. He lightened up the garrison on the first trench line, and ordered his mortar men to have a set of ranges prepared as close as 10 meters of the first trench.

...

0200 Hours, Xan-C, Jungle Moon. Hill 100.

“Heyo, Jefferson. Captain’s a real stick in the mud eh? What with all the work on this hill. Soon the marines’ll come and we’ll just leave it all to rot anyway.”

Will said, sipping a bit of insta-recaff in his pit on the front trench. Jefferson, a sentry, lazily sweeped to and fro with a magnocular set, then dipped behind the dirt wall.

“Yeaaah, he busted Mark for nodding off on duty last night. Mark’s an ass and he’d have been shot by most officers, but- really, this hill is nothing special. I heard the other hills are only getting little skirmishes here and there. The real fight is in the Cenax River Valley.”

Jefferson gestured for a lho stick.

“Greedy bastard.”

Jefferson walked over and bent over the open fire, lighting the lho stick with the flame.

“You know Jeff that dumb trick is going to burn off your damn eyebrows someday, and I really can’t wait. Your a damn Lho-leech, you know that?”

Jefferson smiled, flashing his big dumb teeth “Well you know what they say, I’m the best Lho leach in the ArRGGGH”

A long knife was stabbed into Jefferson’s neck. Before Will could shout in terror, a garrot was on him. Will struggled.

“HRK- URGH! HN!”

Steps were heard through the first trench, as two figures covered in vines and leaves struggled with Will. The one that killed Jefferson laid his body down gently, then promptly ended the noisy scuffle with a stab to Will’s heart.

“Haaa-” Will exhaled, pushing the remaining air out of his lungs, both through his mouth and the new hole in his chest, and promptly went into shock and would die in a few seconds, as the steps approached. The two figures, now joined by a small squad, drew their weapons. they were equipped with midnight blue-green camoflage uniforms their dark skin was covered in similar paint, obscuring all but their eyes and the glint of blades and metal.

...

Sergeant York walked the trench line, looking for Sentries to beat. After the incident with Mark, he was on direct orders to make sure everyone was doing their jobs. It was a quiet night, as the unit was ordered to bed early and no one was singing drinking songs or playing cards. York himself was tired, but knew that that meant his sentries were probably nodding off too- that wasnt allowed.

Then he heard some odd grunting noises, and some foot scuffles. York narrowed his eyes. “In a trench? Filthy lewd degenerates” he thought, and holstered his sidearm. Before he walked into the front pit, York whistled sharply.

“OI! YOU FETHING DEGENERATES BEST NOT BE DOIN THE NASTY. SERGEANT YORK’S GONNA SODOMIZE YA BOTH WITH HIS RIFLE IF YA ARE. GET SMART YOU FETHING-”

York walked in and was shot twice by a silenced machine gun, thankfully both non-lethal hits. A team of dark figures in foliage were crouched about in the trench, waiting for him.

“ATTACK!-” York screamed, before three more rounds promptly killed the man.

Whistles sounded all over the hill. As men woke up and walked up to their posts, a wave of soldiers washed from the tree line, and only a few sentries got any purchase against them. In about two minutes, the first line was overrun with all hands dead.

Harlock woke at the first report of las rifle, and threw on a cloak and grabbed his saber and plasma gun. A man explained in broken gothic what was going on and Harlock silently nodded, then ordered the men to ready up and deploy. Harlock himself moved to the mortar pit at the apex of the hill.

The gunners were just waking up; they had been ordered to sleep in a small smelly dugout next to the guns.

“MORTAR PLATOON!” Harlock bellowed.

“FIRE COORDINATES! Ranging fire, adjust Killzone-C to the first trench! Fire for effect!”

A sergeant looked confused. “But that’s going to hit-”

“Do it, sergeant!”

The sergeant saluted and the teams went to work. Harlock bade them no heed and ran down the lines to the second trenchline, which had sleepy units of his guard.

“Throw your grenades! Frag the first trench!” Harlock yelled, running amongst the men, checking on one position in particular.

The communications overwatch MG.

Harlock looked inside the small dirt bunker and found it abandoned despite his orders. He also saw hostile forces moving up the communications trench- silently and unopposed.

Harlock didnthave time to think. He grabbed the machinegun, which was ill suited to his style and training, and did his best to lead the targets. At least it was fed into a box of stub rounds, meaning he wouldnt have to rely on a loader yet.

Harlock squeezed the trigger, and hit a soldier of the advancing enemy, the recoil wasting the other three rounds of his short burst. Harlock cursed; there went the element of surprise. The enemy reacted immediately. A few immediately grabbed the sides of the trench and tried to climb up. Other men near the back took cover on the entrance of the communications trench, while the foremost soldiers fired as they advanced, trying to push through regardless.

Harlock knew they would frag his pillbox soon, and with his mediocre aiming skills he would not suppress the trench line. So, he pulled out a personal flare gun, and fired it direclty into the communications trench.

Amusingly, his pistol aim was much better, hitting and burning a man with the flare with a square hit to the chest.

“FLAMER! GET A FETHING FLAMER TO THE COMMUNICATION TRENCHES!”

Harlock screamed, probably fruitlessly, as the first mortars began raining down on the enemy-packed first trench line. He fired again with the machine-gun, trying hard to control its aim and only fire in short bursts for accuracy.

...the night carried on, and when it departed so too did the remainder of the enemy raid force. All told, the hill’s defenders suffered 12% casualties, and were mentioned in dispatches for their quick thinking in the moment of crisis. After the battle at Hill 100, Imperial officers were ordered on pain of flogging to ensure a wider kill zone, and drill troops in proper garrison practice,

Harlock, knocked out from a frag grenade caving in part of his MG pit, was nominated for regimental citation by his lieutenants; a motion which was quickly denied by senior regimental command.