Affliction

[Dark Armada]

Affliction

 

 

One

The walls of the hallway were adorned with bas-relief images of intricate detail, and at every pause in the column of Guardsmen Private Shaw studied them. They depicted battles of old in which the Black Templars fought their foe head on in bloody but righteous melee, and the foe never seemed to fare too well. The entire keep shook with every explosion that hit the thick outer walls, Guardsmen everywhere quivered and stared vacantly around the dimly lit subterranean corridors until a large man, some seven-foot tall, turned the corner bearing a lit brazier.

“This way.” He said in a calmed tone, as he turned his heavy armour echoed it’s footsteps throughout the halls.

“Right Men”, said the Commissar, “Form the line, that’s it now.” A swift brandishing of his bolt pistol ensured a snappy response.

Shaw was stood near the back of the column, the entire platoon was taking refuge within the Black Templar’s Keep on this planet, the entirety of the men and their command of this platoon; all 12 of them. Losses had been heavy and the fighting was fierce yet their foe was barely seen; as the enemy fought in the shadow of night to hide their numbers.

“And you might be?” questioned the Commissar to the Space Marine.

“Chief Apothecary Idillius, Commissar, and may I return the question?” he replied, his torch sending flickers of light dancing over his bone-white power armour; the bright red symbol of the Apothecarion proudly born on his right shoulder pad.

“My name, Brother-Apothercary, is of no importance to you.” The Commissar replied abruptly.

The Commissars brief rantings were interrupted by Idillius’ intercom;

“Brother Idillius, have you met with the good Commissar?”

“Unfortunately so, Brother Marshal,” he replied, placing his hand near the microphone as to keep the conversation to a degree of privacy, “The good Commissar has his men here. The Necrontyr should not be able to penetrate this keep, should they?”

“No, Brother, the Hypherios turrets on the exterior are damaged beyond repair but the gates and walls are holding up, thank the Emperor.”

“Then I shall bring the Commissar to you?”

“See that it is done, Gervhart over and out.”

Turning to the Commissar, Idillius raised his torch above his head and observed the column of guardsmen.

“I was going to ask who required medical assistance, but-”

“We left them” The Commissar barked, “Now let us not delay, the Emperor wants this world in his name and by my own sword he’ll get it!”

“And by my sword you’ll get yours...” Idillius jested, turning and heading toward a large metal gate adorned with the symbols of the Black Templars. With one push he opened the gate to a well lit chamber; three long obsidian tables stretched the length of the room, with one shorter one running perpendicular to them at the far end. A huge and detailed stained-glass window watched over the area, the artificial light behind it made up for the lack of natural light that the keep offered.

“Commissar, this is Marshal Gervhart, and these are Kotos and Mephos, two of his most trusted Sword Brethren from the Household.” Idillius said as he crossed his arm over his chest, casting a nervous glance towards the Commissar, who indeed failed to copy the gesture. A long pause gripped the chamber before Gervhart chuckled and spoke;

“Ah Commissars, they never were ones for pleasantries, were they?” even beneath their helmets, it was painfully obvious that Kotos and Mephos were both entertained by their Marshal’s joke.

“I would have thought that, of all the Space Marines I have come across, you would not be the one to irritate me before I have even spoken. Your kind is not required in this universe, Marshal, the Imperial Guard are more than capable of defending the Imperium, and may I remind you that we are only here because your traitorous brethren have previously-”

“Hold your tongue! Lest I cut if from your skull myself!” boomed Gervhart, squaring up to the Commissar. Gervhart was almost a full two foot taller than the Commissar and easily outmatched him in strength. All along the column of guardsmen, men were stepping out of line to observe the situation.

“Guardsmen” Gervhart announced, turning to the weary men, “You have fought well this day, and the Emperor has seen it!” the low hum of relief raised above the silence, showing some sign of comfort in the troops, “If you would like to follow my Brethren, they will accompany you to your quarters where you may rest ‘till tomorrow.”

“No! Stand to attention, men of Cadia!” bellowed the Commissar as he turned to face the column and, once again, the room fell silent, “You shall get cleaned up ASAP and return here where we march on the enemy once more!”

“Commissar I must urge-”

“Quiet, Marine.” Said the Commissar, cutting off the Marshal.

“Commissar?” He beckoned in reply.

“Wha-” B-DAM!; a bolt round through the skull ended his sentence prematurely, Gervhart stood holding the smoking gun, still aimed at where the Commissar was stood moment before. Upon swiftly holstering the pistol, Gervhart addressed the men once more,

“Men, I relieve you of his command. Follow Brother Idillius here and report and injuries or wounds you have accumulated before going to your quarters.”

“The wounded were left for dead...” Idillius whispered to Gervhart, who merely answered with a sigh of disdain.

Idillius began rounding up the Guardsmen as Ketos and Mephos took the body of the Commissar to the morgue and Marshal Gervhart walked back towards his chambers,

“Left for dead...? How could a man of the Emperor leave his brothers for dead?” he chuntered, “Such a waste of honourable life...”

 

 

Two

Shaw...

Shaw...!

Private Shaw of the Cadian 105th, hear my voice.

Shaw raised his head from the mattress, looking around the quarters. His immediate thought was the safety of his comrades, but he was somewhat comforted by the fact that his whole platoon, now numbering 11, was still safe.

Awaken, Private Shaw! The disembodied sound rang once again in Shaw’s head.

Looking around it was clear that nobody else could hear the noise, but after a good ten minutes of the same eerie voice repeating orders the sound diminished and Private Shaw was able to relax once again. But as he put his head down to rest, two shining yellow eyes caught his attention and he leapt to his feet and yelped; luckily enough nobody head his squeals for aid as the Black Templar removed his helmet, thus eradicating the presence of the yellow eyepieces.

“I saw you looking troubled, is anything the matter?” The Initiate questioned, lowering his bolter.

“No... No thanks. Thank you, Sir.” He muttered in reply, half asleep and half forcing some sort of gratitude towards the Space Marine, who in turn nodded, replaced his helmet and returned to his post.

 

The next morning, if you could call it such a term in a place of no natural light, the platoon woke in almost perfect unison. The training of the Imperial Guard was not as rigorous as the program the Space Marines were put through, but amongst the drills and target practise back at camp, Shaw and his platoon had been strict in their regime in war at dawn.

"Who is to command us?" a whining voice crept above the silence.

"We have no leader!" another squealed.

"Those bloody Space Marines have screwed over our whole operation!" came a final comment, Shaw had never seen the men in such a state, they seemed bitter towards their saviours.

"Men! Lets face the facts here! These Space Marines saved us, we shouldn't-" Shaw stopped in anguish as the light from the open doorway was blocked out. A huge silhouette cast it's menacing shadow about the room, this one was big, even for a Space Marine.

"Men of the Imperial Guard, I am Brother Kobald, the Forgemaster of Gervhart's Crusade on this planet." The two lights on the side of his helmet cast an inquisitive beam of light throughout the room, whipping around the faces of the stunned guardsmen, Kobald paused as he pondered over his charges.

"Come with me. Rank and file!" he boomed and, without hesitation or question, the guardsmen followed the Space Marine out of the room, systematically squinting as the well-lit corridors came into view and their eyes adjusted to the new source of light. Once the men could see again, they began to observe the new Black Templar, and question his armour. All along the column whispers were formed that puzzled why he wore such unique armour, many of these guardsmen had never come across a Techmarine of the Adeptus Astartes, let alone a Master of the Forge. A pair of servo-skulls soon met up with Kobald, who responded with a slight nod before they departed. Wires about his feet seemed to spark with life, and many seemed to be inspecting the men that followed with eager red lenses; ducking and weaving around to get a better angle of sight down the column of men before, just as the servo-skulls, they appeared to relay this information directly to Kobald's face who, once again, dismissed them with a nod of agreement.

After five minutes of walking through twisting corridors, Kobald stopped and turned, gears in his bulky red armour chruned to keep the weight of his servo-arms in order. Marshal Gervhart was clearly visible a few meters behind Kobald, stood with his back to them; inspecting the huge gate before them.

"Can you hear that?" he questioned, raising his voice so the guardsmen and Kobald could make out what was being said, "Nothing".

A peculiar silence blanketed the room.

"There's nothing. This is the outer gate of the Keep, and nothing. No flashes of green gauss, no explosions created by their Monoliths, no new reports of damage," he turned to address the astounded men, "so what shall we do about this?"

"We're going to be bait, aren't we??" One of the guardsmen shouted. Gervhart turned his helmeted head to the source of the voice, several long seconds passed before Gervhart continued.

"No. I need you to support an attack at dawn tomorrow. Emperor only knows what the Necrons are doing, and my scouts should report back anytime soon. You all know how to operate Autocannons, correct?" The platoon mumbled and nodded in reply, "Then that is what you can do. You shall be given the armour of our scouts, otherwise you're as good to us as the charred skeletons you would have been if you'd worn your carapace armour. Gauss weaponry is relatively potent, and I would like at least one of you to survive if at all possible. If we're lucky." Once again an aura of silence gripped the room as Gervhart dismissed Kobald and the guardsmen.

 

Three

Dawn broke over the vast cliff tops and glinted off the armour of the Necrons. Vast phalanxes were laid out before Marshal Gervhart, all beckoning his attention. Any other commander of the Adeptus Astartes would have a solid lump in their throats at such as sight, but this puppet-show did not waver Gervhart in his stance, this was a theatre of war, and should be treated as such. Men would die, good men, courageous men, even the new Imperial Guard would most likely die, but that is how war is played out.

“Their name is Death...” Gervhart began

“... Their number is Legion” Akeris finished, appearing from the huge gate behind them.

Akeris stared off into the distance, swinging his Black Sword around in wide, fluid arcs before sheathing it in one motion. He spotted the enemy commander, a Leader-being clasping a glowing orb in his grip.

“I see him” he said before being aware of Gervhart’s greeting. Both were clad in their standard garbs of black armour, their heraldry and yellow eye-pieces contrasting with the deep shades of the ceramite. Two hulking Crusader-class Land Raiders trundled out of the keep followed closely by a huge man covered in the deepest black armour and smothered in seals of purity and litanies of hate. He was chanting the rites of battle as he lead the warriors of the Black Templars into war.

“Brother-Chaplain Armillo inspires us this day” said Gervhart as he clasped his Power Maul which was hanging from his belt. The furious energies within it wreathed around like a blue-white flame as Kotos and Mephos stood to attention behind their Marshal but unsheathing their Lightning Claws, ready for the battle ahead.

Everywhere around them battle brothers of the Black Templars were affixing their manacled weapons to their wrists in ritualistic fashion as Brother Akeris bellowed before them;

“Suffer not the unclean to live, my Brothers!” he began, slowly followed by the correct prayer of devotion to the Emperor as corresponds to the vow he undertook.

“They’re on the move” yelled an Initiate from atop the Keep, who was promptly silenced by a blast of Gauss from a Destroyer. The explosion sent chunks of black marble debris flying through the air, only to crash to the ground, providing ample cover from the first salvo of fire from the enemy’s soul-flaying weapons.

“With me my Brothers!” Gervhart boomed.

On that note, the Black Templars threw themselves into the swirling melee that was once the Necron’s front lines. Clumsy mechanical bodies were tossed aside as they tried to land a blow in return yet to no avail. Ahead Gervhart could see tall, slender humanoids approach their lines;

“Brace for combat, my Brothers! Pariahs!” He screamed, the response was a swift mobbing of the creatures that came to them. Body parts were flung around as marines were impaled and thrown away as lifeless corpses, slowly the Pariahs began to die but they were taking a huge toll on the Black Templars, their unholy armaments were slicing through ceramite, flesh and bone as if they offered no more protection than air.

Akeris had just finished breaking the chest cavity of an Immortal, it’s eyes burned a vicious green and then fell silent as it’s life force was spent, when the Lord of the Necron force came into view. Charging headlong into combat, Akeris didn’t pause for thought as the Lord held the orb above his head and, as if rehearsed, Immortals began to spark back into life and hack at Akeris. Blocking cumbersome attacks and dodging around more accurate ones, Akeris took apart the Immortals once again whilst their flailing around started to cause shallow gashes to appear in his armour. Down on one knee, Akeris was panting his last as the final Immortal slid from his blade. The Lord stood over him, grimacing it’s hollow stare into Akeris’ eyes as it removed his helmet. Raising its blade above its head, the Lord expected a swift end to his foe but in one breakneck motion Akeris parried the falling staff to the ground and whipped his Bolt Pistol from its sheath, pointing it at the Lord’s glimmering forehead and calmly saying;

“Repair this.”

B-DAM! A round was released into the Lord’s mechanical skull, shattering the alien metal and throwing the Lord from its feet.

 

“Rarrghhh!” Shaw screamed as he kicked his loading partner, “More ammo!” he barked.

The soldier unclipped the empty cartridge and slotted a new one in its place, giving Shaw the thumbs up as he did so.

“Die bastards! Die!” Shaw roared once again as he felt the recoil of his Autocannon; spontaneously shouting profanities at the Necrons as they were hit and tumbled to the floor in various pieces.

“What the....?” He said as the Necrons flickered and, as suddenly as they’d arrived, they departed. "No! Daft bastards! This fight aint over yet!"

[Dark Armada]

Hate to bump my own thread but I could do with some feedback :( Thanks

[Justicar Crucius]

looks pretty good, but i dont believe that any space marines would give imperial guardsmen scout armour

[Castellan Michael]

I loved it, especially the killing of the commissar! I think it shows the independent style of Sigismund. I have been working on a BT story of my own and love to see I am not the lone-wolf in writing and craving Templar fluff as of late.

[Gree]

Did the Commnisar really just mouth off the son of his God? The demigod angel of death? I really doubt he would do that.