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A Memorable Mission
by Jesse Berkstresser Many years ago, my best friend, in an attempt to broaden my interests beyond playing video games and taking naps, introduced me to a card game titled Space Hulk: Death Angel, a cooperative strategy game about a group of Space Marines1 battling for survival against an unending swarm of alien creatures known as Tyranids2. It’s the complex kind of game where a world is created by the rulebook and fueled by imagination. A game that contains an eclectic cast of characters, each with their special set of skills and their own unique personalities. A game where thrown dice and shuffled cards simulate a randomized, and sometimes harsh, reality for these characters. It’s a ton of fun, but it can also be brutally difficult to win. The game manual actually estimates “44% chance of mission success with 86% squad casualties,” and while that might be dramatic hyperbole, it’s often not far from the truth. Sometimes, the enemy swarms without notice. Sometimes, the dice just don’t roll the way you need them to. Sometimes, you meticulously plan every move, setting up contingencies and safety precautions, and it all fails. But sometimes…even certain defeat can be overcome, and legends can be created. One such legend was born last summer, on a typical Sunday afternoon in New Jersey. My best friend and I had retired to his house after morning church was over. As both of us had gotten older and gained more responsibilities, it had become much harder to find time to hang out and play games together. He lives in a seaside Borough called Tuckerton, his house nestled in a long row of similar houses on a small hill. When I’m at home in New Jersey, it takes more than a half hour to get to his house. When I’m at college, it takes about twelve hours. Despite the obstacles, we compare schedules and make the necessary arrangements, and every now and then we still find time to get together. On that particular day, my best friend and I sat in the dining room, around a smooth, brown table that takes up most of the room. The far half of the elongated table was covered in a variety of items—some white ceramic plates with flowery trim on the edges, some clear drinking glasses with “Coca-cola” written on the side, and some other board games like Munchkin and Boss Monster—that had been relocated to that side in order for us to set up ________________________ 1 You know, marines…but in space. 2 Just your typical hive-mind aliens, don’t worry about it. ________________________________________________________________________________________ the game. I sat on the left side of the setup, by a bookshelf with an assortment of pictures and knick-knacks covering the shelves, and my best friend sat to the right, by the glass cupboard filled with more of the aforementioned dinnerware. The game sat between us, the set up fairly simple. A vertical line of cards represented each of the Space Marines and their positions, horizontal lines of cards branching off of them represented the swarms of Tyranids, and at the top of the whole thing were the various draw/discard piles. We had just finished a round in which we had been gloriously successful, vanquishing the enemy without losing a single Marine. As my best friend and I were sitting at the table, discussing our exceptional victory, the front door opened, and in walked his younger brother, whom I shall hereafter refer to as Mekboy3. “Hey, guys,” Mekboy said as he approached our table, “Playing Space Hulk again, I see.” “Yeah,” my best friend responded enthusiastically, “You should have seen it. We just aced the last round. We didn’t even lose a single guy!” “Very nice,” Mekboy replied, clearly impressed. “We’re about to start another round,” I said to Mekboy, “You want in?” “Sure, I’ll play,” He answered as he took a seat at the end of the table, and we began to shuffle all the cards for the next game. As the round started, all seemed well, but it quickly turned sour. Enemies spawned in all the worst places and times, seemingly guaranteed kills would fall through, and, worst of all, we started to lose soldiers. We lost four or five over the course of the first three areas, and in this game, every marine lost makes every subsequent turn exponentially more brutal. We pushed ________________________ 3 Why Mekboy? Cause that’s what I call him, that’s why. What’s a Mekboy? Well, if you must know, in the Warhammer 40k Universe, a Mekboy is a rank among the forces of the Space Orcs, similar to a captain. What’s a Space Orc? Stop asking stupid questions, I’m moving on. ________________________________________________________________________________________ forward, doing the best we could with the men we had left, but as we neared the final area, we all knew that we needed to do something drastic to survive the incoming onslaught. “We are so screwed,” Mekboy said dejectedly. “Maybe not,” my best friend replied, “If I use my Reorganize ability, I can move these two swarms together.” He pointed at the two largest swarms of Tyranids. “If I put them on Lorenzo, he might be able to survive. Remember, his Counter Attack allows him to survive an infinite number of enemies.” “In theory,” I add, not very confident in my odds. And they were my odds, because Lorenzo was part of my team, so I had to be the one to roll the dice. It was a standard six-sided die, blood red with 0-5 imprinted in white on the different sides. 1-3 also had skulls emblazoned next to them, and these were the sides I was aiming for during the defensive turn. Counter Attack, an ability unique to Lorenzo, allows him, on the roll of a skull, to kill one enemy from the swarm, followed by the swarm immediately attacking again. If I get another skull, I kill another alien. If I hit a 0 at any point, or hit a 4 or 5 while the swarm is still five or above, Lorenzo is dead. After executing Reorganize, the swarm stood at about fifteen. Three of them were Raveners4, a special species of Tyranid that, should I to survive, would each induce the swarm to attack again. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with. On the plus side, I did have some support tokens, which I could spend to re-roll if I got a bad number, but I only had two, so they would only get me so far. In the end, I didn’t know what the odds were that I would succeed, but I knew that we had failed better odds before. I pick up the die, roll it around in my right hand, and cast it onto the table. I roll a skull. “Yes!,” my best friend exclaimed, “Good start, good start!” He tends to cheer me on like this in the games we play5. ________________________ 4 The instigators of the alien hive-mind. They like promoting violence and general meanness. 5 Unless we’re on opposing teams…or sometimes if we’re on the same team and I’m just tearing the team down, brick by brick, with my gross incompetence. ________________________________________________________________________________________ I roll again, this time just letting the die roll off the tips of my fingers. Another skull. “Awesome!” Mekboy said. Two down, but still not even close to safe. As I rolled again, landing another skull, I imagined Sergeant Lorenzo, deep in the bowels of the abandoned Space Hulk. He stood tall in his crimson power-armor, brandishing a large grey Storm Bolter6 in his left hand, and in his right, a golden chain-sword7. Surrounded by savage creatures and with his allies too far away to support in any major way, he stood alone. But he was the leader of this squad, these men were his responsibility, and he refused to let them down. As the swarm attacked again, leaping toward Lorenzo in a wave of grey claws, sharp yellow teeth, and rough purple hide, the marine braced himself, put all his strength into swinging his power-sword, muscle and machine working in tandem, and counter-attacked. His sword connected, chain against hide, and caused the entire swarm to recoil. The Tyranid that had led the charge now lay in two pieces on the steel floor below, its green, acidic blood eating away at the metal. The large amount of that blood that had accumulated on the marine’s sword had begun to take its toll. With a piercing screech, the chain caught in the mechanism, and the sword became useless. Lorenzo disconnected the power line and threw the sword to the ground. The swarm attacked again. I rolled the die again, a little too hard this time. It rolled off the other end of the table. “If it’s good, we keep it,” I said as I peered under the table to try and see what number had landed on top. “We’re not doing that,” my best friend stated as he bent down to grab the die. His innate sense of justice and fairness can be annoying at times, but it’s also one of the things I admire most about him. “Just roll it again.” ________________________ 6 A double-barrel gun that shoots really fast. 7 Like a chain-saw, but more sword shaped. This one should have been obvious. ________________________________________________________________________________________ He hands me the die. I roll another skull. Cheers erupt again. Lorenzo unleashed a volley of 100 caliber bolts8 into the swarm. Each bolt tore a hole in its target, causing its blood to spew from the exit wound. Most of the Tyranids slunk back to heal their wounds. One did not. It now lay next to its bifurcated brother, a large hole where its eye socket used to be. The swarm attacked again. I rolled a 4. Would have been fatal, but my best friend just removed one of Lorenzo’s Support tokens, allowing me to roll again. He’s always been supportive9 like that. Lorenzo leveled his Bolter at the swarm, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened except a dull click. The gun had jammed. But just before the swarm charged him, a round of suppressive fire stopped them in their tracks. It was Brother Deino, the other member of Lorenzo’s Assault Team10. “Brother Lorenzo!” Deino’s shout could be heard through his crimson, full-face, battle helmet. “I’m coming to assist!” “Stay in formation, Brother Deino,” Lorenzo replied, throwing his gun to the side. “I will deal with these,” As leader, Lorenzo wore no helmet. The scars on his face were a testament to the risks of doing so, but it was important that his men be able to see his face during battle. To see his undying resolve. The swarm continued their attack. I rolled again. A skull. Then another. Then another. Each one brought a wave of cheers and high-fives from my best friend and Mekboy. But I remained quiet and tense. There was much left to do. Hopefully, my luck11 wouldn’t run out. ________________________ 8 It’s a bullet, only bigger and more…explosive. 9 Like if we’re at a potluck and I accidentally take something I don’t like, which is most things, he’s always willing to eat it for me. It’s hard to find a friend like that. 10 Like the buddy system, but with more weapons. 11 Actually, when it comes to games, I tend to have great luck. My best friend on the other hand has horrible luck. Like in this video game called Terraria, he once spent about three hours trying to find some ice bow or something. It wasn’t even that rare. Meanwhile, I find super rare all the items all the time. I got a triple Bananarang from the first clown I killed in that game…you know what, none of that is important, I should probably move on. ________________________________________________________________________________________ “You were so close!” Mekboy exclaimed. “Yeah,” my best friend agreed, “Anything other than a zero and you would have been fine.” He removed Lorenzo’s card from the lineup. “But hey, if that swarm had attacked anyone else, we would have lost at least four guys.” “I know,” I replied, “but I was still kinda hoping he would survive.” Brother Deino watched as Lorenzo was torn up and dragged into the darkness by the three Tyranids. “Lorenzo!” He yelled, sprinting towards the carnage, but he was too late to help. They were all gone, and there was no way to follow. Then, through the com, Brother Gideon, the second in command, said, “Brother-Sergeant Lorenzo has fallen. I will be assuming command. Everyone tighten formation and move forward.” “…Permission to guard the flank,” Deino requested. He knew better than to question Gideon, but he still wanted to hang back.” “Permission granted,” Gideon replied, “I know losing Lorenzo is hard, but he gave us a chance to survive, and he would expect us to make good use of that chance.” We were continued playing the game, advancing through rooms, defeating more Tyranids, but still thinking about the incredible spectacle we had just witnessed. Then, as if by fate, I drew the most coveted card in the entire game. Rescue Space Marine. This card allows the players to resurrect one soldier, as long as his Assault Teammate was still alive. We still had Deino, so the choice was obvious. ________________________________________________________________________________________ As the marines finished killing a small swarm of Tyranids and began passing the pile of debris they had been perched on, Deino saw, out of the corner of his eye, the glint of crimson armor, buried in the rubble. “Hold the line!” He yelled, rushing toward the pile and throwing aside boulders and bodies, till he found what he had hoped he would find. “It’s Brother Lorenzo! He’s alive! Praise the Emperor12!” The rest of the marines formed a circle of defense around them both as Lorenzo opened his eyes. “How do you feel, Brother?” Deino asked. “I could use a little attention from our resident Apothecary13,” Lorenzo replied, a little hoarse, but not as much as you’d expect from someone presumed dead. “But I don’t think they’re going to have to turn me into a Dreadnaught14 quite yet.” As Deino administered treatment to some of his wounds and then helped him to his feet, Lorenzo considered the irony of the fact that the more successful missions, the ones that go off without any problems, were often forgettable, perhaps even boring. But this mission, filled with so much sacrifice, was one of a kind. No member of this squad would soon forget such a mission. And neither would my best friend and I15. ________________________ 12 They worship him or whatever. 13 A Space Marine combat medic. Again, should have been obvious. 14 Mobile life-support the size and sturdiness of a tank that can punch things really hard. 15 And Mekboy, I guess. |
Jesse Berkstresser is a 23 year old from a small town in New Jersey. He is currently attending Cedarville University, in Ohio, and is a part of the Creative Writing Minor.
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