Editing Tales from the Aprior Sector (section)

==Shadows in the Forest==

''By [[User:Not LongPoster Again|Not LongPoster]].''

Inquisitorial Stormtrooper Team Dagger Alpha Three advanced invisibly through the forests of Aprior Quartus Delta.  Their goal: Wells Defense Works, the largest munitions manufacturer in the Sector, nicknamed “the Arsenal of Freedom” by the Apriori.  Task Force Dagger was powerful enough to overwhelm any system, but a determined foe – and the Apriori were nothing if not determined – would exact a heavy penalty in return, unless this manufactorum could be destroyed.  With D-Day only three weeks away, time was running out.

The team's leader, a man known only as 'Chief' by his squad-mates, called for a status update: “Specs, distance to target?”  He and his team knew, thanks to the machine spirits in their goggles – specially gifted by one of Inquisitor Lord Damnos' Forge World contacts – but it was protocol to confirm with the electronics specialist.

“Two klicks, ETA forty-five minutes at this pace,” a severe woman's voice replied.  “Estimated five hundred meters to detection perimeter.”

“Final status check.  Charges?”

The team's lead demolition specialist checked his demo charges – again – and confirmed that they were in working order.  “Green.”

“Weapons?  Stealth systems?”  Green status lights winked on his visor as each team member confirmed.  “Commencing final approach to target.  Commence vox silence.”  The familiar hiss of the vox-caster bead ceased, and the team continued their advance.

Suddenly, the team's point-man raised his hand to halt his comrades.  Pointing, he indicated a scrap barrel that – now that Chief thought about it – hadn't been there a moment ago.  Chief signaled Scope to flank to the barrel's left, while he flanked to the right – was it a trap?  A sensor post?  Their stealth systems should keep them hidden, but it couldn't hurt to check – and it could hurt a lot to remain ignorant.

The moment of flanking the barrel proved rather anticlimactic, as there seemed to be nothing in it.  Chief signaled his team to regroup, when deep, throaty laughter echoed among the trees.  As one, the team turned to see a massive Ork Nob lazily sitting on a log that they had passed moments before – as if he had appeared from thin air!

“Ya get points fer observation, but yer speed needs work – whoever left dat barrel dere was a sloppy git, and ya coulda caught 'im,” the Nob said conversationally.

Specs signed, 'shall we attack?'

“Wouldn't try it if Oi was you lot,” the Nob answered – so he knew Cadian battle-sign! – “on account of dere bein' six of you, an' a dozen of us.”  As he spoke, eleven Orks appeared from the undergrowth, heavily camouflaged, larger than any of the stormtroopers, and very, very well armed.  “Now, technic'lly, we 'aven't seen ya do anyfing wrong, but I got da feeling dat ya ain't here ta sell Eatin' Squigs.  If Oi was you, Bitty Boss, Oi'd call it a day, and ferget why ya came.”  The Orks started vanishing into the forest once more, until only their Nob was left.  “Remember, Da Green Shadow's always watchin' from da – er – shadows, roight?  Oi dun wanna see yer mugs 'round 'ere again, or we'z gonna put yer skulls on a pointy stik ta warn da next lot of ya.”

With little choice, Chief signaled his team to abort, and they trudged away from the manufactorum, but not before he asked: “How?”

The Nob laughed again.  “Yer tek-boyz are good, but they 'aven't figured out a way ta hide yer stink!”  Winking at Chief, he, too, vanished, leaving the team apparently alone in the forest.

Except for the shadows, of course.