Saga of the Wolves

[Bran Scalphunter]

Thanks to Hendrik and his idea, I've created this thread to compile all the Space Wolf fan-fiction floating around the B&C in one helpful place. Only complete and WIP-stories will be included- so if you're not the guy writing the story, don't post here. If the OP's prefer, a link could be provided instead of them adding the complete/WIP version of their work to the thread. If we can get enough interest, I'm sure Max, Lord Rags, or Littlebitz would be kind enough to sticky the thread for us. ;) *nudge nudge* ;)

 

As such, I'll include the first story, the very WIP Stormwolf.

 

Chapter 1

 

As the first Thunderhawk punched its way through storm wracked skies, the Wrath of Fenris began its bombardment, hurling crimson death onto the planet's surface. Far below on Tallas, cyclonic torpedoes turned the verdant jungle into blackened dust in a heartbeat. Screaming xenos scuttled for burrows to hide in, only for those same holes to become their tombs.

 

After a moment, the bombardment let up and the insertion began. A dozen more Thunderhawks fell out of the Wrath of Fenris, laden with Wolves howling for the death of the xenos scum. Soon their battle lust would be sated, for the prey was near...

 

The lead Thunderhawk exploded into molten slag as a defense laser struck the craft's nose. Over the vox line, for a terrible second, Koloth could hear the howls of pain from the now dead Marines, but that fleeting pang of loss was quickly replaced by a burning desire to make those alien scum pay dearly for his wolfbrothers' deaths.

 

Koloth's Thunderhawk was the first to touch down, the assault ramp slamming open in a cloud of cold air. The Wolf Guard leaped out, a savage growl echoing in his throat as Grey Hunters and Blood Claws trooped out of the cavernous hold. All around him, the earth was scorched and blackened, nothing organic left to be seen. Here and there remained a charred rock or lump of what used to metal, nothing for an alien to hide behind, ready to pounce on the Marines. Despite the obvious lack enemies, Koloth beckoned to a nearby pack of Grey Hunters.

 

"Secure this landing zone, I don't want any surprises for my men. Watch the ground in case any of those xenos are hiding. Eirik, make sure the Hawks take off, then keep low. No taking chances," he said.

 

The pack leader nodded, then turned to his Wolves, who fanned out into a defensive perimeter. The faint sound of bolters being cocked reached Koloth's ears, assuring him of his orders being carried out. As he continued giving orders to pack leaders, a tight lump began to form in the pit of his stomach. Why hadn't Jorral raised a vox line? Something isn't right, the old Wolf never failed to connect to the main force before. Something must've happened, he thought.

 

Then with a growing sense of apprehension, the Wolf Guard summoned his sagest advisors, the Long Fangs of Orik Redfang's pack. The grizzled warriors caught their leader's worried expression and hurried to his side. Orik saluted quickly before addressing Koloth.

 

"What have you Wolf Guard? The Long Fangs are at your command."

 

Despite his stoic voice, Orik could sense his commander's increasing distress. It was the wolf's boon, senses beyond mortal man and even his brother Astartes. Little escaped a Space Wolf's perception, especially something so blatantly obvious.

 

"Something's happened to Jorral. He hasn't raised a vox line yet and I have to find him. Orik, I want you and your pack to take command of this landing zone. Do as you have to," he whispered. Even to a Wolf's keen hearing, the sound was nearly drowned out. Obviously the Wolf Guard didn't want the rest of the Wolves to know that Jorral and his scouts were missing. Orik and the Long Fangs shared a quick glance, then took off silently towards the Marines building a crude command post.

 

Somewhat relieved at the fact that he was leaving his troops in capable hands, Koloth rounded up his veteran Grey Hunters, the Shadow Stalkers. An important mission such as this required stealth, and only the Shadow Stalkers possessed stealth skills rivaling Jorral and his pack.

 

Quietly, Koloth and the Shadow Stalkers left camp, in search of the lost Wolves. Either they would bring back the Marines, or they would bring back their geneseed, so that the Chapter would survive...

 

Chapter 2

 

Jorral swore violently as a pair of arachnoids bound his arms and legs with sticky silk, the bulbous aliens chattering in their crude language. The pack leader could see what was left of his Scouts struggling against their own silken bonds amid the charred tree stumps. Behind them, a massive arachnoid scuttled back and forth, its fangs slick with blood as it drained one of the dead Wolf Scouts' bodies.

 

"YOU BASTARD" he roared, as he recognized what was left of the Wolf's face. Poor Sjalr, his skin tinged a sickly blue-purple by the alien's insidious venom, was a meal for some filthy xenos scum.

 

The arachnoid glanced up with all eight of its eyes as Jorral continued to fling abuse and curses at it, then hurled aside the dried husk of Sjalr. The Wolf Scouts watched grimly as the xenos scuttled close to the bound Jorral, its hairy legs thumping over black earth and rock. All eight eyes were locked firmly on the Wolf Guard now and the twin fangs oozed their incredibly lethal poison.

 

Another burst of chatters and hisses went between the grey aliens, then the smaller two reared up, their white underbellies startlingly bright. They slowly, almost methodically plucked away the battered armor over Jorral's chest, leaving his bloody skin exposed. Now Jorral was silent, his eyes burning with hate as he was stripped of his blessed armor.

 

Ilwar broke the silence with a savage snarl. After a moment his pack mates joined in, howling and snarling at the arachnoids. Jorral seemed to take heart in this, for he grinned wickedly as the two aliens settled back on all 8 legs.

 

"Come on you overgrown flea, try your worst," he growled. Then, he spat contemptuously, his acidic saliva landing on one of the larger alien's eyes. It screeched in pain as the poisonous fluid ate away at the sensitive tissue before wiping the caustic spit off in a flurry of grey limbs.

 

Now it was the arachnoid's turn to glare malevolently. Hissing deeply, it reared up, the white underbelly forming a death head. Fangs bared, it advanced on Jorral. Then, with a lunge, it pierced the Marine's chest with sword-like fangs. Deadly venom pumped into the Wolf's system, strong enough to blot out his powerful defense organs. Slowly, Jorral's skin turned blue purple like Sjalr, but the Wolf remained stubborn even as he died.

 

"No good son of a...." he mumbled, his shaggy beard and mustache flecked with bloody foam. The Wolf's eyes glazed over as Death came to him, his fight over. Ilwar and the surviving Scouts howled mournfully, their cries echoing across barren wasteland. Now this whole world would know that Morkai stalked close and the fallen Son of Russ would be there waiting.

 

Chapter 3

 

The arachnoids hissed and chittered as they dragged the silk-wrapped Wolf Scouts behind them, the bound Marines bumping over ash and burnt out stumps. Ilwar watched sullenly as they were dragged towards a massive burrow that was surrounded by even more arachnoids.

 

"Looks like the whole nest is waiting for us," he growled.

 

A barb haired alien scuttled up to the three as they approached, clacking its mandibles in some illegible salutation. The big leader responded quickly and then before Ilwar knew what had happened, the barbed alien had scuttled back to its post over the burrow. Now a pair of truly huge arachnoids lumbered their way out of the burrow, their titanic steps shaking the blackened earth. The two of them were about the size as a Land Raider but they had nowhere near the speed or grace of the blessed tank.

 

Low rumbling noises filled the Scouts' ears as the monstrous aliens stomped closer. It took a moment for Ilwar to realize that was the pair communicating. He chuckled darkly as he remembered the wounded mammoth he had hunted long ago in the highlands of Fenris, how it had sounded just like these two.

 

After a moment the trio of smaller aliens disappeared into the crowd, leaving the silk bound Scouts with the ponderous spider-mammoths. One stared at them, the dull glaze of stupidity on all eight of its eyes. One of the Scouts- it had to be Vioarr- spit at the staring alien. It jumped backwards and swiped its hairy legs over its eye as the poison burned. The pack burst into riotous laughter at the behemoth's pain. Dozens of smaller arachnoids had swarmed closer though, attracted by the loud noises and sudden movement.

 

This swarm scurried around them for a moment before dragging the Scouts down into the yawning pit. A stench of rotting flesh and stale xenos assailed the Wolves' keen noses; Vioarr cursed and snarled at the spiders until a wad of sticky silk was wrapped around his mouth in an organic gag. The tunnel was pitched into darkness as the spider-mammoths slowly blotted out the sunlight but the aliens seemed to be uneffected. Neither were the Scouts, thanks in part to their geneseed and the keen senses, but still, they were completely trapped in the very nest of their enemy.

[FallenArkAngel]

was Pm'd to add a really old story i wrote (about the first game I played in 5th edition....wow) Anyways, touched it up and added it. I hate how people put links to pics and not the pics themselves, so Im just throwing the story below.

 

So gramulot and I played a 2000 point 5th edition game recently (tyranids vs space wolves). Anyways, this mini story was inspired by what he did.

 

Ragnar's nose flared up and his eyes dilated. In the distance he knew the tyranids were coming. Their claws and armor clanged together in a sick chorus, and he could smell their massive scent. He had lead a group of bloodclaws into the small town to look for survivors. Now they were dug in, ready to deal with the threat. The majority of the swarm had begun to run up their left flank towards the Grey hunters and re-enforcements.

 

Ragnar ducked just in time. The hair on his neck had stood straight up, indicating psychic energy. Where his head had been a white blast shot through the window. Luckily, the other bloodclaws had gotten out of the way. A phoomp was heard in the distance as two impacts hit the walls of the building. Immediately vines began to grow through the windows, their thorns directed at the space wolves. The bloodclaws fired up their chainswords and began to hack away at the vines. One wolf got too close and roared as the vine wrapped around his neck and pulled him through the window. Ragnar was about to go after him when his nostrils flared again.

 

"Get to the windows now, and prepare to repel!" Ragnar screamed. The bloodclaws grinned, all revealing their fangs, as they leveled their pistols and waited.

 

They didn't have to wait long. The swarm had been re-directed to his building, and he glanced up to see a winged giant flying between the houses. He wondered where their heavy weapon support was to take that thing down. He looked back at the ground, and the gaunts were coming. The first one leaped through his window, but Ragnar kicked back. Its vertebrae shattered as it recoiled and flew back into its brethren. Ragnar bellowed a mighty howl as he severed the head of the next gaunt that came through the window, and unloaded his bolt pistol into the mass. Howls and shots joined his, and his unit waw holding the gaunts at bay. Only one of the space wolves had fallen, but the mass of bodies was beginning to block their aim.

 

Suddenly the roof above them shattered, and Ragnar raised his axe to impale one of the gaunts that fell. Other's weren't so lucky as the talons hit home and more of the blood claws continued to fall. By now the shooting had stopped and it was pure melee. Ragnar continued his grin as he danced in-between the talons, shattering limbs, bodies, and heads. Chitin cracked underneath his axe and the slaughter continued. Bloodclaws were dying around him by the sheer tide of tyranids, but they were taken at a heavy price.

 

A sharp pain ran into Ragnar's leg, and he looked behind him. A gaunt had waited and sunk its talon into the back of his knee joint. Ragnar howled in rage and dropped his bolt pistol. He grabbed the other arm of the hormagaunt and ripped it out of its socket. Reversing his grip on the talon, he shoved it through the eye of the gaunt. It spasmed and collapsed. Ragnar ripped the talon out and looked up. A gaunt was running straight at him, but Ragnar was ready. He gripped his axe with both arms and raised it. Just as the talons were grazing his armor, he swung the axe with all his might. The hormagaunt fell under the weight and was cleaved in two. Ichor spewed out of the gaunt covering Ragnar.

 

Ragnar finally had time to look around him. The first floor of the building was almost filled with tyranid bodies, but none of the bloodclaws were alive. Ragnar howled in rage, and ran up to the second floor to find out what was going on outside.

 

He didn't like what he found. Genestealers had flanked the space wolves and were now leaping out of their hiding places. The tanks were dealing with this new threat, allowing the tyranids to move up the middle unhindered. Even now a giant carnifex was walking near his building, shooting acid and seeds at the tanks. Ragnar howled again, the beast within fully awake now, and leapt upon the head of the carnifex. He sunk his axe into the eye of the fex, and it howled in pain. It had been created for shooting, and so was unable to use any weapons on Ragnar. Ragnar grinned and used his momentum to pull the axe out and drive it into the jaw of the carnifex. It roared louder as teeth shattered and ichor covered his axe. A similar roar came from his right.

 

Ragnar did not have time to react. Suddenly he was flying through the air as what felt like a thunderhawk had just rammed into him. He crashed through the wall of a nearby house, debris falling down on him. Blackness engulfed him.

 

"This is about the Fifth bloody time we've had to save your stupid hide" Sven said above him. Ragnar opened his eyes a hair, but the scents were all he needed to know who carried him.

 

"I guess were even then." countered Ragnar as the blackness engulfed him again.

[OnlyInDeath]

Here's the cleaned up saga of Wolf Scout, easier to read if you can stand going through it all at once.

 

 

 

 

 

It was only two hours through his watch, and already Trooper Donnovan was bored.

 

He shifted his feet as once more he looked over his stretch of the line. There wasnt much to see, really. Situated on the far eastern edge of his platoon's firing trench, the only thing that he could see through the gloom was the unbroken wall of black that represented the forest standing at the edge of the no-man's land. In the deep night, the land between was a broken mess of blast craters and the tangled remains of barbed wire fences which cast macabre shadows in the dim light of the planet's twin moons. Neither was full tonight, so in random intervals the mortar squads situated a couple dozen meters behind him sent up phosphoresent flares to bring a small sun into the night. In the light of the flares, he could make out the shattered rooftops of the town of Narik behind him.

 

Pulling a taback stick from his faded coat, Donnovan placed it into his mouth but didnt light it. It wouldnt do for the night vision. Instead he wistfully dreamed of the rich smoke wafting over his face and filling his lungs back in his warm bunk. Anything to take his mind off the mind numbing watch duty. His boots squelched in the mud filling the bottom few inches of the trench as he shifted his weight to his other leg. Two hours and he hadnt seen anything. Not that he had for weeks previously. The lasgun resting on its strap across his shoulder hadnt been fired in anger in over a month. It was as if all the fight had gone out of the corpse-lovers.

 

Over four years ago, planet of Selsa 4, his planet, rose up in open revolt againt the Imperium after being bled dry of young men in the drafts of the Imperial Guard. With a splinter fleet moving in only a sub-sector away, the resources of all the planets in the region had been poured into the defense of the Imperium. Men, machines, food, water, and a thousand other things that was needed to keep the relentless Imperial army functioning and fighting. But nothing was returned to his planet and it fell into world-wide economic collapse. Finally, when a new generation of men came to fighting age, the local PDF rose up againt the Imperium of Man to fend for itself.

 

Of course, that didnt go with out repurcussions. It didnt take long for the guard to arrive, and for four long years, the fighting has ground itself into an ineffectual halt. The PDF, like Donnovan, were well equipped to fight a war for an extended period of time and boasted the same make and model as the Guard sent to destroy them. So instead, they destroyed eachother in equal measure until the lines on the maps grew static and the trenches extended from one town to the next, forming battle lines that extended over the entirety of the Selsa main continent. Towns like Narik formed the spurs for those trench works, and most had been pounded to dust.

 

As another flare went up, Donnovan watched it ascend to the peak of it's ark before a chute appeared and the white hot light drifted slowly across the field. He squinted across the pock marked landscape before sighing and slumping back down against the trench wall. As usual, nothing. He pulled the collar of his great coat up to shield against the cold of the night and grimaced as the stench of the latrines floated down the lines on a faint breeze in the night. Merciful Gods, he thought, could this night get any worse?

 

Suddenly, his musings snapped to an abrupt halt as he thought he saw a shadow move out in the no-man's land, thirty meters from the lines. He rubbed his eyes to ease the grogginess creeping up on him, and when the spots cleared, there was nothing to be seen but the same desolate landscape. It must have been the sputtering of the flares, playing with the shadows, he thought to himself...nonetheless he pulled the lascarbine off his shoulder and opened up the scope, playing it around the field in front of him. After four years of constant war, the PDF learned to be cautious. He thumbed the micro bead in his ear.

 

"Ralinski, did you see any movement from your position?" he asked. Ralinski was a corpral manning the heavy stubber nest ten meters down the line from Donnovan. He waited a few seconds for an answer, but none came. "Ralinski, damn it, no falling asleep on the the watch!" Still no answer.

 

"Frag it all," he muttered to himself as he snuggled the butt of his lasgun up into the crook of his arm. He began the arduous task of making his way back down the line towards the rest of his platoon, feet slipping on the treacherous footing and his boots becoming heavy with caked on mud. As Donnovan approached the first of the firing board positions, his sence of uneased increased as he found the positions abandoned where he expected to see the slouched, sleeping forms of the members of his squad. Stepping up on the firing board to make better time, he slow jogged the last few meters to Ralinski's nest. As he turned the corner to vent his anger at his squad mate, his feet slipped to a sudden stop, as he simultaneously made to raise his gun. He managed a strangled choke of alarm before his legs gave out and he fell rear first into the slop at the bottom of the trench. There, in the machine gun nest, stacked as neatly as corded wood, he could make out the pale, lifeless forms of the rest of his squad. The bottoms of the sandbags around the nest were already saturated red with the combined gore leaking from a dozen slit throats.

 

Mind racing, Donnovan dropped his gun and tried to claw his way up the slime encrusted wall of trench. He had to warn the rest of the platoon. It was finally happening! The goddamn corpse-lovers were finally making a move! Finally pulling himself to his feet with the aid of the wooden buttresses spaced along the wall, he inhaled sharply, and opened his mouth to shout a warning. Just then, he felt a sudden tug at the collar of his coat and found he had no more breath to give...

 

As his mind slowly withdrew into itself, the last thing Trooper Donnovan saw was the world spinning crazily for a few moments before finally coming to a wobbly rest. He was looking at the mud caked boots of a soldier...."my boots?" he thought to himself. The headless body came down next to him in several jerking motions, spraying a fountain of crimson across his field of vision. As the long forgoten tabbak stick falls from his mouth, he looks up to see another form standing over him. Covered across his shoulders with a giant wolf pelt, the man looks down at him under bushy eyebrows and a grin splits the shaggy beard hanging from his face, long white fangs jutting down from below his upper lip. As he stands back up and sheathes a long, wicked knife, Donnovan can just hear over the roaring in his ears "This is Torvald. Objective clear. Move up". As the world goes black, the last thing Trooper Donnovan sees is the wolf scouts eyes glowing golden in the light of the twin moons.

 

 

++++++++

 

"Getting slow, old man," Torvald thought to himself, looking down upon the headless corpse at his feet. He had almost missed silencing the last sentry before the call for alarm was sounded. That would have ended things very badly for himself and his pack. He settled soundlessly back on his haunches and opened up his enhanced sences to the night. He could catch various scents on the wind; the comforting smell of campfires and cooking food, the omnipresent stench of open latrines, and the varied smell of unwashed bodies from the PDF soldiers surrounding his position. Through it all, he could discern the familiar scent of the other members of his pack, growing stronger as they approached his position. He could not yet hear them, but he knew that they were there. He shrugged his wolf pelt cloak across his shoulders and found himself a shadow to disappear into, awaiting the others.

 

He didnt have long to wait. The first to arrive, from over the lip of the trench was Edvin, the youngest member of the pack. Fair haired and clean shaven, he had joined Torvald on his hunts at the ripe young age of 80, barely out of his claw. While he still suffered from the bloodlust of youth, there was no denying the pups skill at evasion and subterfuge. He also had an innate sence of demolition work that had proven more than useful on the handful of missions he had under his belt with the scouts. Unfortunately, he still had a lot to learn.

"You were seen," Torvald wispered in a voice akin to boulders grinding together.

Edvin jumped, swinging his body around to face Torvald's position while simultaneously bringing his bolt pistol to bear. Seeing a pair of golden eyes dimly glowing at him from out of the shadows, Edvin released a breath he hadnt realized he had been holding and lowered his pistol, settling into a crouch next to his pack leader.

"Only because the flare caught me in the open," he countered, "and no harm was done."

Torvald simply growled deep and low in his throat and Edvin took the hint, beginning to pull charges from his satchel as he set to work rigging the trench to collapse in on itself.

 

The others began to emerge from the shadows around him by this time, all of them cloaked in pelts hung with various elements from the landscape; wire, timber, and various metal piping, as well as copious amounts of the local mud caked into the pelt hair. Sjurd arrived in tandem with Gudmund, the former with his flamer slung low under his cloak with the pilot light doused, Gudmund with his shotgun held at the ready sweeping both ends of the trench line before they both set up sation near the T-junction leading back towards the command trenches leading to the city. Mikkel appeared as if a manifestation of the night, long black braided locks hiding his face from the light of the moons as he appered over the machine gun nest, plasma pistol cold and dark in his holster. The stealth of this stage of the mission meant that he went with his knife only. No sense in blasting small super novas all over the place if he wished to remain unseen. And remain unseen and unheard was Mikkel's specialty. An unfortunate encounter with an ork's stubber shell across his throat meant that Mikkel would never speak a word again.

The only man not to make a showing was Aravind, but Torvald knew that he was out there somewhere, whatever would be the most advantagous position to place himself and his sniper rifle. Now that they were all gathered, Torvald motioned the present members of the squad around Sjurd and Gudmund so that they could maintain covering positions while he grumbled instructions for the next stage of the mission. Not that he needed to, every man was as aware of what to do, but considering they had narrowly avoided one foul-up, he wasn't taking chances.

 

The section of the trench works they currently occupied was one in and endless strech of firing trenches, set out in T-formations from the main trench works that were set fifteen meters down the trench line that his brothers were now standing guard around. The main trench ran in a zig-zagged pattern unbroken for almost five thousand kilometers through the center of the main landmass. Situated roughly two kilometers behind the main trench was the town of Narik, and in the central plaza was their main target: the PDF artillery ranged to meet anything coming across the no-man's land in a thirty kilometer strech of the line with a veritable sheet of high explosive steel. Nothing, not even superheavy tanks or titans, could survive the punishment that would be rained down upon them.

The plan was to push forward as quickly as possible to the town to incapacitate the artillery so the main Space Wolf force could cross the trench line and create a hole that the rest of the Imperial forces could finally push through. After they had silenced the big guns, they were to assist the main push in whatever way they could. Much depended on the the success of these scouts. The mobilization of an entire Space Wolf great company, an entire division of tanks and accompanying infantry, as well as a small scout titan force, consisting of a pair of reavers and four warhounds were poised to strike at this small section of the line, in an attempt to sweep both east and west, unravelling the PDF positions. If all goes well, the war would be over in weeks, instead of months. If not, the losses would be grevious enough to keep the slaughter going for decades to come. That is, of course, if the Inquisition didnt just step in and virus bomb the planet.

 

Torvald looked down at the chronometer embedded in the ceramite plate around his wrist. They had roughly 4 hours of darkness left, and the main offensive was set to proceed at first light. It was time to move. He activated the comm and spoke to the rest of the squad.

"Move out on my signal. Stay out of the trench works, stay out of sight. Once we clear the main trench system we will make best possible speed to the first outlaying buildings of Narik. No bodies."

With that he pulled himself low out of the firing trench and wrapped his cloak around him, becoming one with the scenery. After a brief glance around himself to make sure there was no immediate threat, he motioned the rest of the wolves to move out. With a flurry of quick movements, they were gone as soon as they hit the broken landscape. Even Torvalds enhanced eyesight couldn't pick them out from the rubble. He allowed himself a brief lopsided grin as he bellied himself back towards the main trench.

 

This was what he lived for. After two and a half centuries of service to the Great Wolf and the God Emperor of Mankind, he still thrived on the adrenaline rush of combat. He enjoyed working alone, or with his small pack of brothers, operating ahead of the main force, outnumbered ten thousand to one, and operating on the keenest edge of perfection. The smallest fault could lead to the death of himself and his pack. And it was when he was operating on that balance when he felt most alive. His sences went hyper alert, straining at the smallest stimulus and feeding it into his methodical mind. In the low light, he was still able to make out movement up and down the main trench. He could smell the rancid smell of sweat and grime encrusted bodies from beneath the greatcoats that the PDF wore to fend off the cold. He could feel the icy touch of the night against his skin. Nothing made him feel more alive...

 

With an effort he pulled himself back to the task at hand. With patience born from a hundred battlefields and a thousand missions, he waited until the sentries pacing back and forth along the main trench both rounded a corner of the zig-zag pattern and flowed soundlessly to the floor of the trench. With a couple of swift strides, he had crossed the wide furrow and was over the other side, moments before the next sentries had crossed into the section. Too easy, he thought to himself. Months of inactivity in this section of the line had lulled the defenders into a false sense of security. That would all change in a few hours time. With only mortar pits and supply trenches between himself and his destination, he was able to pick up the pace, darting and slithering from cover to cover, making up ground almost as quickly as a normal man could jog, but silent as an assasin.

 

++++++++

 

They wolves had come together silently in the shattered remains of a small shop. Not much of the city had escaped some sort of bombardment or air strike in the years of war that has ravaged the surface of the planet for dozens of kilometers around the main trenchworks. As Torvald glanced about and saw the last of the pack filtering in, lacking as always the presence of Aravind, he motioned them to move out further into the city. They only had slightly over an hour left before their deadline, and already the sky was beginning to turn a light grey in the east. It was time for them to move, and move quickly.

 

The scouts melted from shadow to shadow, building to building in a staggered line, always giving eachother cover around each corner and alleyway. There was something along the lines of ten thousand infantry and armored personell garrisoned in the city, and it would only be a matter of time before they started to encounter the enemy. While stealth was still paramount to the success of the mission, the pressure of time was starting to weigh heavy on the pack.

 

As they pushed deeper into the city, they began to see signs of the occupying force. The flickering lights of small stoves and lumination globes bobbed in the windows of a row of shattered hab blocks on the road to the scouts left flank. They made to avoid it by moving from ruin to ruin along the stretch of shops that ran parallel to the habs. Several times they had to pause to allow a small squad of troops to walk past, chattering amongst themselves or yawning against the effects of a long night on patrol. Not far ahead, Torvald could see the road opening up into a broad plaza and he knew that the main objective was close. He motioned them into a large store front and they moved into the cover of the deep shadows.

 

Allowing himself a glimpse outside, he drew a sharp breath as he saw just how big the artillery park was. The main plaza stretched for almost a kilometer and a half to either side, opening itself into a large square parade ground. Spaced out within this space were hundreds of artillery pieces, ranging from heavy medusa mortars, the enormous bulk of earth shakers, dozens of locally manufactured pieces, and even a manticore or two in the mix. The raised barrells of so many big guns brough visions of the forest beyond the trench lines to his mind. Taking this many guns down would be no easy task. He turned back to the squad to formulate a plan when he froze mid movement.

 

A squad of patrolling troopers had come up from behind their position and had come to a stop on the road just behind the south wall of the shop. Motioning for silence, Torvald drew his long knife from the scabbard by his side and held it behind his back, masking the gleam of the blade from sight. He looked around and saw the rest of the pack follow suit. He thought better of using the power axe strapped to his back, the glow from the activated weapon would be too much of a giveaway and it would be too unwieldy in such close confines. Just as he feared, the troopers outside chatted amongst themselves as they entered the building, sleep in their eyes and speach slurred by long hours awake. About a full squad filed into the room and sat themselves around the center of the room, while in the darkest corners of the shop, the wolves pulled themselves as far as they could into the recesses, making themselves as small as possible.

The troopers were obviously trying to find a place to sleep for the night, pulling off thier packs and stuffing them behind their heads as they lounged about the floor. Torvald's eyes flashed as he saw one trooper reach into his pack and pull out a compact stove. The dark was the wolves' only ally. As soon as that stove was lit, they would be found. Cursing under his breath, Torvald raised his hand ever so slowly to his ear, trying not to draw attention to himself with sudden movement. Just as the man was struggling with the ignition switch on his stove, he clicked his earbead once. Go.

 

In one lightning swift movement, Torvald burst out from his alcove by the window and in one fluid strike had punched his monomolecular-edged blade straight through the skull of the trooper manning the stove. With a twitch and a grunt, the man died still upon his blade. At least, he thought, we still have the dark.

The other wolves had all moved from cover at the same time as him, and all had taken out a PDF trooper in the first seconds of the encounter. Sjurd had stepped up behind a man leaning against the pillar he had been hiding behind, slitting his throat before rolling over the ground between him and the first reclinging soldier, plunging his knife straight into the open mouth of the surprised soldier underneath him. Gudmund eschewed his knift and simply collapsed the skull of the trooper nearest him with the stock of his shotgun. Edvin dove from his place by the east window and simply launched himself into the greatest concentration of troopers, surprised shouts cut short by strangled gurgles as flashes of bright steel cut man after man down. Torvald didnt know which shadow Mikkal stepped out from, but suddenly he was in front of a trooper who was raising his lasgun in defense, pushing the weapon down and to the side as he punched his knife up through the trooper's lower jaw and into his brainpan. In the swirrling melee, one trooper tried to make a crawling break for it, not getting any farther than the nearest window when, with a small plink of glass, Aravind made himself known as a sniper bullet turned the trooper's head into a fine red paste on the floor. In seconds it was over.

 

The wolves stood silently, almost willing any of the corpses to move, but none did. It was hardly a workout, but it was a nice change of pace. Finally, after hours of hugging the shadows, they had been able to exact some small measure of the Emperor's vengeance upon the enemy. Edvin stood panting over the pile of corpses around him, drenched in blood. Sjurd strode over to place a restraining hand on the young wolf's shoulder, but the old wolf withdrew it as Edvin flashed him a look of blind malice.

"Easy, pup," Torvald growled, using his golden eyes to send Edvin a withering look. With a shudder and a blink, the rage had passed from Edvin. He nodded his appreciation and started hauling the corpses into a small supply closet in the back of the shop. Gudmund moved to assist the young wolf, as Mikkal once more disappered into the deep shadows in a ruined end of the storefront. Sjurd moved over to the opposite end of the shop to keep watch.

Reaching up to his ear bead, Torvald opened the squad comm. "Aravind, I need your eyes. We have to find a way to silence these guns, and we need it now."

 

 

+++++

 

Torvald remained in a half croutch, studying the lay out of the plaza in front of him while Aravind outlined what he could see from his vantage point in the ruined remains of a bell towers a few hundred yards further east of them. It seemed that the forest of artillery was divided out into two pairs of gun lines, stretching all the way down the length of the plaza. Each of the pairs, both aligned east to west, and one sitting just behind the other, were essentially independent artillery batteries. Through the center of each line was interlocking set of conveyors that was able to feed each artillery piece specifically needed ammo from the main magazine buried somewhere in the depths under their feet. It was an efficient way to ensure that the main ammunition cache would be protected, while each of the hungry guns wouldnt go without a steady stream of ammunition. This also compounded Torvald's problem. How was he, with a handful of melta charges between his men, supposed to incapacitate several hundred field pieces staggered into two independent batteries? The answer hit him like the fist of Russ when Aravind finished his assesment with the last piece of information: the fuel dumps. Situated on either end of the lines, inbetween the batteries, were a pair of massive reinforced fuel silos, rimmed with several fuel tankers each.

 

The batteries were not comprised entirely of fixed artilery pieces. In fact, the fluid nature of the war up until it became a protracted trench fight, meant that most of the rebel PDF artillery was fixed into a self propelled chasis. For this reason, it was not an uncommon sight along the main trench lines to see massive fuel depots. While they might seem like prime targets, the silos and bunker systems into which the promethium was stored were reinforced to the point where they could take a direct orbital lance strike and still come out relatively intact. Fuel was the lifeblood of the rebel armor, but here Torvald was determined to burn these heretics to ash with it. A grin split his cragged features as he drew the scouts up around him, opening the squad comm for Aravind's benefit.

 

"I want us to split into two teams, one for each of the promethium dumps. Gudmund, Sjurd and Edvin, I want you on the nearest one, roughly two hundred meters straight down the main boulevard here," he said, pointing down the avenue running straight from the shop front. "Mikkel and I will make our way to the far end. Aravind, we wont have time for stealth, so I want fire support on us if we meet any resistance."

"Aye Brother," came the wispered reply.

Gudmund, the senior most wolf in the pac behind Torvald, creased his brow as he looked down the avenue. "How are we supposed to take out those silos?" he asked, voicing the underlying question on the minds of every member of the pack. He glanced over at Edvin, whose scent gave away his carefully hidden glee at the thought of a little demolitions work. "I dont think even Edvin could find a weak enough spot in the structure for us to do any damage, least of all to the guns."

"We will be leaving the silos alone," Torvald continued, the grin returning to his face. "Locate and commendeer any available tankers at the refuling stations. We're going to use the Selsan's inginuity against them." As he outlined the remainder of his plan, the looks from his packmates went from skepticism to manical glee. If this worked, it would be a fine saga to tell in the great halls back on Fenris.

 

"Lets move, we are almost out of time," Torvald told his pack. Wasting no time, they gathered into thier assigned groups and ducked into the ruins around them, making for thier objectives.

 

+++++

 

Torvald ran from ruined shop to runied hab along the length of plaza, covering the distance suprisingly easily. He knew that by now, the bodies in the main trench work had to have been found. As if in answer to his musings, he could see armed patrols moving up and down the streets branching off the main roads, obviously looking for something. In the grey light of the near dawn, however, the patrols didnt have a chance of finding the wolves if they didnt want to be found. Human eye sight was at its worst in the pre-dawn and pre-dusk light, unable to fully acclimate to the half light. The wolves did not share in that weakness, able to see in any light short of pitch darkness as if it were day. The scent of so many unwashed bodies reeking of fear and anxiety did nothing to hide the approach of the patrols either.

 

He would have preferred to cut straight across the battery to make this journey as short as possible, but he knew in his heart that even against the meager loading crews manning the guns, he and Mikkel would never have made it to thier destination before being cut apart by the sheer volume of bodies. Hundreds of artillery pieces meant thousands of crew and maintainence workers. Even as it is, as he drew closer to the north east corner of the plaza, he was having a harder time keeping out of sight. Mikkel, as always, was no where to be seen, slinking from one shadow to another, silent as death. Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, they had made it to the corner and turned south towards thier objective. Already he could see the massively tall, flat topped cylinder that stored the vast sums of promethium. Arrayed around it in a semi circle of twisted piping and release valves, hissing coolant into the early morning air, were series of pumping stations, each with a tanker standing at the ready.

 

Torvald assessed the situation quickly in his mind and come to the conclusion that it was time to deal with the rebels in a more direct manner. He could make out roughly two dozen workers manning the rigging of the pumping stations. Milling about with them were the drivers of the massive tanker trucks. Each of the enormous T-16 tankers had thier engines cold. There had been no action in this theater of the front for several months, and the need for continuous refueling had lulled. Yet again, however, this also made for idle, complacent soldiers.

 

Torvald slipped from the shadows, swifly and silently making his way across the open ground between the ruins and the station, drawing his power axe from across his back. Looking to his right, he saw Mikkel appear out of the ruins and move into position next to him. He had drawn his knife, keeping the plasma pistol wisely stowed in it's holster. Firing off super heated blasts of plasma was not such a good idea when one is surrounded by the most flamable substance in the Imperium of man. Torvald drew his knife as well and tossed it to Mikkel mid-stride before drawing his bolt pistol, making sure the safety was firmly in the ON position. They hugged the cover of one of the tankers, keeping it's bulk between themselves and the idly chatting crew members. Finally, rounding the corner, they struck.

 

The crew of the pump station had whiled away the long night hours trying to take what valubles they could from the tanker crews, setting up several rigged games of cards and dice on top of a collection of overturned crates. The night had indeed gone poorly for the tankers, and things were starting to get heated between the two crews with accusations, entirely true of course, of fixed games. The pump station crew, to save face, feigned ignorance and came back with insults of sore losing. The situation was quickly melting out of control, and was fuled by one tanker in particular, a massive brute with black electoos snaking down both of his arms, each as thick as a normal man's thigh.

"You best be givin us back our money you Emperor-loving fragging sons of whores! You don't want me to come over there and-" The mans rant was cut short as a sniper bullet found his left temple, spraying those of his comrades unfortunate enough to be standing to his right with bits of his skull and brain matter. Perhaps if he still had the capacity, he would have appreciated the marksmanship demonstrated by the 1200 meter shot to end his life.

 

Torvald saw the big man go down in a heap just as he and Mikkel struck with eye blurring speed. Aravind had taken out the biggest threat in the group, and Torvald tore into the remaining tankers with glee, smashing back and forth with his bolt pistol, caving skulls and chests in with minimal ease. The crackling blue headed power axe in his other hand bisected men as if they werent there, leaving them screaming, falling to their knees in an effort to hold in steaming loops of half-cooked intestines or clutching severed stumps of limbs. With his blood up, Torvald howled his pleasure and set himself into the task of slaughtering every man in sight. Most of the tankers had barely time to relieve thier bladders and attemp to run from the blood soaked daemon cutting them literally to pieces. The ones that did try to run found that they were unable to outpace the Emperor's finest.

 

Mikkel had bypassed the group of tankers by slitting the hamstrings of one and using him as a springboard to vault himself into the pump station crew. As silent as death itself, he landed with both daggers held like wings to his sides, decapitating the men to either side of him with consummate ease as he landed on the chest of another, flatting him out with a bone crunching thud. Raising himself up, gore dripping from the combat knives to either side of him, Mikkel looked at the frozen faces staring at him with a harsh glare before he whirled around faster than a normal human's eye could track, tearing apart the heretics before most had even recovered from seeing thier comrades beheaded. It only took him a matter of moments.

 

Torvald had taken a moment to appreciate the carnage that Mikkel reaped around him. Suddenly, he realized that one of the tanker crew, off to relieve himself before the fight had broken out, rounded the corner of one of the tankers and stared at the pair of blood-soaked wolves with wide eyes horror. The man stumbled back behind the tanker and did his best to run, tripping over his own feet in his terror, crying out at the top of his lungs for help. Torvald calmly rounded the frame of the tanker, thumbed off the saftey catch on his pistol, and planted a bolt round squarely between the man's shoulders, whos shrieks for assistance cut out as his chest cavity blew itself out onto the pavement in front of him. He took two more stuttering steps before he collapsed. Unfortunately for Torvald, he had lasted long to raise the alarm. Shouts were raised along the avenue on either side of them, and he could see movement in both of the artillery batteries, a hundred meters from him in either direction.

 

"Mikkel, take that one!" Torvald shouted, pointing to a tanker resting low on its axels, loaded up with several thousand gallons of supercooled promethium. He selected one for himself and set off at a dead sprint to reach the cab. As he rounded the engine block, he nearly walked over a small patrol coming to investigate the sounds of fighting. He raised his bolt pistol and loosed off a quick burst, the rounds punching through the bodies in front before detonating and shredding those in back in a hail of shrapnel. All but one of the squad collapsed mid stride, and Torvald simply headbutted the last man, caving his face back in on itself in a spray of bone and blood. He stepped over the bodies and hauled himself up the stair ladder to the door of the cab, pulling himself inside, starting the massive machine. Looking across the pump station, he could see Mikkel had already started moving his tanker off towards the southern most battery. Pulling a micro grenade from his belt, he set the timer for it's maximum fuse and lobbed it out the window of the cab. He slipped the tanker into reverse and couldnt help the grin that split his face, unnaturally long white teeth standing out in stark contrast to the gorey mess that caked his long hair and bushy eyebrows. As the grenade detonated, enhanced by the now uncooled and free flowing promethium, the pumping station vapourized in a massive fireball that light up the plaza in an early dawn. Pulling into position behind Mikkel's tanker, Torvald couldnt help but appreciate his own handywork as streams of bodies ran towards the raging inferno, leaving the two wolves unimpeded as they pushed thier tankers towards the southern battery.

 

+++++++

 

 

Torvald slipped the tanker into park as they reached the end of the line of artillery, a pair of massive earthshaker cannons rising up on either side of him. The tanker was nuzzled up next to the massive conveyor system that rose like a steel jungle between the guns, stretching off into the distance between the upraised barrels of artillery on either side. It reminded Torvald distantly of an honorguard. He pushed the thought out of his mind as he lowered himself out of the cab.

 

The crew from the earthshaker nearest him was already walking up towards the tanker, confused looks on thier faces. They were a fixed platform, without need of any fuel to power the massive gun. The crew leader had just reached the doorway when Torvald stepped out, still splattered from head to toe in blood. The man stopped, unable to find any words to say as his crew bunched up behind him, staggering to a halt. Torvald simply pulled out his pistol and gunned the men down where they stood, barely sparing a thought for those who had turned their backs on the Emperor's light.

 

He walked down to the side of the tanker until he came to the hose assembly, easily drawing out the heavy gague hose that was wrapped around a drum in the side of the tanker. Cranking the valve over to the open position, he strode back towards the conveyor assembly and placed the hose into the deep trench that the lattice work of metal was supported in. He opened the catch on the valve and stood back to wait. Mikkel approached from his right and copied his movements exactly. The easy work done, all they could do now was wait.

 

Torvald reached up and opened the vox bead in his ear.

"Gudmund, report."

"In position, brother. Our tankers are nearly dry. Experiencing only light resistance," he replied. Torvald could hear the strangled cries of Selsans in the background. The fighting would be hand to hand and fierce. The PDF couldnt risk detonating that much promethium so near the artilery pieces. In such a situation, there would be little the soldiers could do to stop the wolves.

 

Suddenly, Torvalds comm clicked to life again and Aravind's whisper of a voice could be heard. "Brother, the assault has begun"

 

+++++

 

From high up in his belltower, Aravind had an unequaled view of the city and the surrounding area. With the plaza spread out below him, he looked back out to the north of the city and watched as the grey light of dawn blossomed into a series of staggering explosions as the Imperial lines advanced.

 

Imperial tanks, mostly Leman Russ battle tanks with a few exotic variancies thrown in, led the main assault, creeping out of the treeline into no-man's land with sponsons blazing and main cannons spewing death. They took up positions in the deep craters left by years of shelling and made themselves as small of targets as possible, while keeping range of the trench lines so they could bombard the troops within. The PDF were not without teeth, however, and soon a hailstorm of anti-tank fire, from hand held missiles to high powered lascannons struck back at the tanks, finding kinks in the armor and sending turrets high into the night air on plumes of superheated air as tank magazines cooked off from the direct hits.

 

Suddenly, the forest itself seemed to step out onto the battlefield, and from the shimmer of blue haze obscuring his view, Aravind knew that the Titans had arrived.

 

A pair of Reaver titans lowered their guns towards the trenchlines, striding out into the hail of missiles which absorbed impotently into the void shields. With blinding flashes of light, the turbo laser batteries mounted on thier arms vaporized entire stretches of trench line and melted the earth and bodies together into a super heated glass. Even from this distance, Aravind could hear the crack of superheated air like a lightning strike. The rumble shook dust from the ruins around him.

 

Wheeling out between the legs of the reavers, Aravind could see hunched back shapes that strutted out into the battle field with amazing speed. He felt his heart leap into his throat at the sight. Warhound titans. If there was anything in the galaxy that could make Aravind reconsider becoming a Space Wolf, it would have been to be the princepts of a Warhound. It would be tantamount to feeling what it would be like to be Russ himself. Striding over a battlefield, the soul of the hound inside of you, merging with who you were, and sending entire companies of the enemy to their death with a single thought. It was enough to send even the cold, steady heart beat of Aravind into a stacatto.

 

Suddenly, Aravind was thrown out of his revierie by a sharp crack on the night wind. The anti-tank crews of the PDF had found the range on one of the Warhounds, and with a coordinated strike of lascannons had stripped the mighty warmachine of its voids and pierced the containment vesself of the plasma reactor. With twists of uncontained power coursing around its machine body like lightning, the Warhound stumbled, then fell chin first into the ground, before erupting into a massive blue fireball that scoured the Imperial lines around it, melting tanks where they stood and lighting up the grey sky for miles around.

 

Finally, as Aravind watched PDF troopers and tanks rushing at full speed along the streeds of Ravik towards the fight, he was able to see the familiar ice blue shapes of Space Wolf armor emerge from the treeline. With a growl audibel from kilometers away, the Space Wolves advanced into the teeth of the enemy, several Land Raiders and a score of rhino's rushing towards the PDF trench lines.

 

Reaching up, Aravind signaled to Torvald, "the Wolves are coming brother."

 

+++++

 

"Now, Edvin," Torvald signaled the young wolf scout. While he couldn't see the result, Torvald knew that the section of trench line that the scouts had infiltrated would erupt into flame and dirt as the carefully concealed charges went off. Serving several purposes, not only would this bury any PDF manning the trench along that line, it would also collapse the trench works in upon themselves, leveling the ground and making a clear beach head for the wolves to drive thier armor across, straight into the heart of the Selsan resisitance.

 

With the first part of the mission completed, Torvald looked down into the conveyor system, watching the liquid promethium wash down into the distance. The heady smell of promethium gas permeated the air around him, and Torvald had difficulty keeping his senses from overwhelming him. It wouldnt be much longer now, and the final stage of the plan would be ready.

 

Without warning, the booming report of heavy artillery cracked through the night air. Torvald's head snapped up as he saw smoke billowing from further down the battery line. The first report was rapidly followed by a dozen more as cannon shot ranged out from the line. The conveyor system came to life as it started feeding shells up and down the battery line. As Torvald watched, each cannon and missile system in the battery came to life and hurled death towards the Imperial lines. Finally, with a thunderous report, the pair of big guns closest to Torvald and Mikkel blasted into the night air, the proximity to the source of the promethium leak too much for physics to deny, and the world around Torvald erupted into a firey hell.

 

The air burst of vapour promethium was enough to singe the hair off of his wolf pelt and head, blasting him back a dozen meters into the hood of the tanker. Shaking his head, he saw Mikkel pick himself up from the ground, several meters back, smoking from any exposed area. With an effort, Torvald stood up and surveyed the scene around him. The artillery shots had ignited the pit of promethium pouring down the length of the conveyor away from the pair of wolf scouts. As long as the pressure in the hoses kept up, the narrow lake of fire would continue to move away from them, and the volitile pair of tankers at the end of the trench. However, with the conveyor working, it was only a matter of time before live ammunition started pouring from the underground magazine.

 

Even as he thought this, a large compartment opened up a few dozen meters down the line from Torvald and a new series of lifting conveyors burst into life, lifting a heavy siege shell from the magazine below. With a sudden realization, Torvald felt something that very few space marines ever felt. Fear.

 

"Get out of here, now! By the Emperor's holy buttocks, move Space Wolves!" he bellowed into the comm. Following his own advice, he sprinted down the avenue that he and Mikkal had come by. They met several squads of men rushing the opposite way, but they simply bowled their way through them, leaving a couple of micro grenades in their wake to discourage any pursuit, they ran just ahead of the shockwaves the small divices left after blowing a few squads of men to bits.

 

Back at the conveyor line, as the system efficiently fed shell after shell to the awaiting artillery, which continued to pound the oncoming Imperial forces relentlessly, the open hatches down into the magazine allowed for the burning promethium to pour, thousands of gallons per second along the length of the trench, directly down into the underground storage facility. The fire-fighting systems installed could only hold off the raging inferno pouring down from above for a short time, the outcome was inevitable.

 

As Torvald and Mikkel continued their headlong flight down the streets of Ravik, they ran into a full company of PDF making thier way the opposite direction towards the front line. The officer in charge actually had the capacity to order his troops into a firing line as the wolves barreled down on them.

"If you value your lives, I suggest running!" he bellowed at them.

As one, the company looked back towards the artillery park. Seeing the white hot flames licking up and down the conveyor line, they all came to the same conclusion as the wolves.

 

Run.

 

Suddenly, in a flash of light that rivaled the atomics of old, the magazine cooked off.

 

The blastwave leveled every building for hundreds of meters around the central plaza of the city, and the fireball could be seen from the orbiting Imperial surveilance craft from space. With a deafening shatter, tens of thousands of rounds of heavy calibur shells erupted at once, blowing the stratta of central Ravik into a low orbit for a short period of time. Reports would later say that dibris from the blast was found as far away as the Parisian Islands, some 6,000 miles away.

 

Torvald and Mikkel, barely a kilometer from the blast, were sent head over heels through the air for a hundred meters, smashing painfully trough the walls of the warehouse at the end of the road they had been running along. Only the enchanced survivability of the Emperor's Finest and the walls of the building allowing them to weather the intense heat and crushing blast wave that washed over them from the massive explosion. The company of men that had run along side the space wolves were a series of broken corpses littering the walls and pavement of the street.

 

With the heart of the city literally blown out from under them, the PDF defending Ravik were torn apart by the combined efforts of the Space Wolves, the Legio Titanicus, and the 192nd Cadian Mechanized Division.

 

 

End Chapter 1, chapter 2 coming soon to a thread near you!

[Focslain]

I have quite a few stories scattered across the net and at home. Here is one I'm proud of that was done at the end of the Medusa V campaign.

 

At the Wolftime

 

The blast rocked the bunker, releasing more dust and debris from the ceiling. The vox speakers sounded the evacuation loudly for the hundredth time. Hadwin wondered if it was a recording or some stupid adept that should have left himself long ago. The last of the command bunker adepts gathered the vital maps and records of the final battles, information they deemed vital for future study by their superiors, some of which left the planet days ago. “Time to go, now!” Hadwin yelled at the scurrying humans. A high-pitched howl sounded the incoming shell, the door barely closed as the round penetrated the bunker completed and vaporized the command room, fire from the explosion blasted the door into the hall crushing an adept into paste against the wall. Hadwin continued to herd the remaining humans forward and into the open air.

 

Outside a fierce battle raged, as the traitor forces of Chaos fought against the last remaining elements of the Imperium, fighting a desperate battle to keep the transports grounded. They would sacrifice themselves and the loyalist forces to the warp as the Rapidity swallowed the planet whole. Hadwin rushed forward calling on his fellow wolves from their firing position and into the enemy lines. With a howl on his lips and Wolfstorm in his hand, he carved a bloody path through the traitor guard and cultists. His fellow wolves, a squad of grey hunters, pumped bolter shells into the guards’ position just before the assault. The roar of the transports covered the sounds of battle as they lifted off and soared into the sky. The last transport left, only a platoon of loyal guardsmen, Hadwin and his grey hunters remained. In a slight lull in the battle as the last transport flew off the traitors turned to the remaining loyalist, for them they wanted the honour and the pleasure of killing the warriors of the corpse god before the warp arrived to take them all.

 

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Mandek asked the marine pilot. “The engines are already at full and the spirits are working harder then normal.” Mandek growled, “What about the afterburners?” They had used them to quicken their arrival to VanGoad’s base earlier in the campaign. The pilot shook his head, “Negative, if we use those now we won’t have enough fuel to escape the planet, even now we will only have enough to stay on the pick-up for less then two minutes.” Mandek growled again and tested the vox once more, the approaching warp was interfering with long range communications. +Target zone in 10 minutes my lord+ the pilot reported, as if to try and calm his nerves.

 

+St. Krkk. th, p .Bzzz. thr .shrekk. ites .Krkk+ the message came over Hadwin’s micro-vox as he cleaved another traitor in two. The warp was disrupting all but short-range comms, not that he cared, this was his last stand, killing these traitorous scums and sending them to the abyss. A dull roar started to increase in pitch and volume and then the message became clear.

 

+Stormtooth, pick-up in 60 seconds, pull back now!+ the familiar and gruff voice of his mentor Mandek sounded over the vox and he understood, the order to rejoin the guard position was relayed and the wolves poured bolter fire into the gathering horde. Fire flowed from the thunderhawk’s weapons, cutting a path around the guard position. The thunderhawk hovered above the loyalist, its ramp and doors opened, from the front Brother Alvis’ assault cannon roared to life shredding flesh and splintering bone as he fired into the fleshy horde. From door positions long fangs fired off heavy bolters, pushing the traitors back. Wounded guardsmen and grey hunters ran up the ramp passed and under the massive dreadnaught. Hadwin was about to join them when a large shell landed under the Thunderhawk’s tail, sending the gunship lurching forward, it took all the pilot’s luck and skill to keep the massive craft from crashing into the ground. From the door Mandek stretched out his arm, “Hadwin, we have to leave now!”

 

Hadwin’s attention was elsewhere as the bulk of the attacker came into view, a chaos defiler. The horde cheered as the mechanical creature slowly clamored closer to the last of the loyalist transports. Hadwin looked at his mentor and the order was given, no words, just understanding. From behind Mandek, just before the door was closed one of the long fangs tossed something at Hadwin, “Here my lord, see you at the Wolftime.” Hadwin dropped his pistol and caught the object, a missile launcher. He smiled and called out to the Thunderhawk, “At the Wolftime!” he slung the launcher onto his shoulder and pulled the trigger, the already loaded krak missile flew right down the barrel of the cannon on the monstrosity’s chest, detonating the round and blowing the machine to hundreds of metal pieces. He dropped the launcher and picked up his pistol. Around him the hordes of chaos surrounded him, their mouths spit venomous words and curses at him, but he cared not, he was marine, better, he was a warrior in the most legendary chapter of the Imperium. He lived and died at the Emperor’s whim, his place was cleansing His soil of the heretics and cleanse he shall.

 

He raised his weapons and charged into horde, “For the Emperor, For Russ!” his howl was heard across the landing field, the cultists’ resolve broke as the old wolf crushed them under his cermite boots. Their wails reached a fevered pitch as the Rapidity finally started to consume the planet, the warp rolled out of the sky and poured forth it daemonic denizens. Hadwin raised his weapons high and received the charge as the warp swallowed him whole, his howl reverberating though the warp.

[hendrik]

by jorgen2720, who gave me premission to post this

 

Raynar gripped the harness that was strapped over his chest, his face pale. All around him his fellow blood claws shared the same expressions. Space Wolves were not built for space travel. There was a muffled hiss from behind him, the release of the hull seal, and then drop pod was spiraling through space towards the planet below. All around them was darkness, the occasional flash of lasers punctuating the cold black of space. As the pod drifted ever closer to the planet, Raynar closed his eyes and muttered a silent prayer. Then the drop pod hit the atmosphere.

 

Suddenly, the slow, almost leisurely drift of the pod turned into a steep, vertical drop. Raynar bit down until he tasted the coppery flavour of blood in his mouth as the drop pod screamed through the air, the atmosphere burning up around it from the heat of re-entry. Then the machine-spirit within began to do its work, and the speed of the pod began to bleed off in small fractions until Raynar was no longer pressed back into the gravcouch. At last, the pod impacted, sending up rubble all around it. Raynar�s hand flew to his harness, his finely tuned instincts springing him into action. Free of the constricting material, Raynar drew his chainsword as the ramps lowered. " Forward, brothers!!! Forward!!!"

 

The old wolf advanced out of the ruins of the manufactorum as battle blazed all around him. His wolf guard followed close behind as they advanced forward, weapons blazing. A group of cultists charged at them out of the ruins, but were cut down by Frejyr's assault cannon before they got near. His forces were pushing those of the despoiler's back, their berzerkers no match for the fury of the blood claws, their plague marines gunned down by the fire from his grey hunters. But the despoiler's forces seemed endless... And there was no sign that they would run out anytime soon.

 

Raynar grunted as an armoured boot slammed into his chest, forcing him backwards. Slipping on the blood soaked rubble beneath his feet, Raynar pitched over backwards as a huge axe parted the air where his head had been moments ago. Hitting the ground hard, Raynar barely had time to roll away before the next sweep of the axe slammed into the ground. Instinct taking over, he kicked out and vaulted upright, bringing his chainsword up to deflect the next blow of his enemy. Sliding his sword across his enemy's blade, Raynar stepped into his guard and, in the blink of an eye, drew his bolt pistol and emptied the whole clip into the khornate warriors helmet. For a moment it seemed not enough - the bezerker still stood upright, shaking with a hunger for blood. Then it pitched over, falling to the ground. For a moment all was silent as the blood claws finished off the remainder of the berzerkers.

 

"Good fight, eh?" Raynar looked up and saw his wolf guard leader, Lief, smiling at him.

"Pssh," replied Raynar. "Too easy."

 

Just as Lief was about to reply, there was a loud, sharp crack from behind them, and Raynar felt the psychic backwash flow over him. Turning, they saw marines dressed in ornate gold and blue armor materialize seemingly out of nowhere.

 

"By Russ." Whispered Lief. "Thousand Sons. Sorcery!" Then all hell broke loose.