Codemonkey3

Modern Marines vs. Fantasy World

There was a time when such treason among the Imperial elite would be unthinkable but with recent events Claudius Aelianus found it somewhat easier to stifle his disbelief. This was a very precarious time, the Empire's mighty invasion force had failed and the bulk of their military was left in ruin, never before had the Empire been faced with such an unprecedented defeat. Naturally it was the way of the weak to find an easy way out, to let greed corrupt them, so when the rumor spread that traitors had turned their backs on the Empire for their own selfish desires he was not surprised. To work with the invaders, to collaborate with them so that they may attempt to destabilize the Empire from the inside. The only appropriate punishment was at the edge of a blade. That was his mission now, as Sergeant of the Guard for the Emperor himself, he and his cohorts were enroute to the estate of Aetius to make him answer for his crimes in blood, it was the will of the Emperor and by his will it would be done. The column of Guardsmen on horseback numbered twenty in total and likely only one or two would need to draw his blade. This would be an easy assignment which he could use to strengthen his loyalty and further his favor in the royal court. Bucking up and down on his stead he now saw the estate coming in view, a modest villa atop a gentle rolling hill surrounded by patches of forests, for a moment he wondered how someone with such privilege could turn their back on the Empire that had so graciously given him his power and status. The notion a noble so wealthy, so powerful to throw it all away and climb into bed with these foreign invaders made his blood boil and he only found comfort in the notion that he would soon be at the end of his sword to answer for his crimes.

Unbeknownst to Claudius he and his cohorts were being watched. From the moment they had crested the last hill they had been carefully observed. Even if Claudius had been able to see the vast distance between him and his enemy he would be hard pressed to actually spot them. They were wearing suits of cloth and vegetation that perfectly concealed their shape and silhouette. Gunnery Sergeant Dean McKenzie had served as a Scout Sniper for six years and what he was doing was routine at this point. He had been laying up in the shrubbery surrounding the Estate of the defector Aetius for two days straight with his partner when the net finally began to perk up.
"Viper, this is CP. Be advised, possible hostile forces approaching TS-129 at your 12:00 crossing SSL."
He exchanged a brief glance with his Spotter and shouldered his rifle, he felt his body tense and immediately fought the instinct, relaxing himself and carefully controlling his breathing as he began to scan for a target. The only noise between the two of them were the tense whispers of his Spotter.
"Target, Sector Charlie. Deep. Times twenty. Mounted. Swords. Wide spot on the road."
"Range it."
"870 Yards and closing. Wind three quarter value. Push two left."
"On target."
"Hold scope, fire when ready."
Mckenzie leveled the crosshair of his scope center mass onto the lead horseman, leading a moving target always took a little more concentration but he was confident he'd make the shot. He took a deep breath, held it in and with a gentle squeeze he felt a slight recoil.

Claudius was in deep thought when the lead man literally dropped dead, tumbling from his horse and forcing him to violently jerk the reigns so he could avoid trampling his lifeless subordinate. "Column, halt!" He shouts with genuine confusion in his voice, holding his fist into the air as the assembly of horsemen stopped in an unorganized mob, their heads frantically searching for the source what had so silently killed their companion.
Only a brief moment passed before another horseman fell from his horse, a neat hole carved into his chest plate. "Where is it coming from? Claudius demanded, drawing his Gladius from it's sheath.

"Hit."
The most rewarding word a Sniper could ever hear.
"Leaning tree, 860, three quarter value."
The hushed, steady whisper continued from his Spotter as he racked the bolt on his M40A3 and slammed a fresh cartridge into place. He selected the target, steadied his shot and squeezed the trigger. "Hit." The bullet crossed the distance between the muzzle of his rifle and the chest of the horseman so fast it was beyond the comprehension of the men who were desperately trying to find the enemy that was so casually cutting them down. Casual was a good word, these were probably some of the easiest shots he'd ever made before. They were sitting on their horses with no cover, made no attempts to flee and even if they did he would confidently bet his pension that he'd be able to cut them all down before they could get away. He almost felt bad. Almost.

"Hit." Another man down. "Hit." Than another. It was mayhem and Claudius was completely overwhelmed. What was happening? Why were his men dropping dead like this? The horses of fallen riders were galloping away and he had to struggle to maintain control of his, they sensed the danger and instead of trying to fight it they went with their most basic instinct: Run. Claudius had never run from a fight, his honor would never let him but as he saw more and more of his men fall from their mounts he felt that may be his only option. He scanned the trees, the fields and the sky but found no sign of the soulless animal that was raining death onto his men and finally, with his will broken he yanked at the reigns and urged his horse to flee. One glance over his shoulder revealed to him the awful truth that somehow he was the last of the cohort alive and it was during this moment that the bullet entered his skull, destroying his brain and exiting the other side of his head, death was instant. He died without ever knowing what or who had slain him and his companions.

"Hit. Lucky shot. Decks all clear, Gunny."
The Spotter commented, thumbing his radio.
"Command Post, this is Viper hostile threat down, over."
"Viper this is CP, we copy your traffic, over."
With a light pat on the back the Spotter asks; "What do you think was going through their heads down there?"
Grinning, Mckenzie replies. "7.62"

Modern Marines vs. Fantasy World

The column of Humvees were travelling at full speed, rocking and tumbling side to side as they crossed the open field. The M2's were keeping the thing at bay but they weren't killing it, though judging from the bloody pock marks they left all over the scaly serpent it certainly didn't enjoy the attention the Corp was lavishing on it. Naturally, when the thing first appeared it was hard to believe but surely enough it was a real live dragon and the stories about them breathing fire had proven to be correct as was evidenced by the fact their supply truck was now inflames and Hitman 2 now had a couple of unwelcome guests from H&S riding along with them. The alternative was to leave the water-boys flailing around their wrecked truck and no one had any desire to find out if dragons truly ate people today.

"Carlos, stop the fucking truck!" Barked Sergeant Willis to the driver whom, with much reluctance did as told, slamming on the brake and throwing the occupants forward. "Wong, AT-4!" He continued with his commands, throwing himself out of the truck with the giant winged beast fast approaching. It only took a moment for Corporal Wong to produce the cylindrical tube from the backseat and toss it to the waiting Sergeant. Muscle memory kicked in and Willis cleared the two safeties and set his finger on the trigger. No need to adjust his sights, it was a big mother-fucker and it was danger close. "Clear backblast!" He shouts. "Backblast clear!" a chorus of stressed Marines repeat and with a tense silence there was a loud 'thwomp'

The 84mm HE rocket was traveling almost 1,000 feet per second when the warhead embedded it's self 14 inches into the thick hide of the beast that was looming over Hitman's worn-out battle wagon. It took a fraction of the second for the fuse to ignite the 440 grams of high explosives that literally ripped the mythical creature in half as it's head split from the rest of it's body. The creature went into convulsions, it's wings failing to keep it's limp body in flight as it tumbled helplessly into the ground, skidding into the dirt until it rested in a school bus sized crater, it's head just barely hanging on by a small section of hide. It was clearly dead, but that didn't stop Hitman Actual from putting a couple of 40 Mike-Mike's into it's head for good measure.

Their interpreter was a local man, hired from a village by the Marines a few days ago to ride along and do some translations for them. He would later recount to his friends and family and incredible story of the Battle-Mages whom were able to fell a Flame Dragon with a simple ancient tome. "Clear Backblast" was all need be said for the Gods to cast their flames at the direction of the Mah-Reen whom commanded the Rod-of-Fire. In all of their history no one had ever managed to kill a Flame Dragon but these Mah-Reens had slain one with what seemed relative ease. He did not understand much of what the Mah-Reens told him but he did understand one thing; That Uncle Sam was a vengeful God and it was unwise to displease him.

Modern Marines vs. Fantasy World

So I saw something on Reddit called "Rome, Sweet Rome" and I was kinda pissed off because someone told me about it and it sounded really badass but than I found out it was a really basic skeleton of a story-outline and not actually a book or anything. So I figured "I could do better than that" which may or may not be true but I did write a short little thing to see if anyone would enjoy it.

---

Marcus Aurelius had never seen anything like it before. They had rolled into the village only this morning and now they were aiding them and refusing all compensation. They spoke a language wildly different than his own, their equipment was equally strange. Their armor was made of cloth, linens with strange speckled patterns on them. They rode into the village on growling horse-less chariots which caused the women and young ones to flee in terror. After a few hours they had managed to reverse their frightful entrance and instead drawn the citizens out of their homes. Children danced around their chariots while the men standing inside them tossed treats to them.

The Empire had been stretched thin by the recent war, all able bodied men from the village drafted into her many legions and for the past several weeks the village had been molested by bands of bandits living in the adjacent town. With no way to defend themselves they were free to steal and rape as they pleased. Marcus had believed that these new arrivals were with them but he was soon proven wrong. After a brief meeting of the elders with the leaders of the group whom referred to themselves as “Mah-Reens” they had decided that he would be the one to guide them to the hill overlooking the bandit stronghold where they volunteered their services to rid the village of the barbarians.

Now he found himself on that same hill with several of these men. Though he could not see barely a stones throw from his eyes in this darkness apparently the Mah-Reens could by using devices they affectionately called “N-Vee-Gees” and with a quick description of the compound the bandit leader called home he heard the Man-Reens recount a strange spell into a metal box which recounted the spell back to them.

"Rolling Thunder, this is Rick James, over."
"Rick James, this is Rolling Thunder, over."
"Grid to suppress: BW552911. Grid to mark: BW553978, over."
"Rolling Thunder copies all, go ahead."
"Two-Story Structure, Minus 1 to Minus 20, Plus 20 Plus 2; 5 rounds, HEVT. CAS, TOT 62. Request splash, over."
"Message to observer. Alpha, three rounds, HE delay in effect. Three guns. Bravo, two rounds, two guns. CAS, TOT 62. Target number: HN5209. Request Splash, out."

For a moment all was silent. Marcus was sure that whatever magic they had attempted most certainly failed when an ever increasing noise caught his attention. It was a whistling noise and he frantically craned his head around to find it’s source only to discover it was directly above him and than the most terrible trembling shook the ground under him and a series of giant fireballs enveloped the village at the bottom of the hill, roughly where the bandit stronghold had been, burning debris ejected far from it’s source.

"Splash. Over."
"Splash. Out."
"Abort this target, end of mission: target suppressed. Over."
"Aborting target, end of mission, target suppressed. Out."

The Mah-Reens began to collect their rucksacks and other instruments. The compound aflame, surely there were no survivors and for the first time Marcus believed the tales of magic from his youth to be true and these Mah-Reens were the most powerful of all mages.