Through smoke and fire, through shot and shell

[Ufthak]

Hey guys!

 

Having read most of the Horus Heres series up to now (currently still missing Fallen Angels, Tales of Heresy and A Thousand Sons) I felt like writing a short story myself. Since I am an Imperial Fist fan myself, and since they haven't featured much in the series as yet, I thought I'd write a story about them in the style of the Horus Heresy series.

The story is set during the Great Crusade. Enjoy, and don't be too scathing with your comments, I'm just an amateur writer, ok? ;)

 

 

 

 

Through smoke and fire, through shot and shell

 

 

Dramatis Personae:

 

 

The Imperial Fists Astartes Legion:

 

Pavlos Mayer - Captain, 2^nd Company, 1^st “Templar” Grand Company

 

Theoderic - Sergeant, Pugnus Tactical Squad

 

Hanas “Church” Churchendal - Senior Battle-Brother, Pugnus Tactical Squad

 

Markos Demmerung - Sergeant, Imbard Devastator Squad

 

Srabion - Battle-Brother, Imbard Devastator Squad

 

Loric Amboss - Sergeant, Anvil Terminator Squad

 

Lars von Bingen - Scout-Sergeant, master sniper

 

Drax - Scout, sniper-eye

 

Thymias - Scout, sniper-guard

 

Maric - Senior Battle-Brother/team leader, Recon Squad

 

Ancient Hohenstaufen - Dreadnought, Company Aquilifer

 

 

 

The Raven Guard Astartes Legion:

 

Simonides Patrax - Sergeant, Talon Assault Squad, 4^th Company

 

 

 

Imperial Navy:

 

Laarom Leuwen - Ship-Captain, Mors cum Surriso

 

 

Imperial Army:

 

Portan Dimonovsk - Lord Commander, 219^th Expedition Fleet

 

Count Gneisenau - Chief of Staff, HQ Staff

 

Eva Montmartre - Lieutenant, Intelligence Officer, HQ Staff

 

Sho Daman - Lieutenant, 5^th Regiment, Kyrdesh Stormtroopers

 

Ulman Temne - Trooper, 5^th Regiment, Kyrdesh Stormtroopers

 

A-340586 - Sergeant, 305^th Regiment, Dyssadian Clone Troopers

 

Octavia Mbelu - Medic, 5^th Regiment, Kyrdesh Stormtroopers

 

Uas “Ren” Renditch - Assault-Havildar, Mughali Assault Battalion C78

 

 

 

Other Imperials:

 

Djatto Quatt - Spy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For Dorn and for the Emperor

 

 

 

“Transmission coming in.”

 

“Captain Mayer, Ship-Captain, Astropath Nisei, report to the conference Chamber immediately. Conference request by a First Captain Sigismund.”

 

 

 

Captain Pavlos Mayer moved down the corridors of Mors cum Surriso in a swift stride. If the oh-so-mighty-high-First Captain himself had asked for him he’d better not let him wait.

 

Mayer liked the Mors cum Surriso. It was an ancient ship, pre-dating the formation of the Imperium, but it had been built well, and still served its purpose. Ship-Captain Leuwen had told Mayer the name, Mors cum Surriso, in an ancient tongue of old Terra meant “Death with a smile”. It was a comparatively small, swift and simple craft, good for carrying small amounts of military personell and equipment – perfect for a company of Astartes.

 

And not just any company. The 2^nd Company, 1^st “Templar” Grand Company of the Imperial Fists were veterans. They were the very best the Legion had to offer, Sigismund’s own, and to denote their status, every Astartes warrior in the 1^st Grand Company wore Sigismund’s personal heraldry on their power armour shoulder pads – the black Maltese Cross on a white field with black trim. These warriors were the Elite – most had fought on countless battlefields even before the glorious Great Crusade had commenced.

 

Mayer entered the conference room, a circular chamber with a bowl-shaped holo-caster in the middle. Ship-Captain Laarom Leuwen was already present, a small man with greying hair and a hard stare, as well as Astropath Nisei, a tall, thin skeletal figure in a hooded cloak. A further astropath was hard-wired to the holo-caster, with equally skeletal limbs and greying skin, the eyelids of his blind eyes flickering, his body gently convulsing as he tapped into the Warp.

 

Now that all were present, Leuwen nodded to Astropath Nisei, who gently put a hand to the shoulder of the astropath wired to the holo-caster. The astropath moaned and convulsed, and a second later the holo-caster flickered into life. In a blue light, the 3-D image of a Astartes Captain in magnificently artificered MkIV armour formed above the bowl.

 

“Captain Mayer. Good to see you.” The First Captain’s voice was metallic and slightly distorted, but audible. Mayer, Leuwen and Nisei all made a slight bow. “We are honoured, Lord.”

 

“I will be to the point. A few hours ago, relay station A-127-32 received a distress call from the 219^th Expedition Fleet currently engaged on 219-58. It appears they are having extensive difficulties bringing the world to compliance, difficulties to the extent that the ground troops are being routed by enemy counterattacks. They did not pass any details, so my guess is someone high up in the command chain blundered. They are calling for reinforcements, particularly Astartes support. The Mors cum Surriso is nearest; if you change course within the next hours you can be there within two terran days. I am ordering your company to 219-58; your orders are to aid Lord Commander Dimonovsk in bringing the world to compliance, or failing that, saving as many ground troops as possible and stopping the rout.”

 

“Lord, what about our mission to Porosh? And might I remark that our ship also carries a squad of Raven Guard brothers who have their own Legion to rejoin?” Mayer asked.

 

“The mission on Porosh will be passed on to a contingent of Night Lords. As for the Raven Guard, you are ranking officer, and your orders are clear. So the Raven Guard will have to accompany you, whether they like it or not. Perhaps they can be of some assistance. Any further questions?”

 

“No, Lord.”

 

“Good. For the Emperor. Sigismund out.”

 

The holo-image flickered and died.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next part's still WIP...

[Ufthak]

Next part:

 

“So what makes you think my warriors will join you?” Sergeant Patrax asked in a scathingly quiet voice. His white, almost translucent skin contrasted starkly with his jet black hair and black eyes. He was clad in one of the new MkIV power amour suits that were gradually being distributed throughout the Legions. His armour was entirely black, with the exception of his arms, which were white, and his right shoulder pad, which was red.

Mayer smiled. “Because we’re going to 219-58 whether you like it or not. I’m ranking officer, and my orders are to go there. I can’t force you to help me. Of course, you can just stay on the ship and enjoy peaceful boredom while my men and I do what we’re meant to do.”

Patrax’ temple twitched ever so slightly. In a barely audible whisper, he answered. “What are your orders?”

 

The Bridge of Mors cum Surriso was quiet, the only sound being the clicking and beeping of the thousands of different apparatus being operated by navy personell and servitors. Ship-Captain Leuwen sat in his command throne, his hard face betraying nothing, though Mayer suspected Leuwen didn’t like any of the current developments. The vox crackled, and a dead, metallic female voice of one of the servitors blurted out. “Incoming data. Subject: Planet 219-58. Situation: war zone.”

“Climate in war zone?” Mayer asked.

“Climate analysis: moderate.”

“Weather conditions?”

“Weather analysis: data currently not available.”

“Radiation?”

“Radiation analysis: data fragmentary; suspected moderate to negligible.”

“Planetary supremacy?”

“Planetary supremacy: alliance of 4 local corporations.”

“Military dispositions and defences?”

“Military dispositions and defences: data currently not available.”

“Do we already have a holo-image?”

“Patching through holo-image.”

“Good.”

“Receiving transmission. Fleet command, Expedition Fleet 219.”

Mayer turned on the ship-wide vox-system. “Mayer to all Squad Leaders, meet in conference chamber ASAP.”

 

The holo-image of 219th Expedition Fleet Commander flickered and died. Mayer turned to the assembled sergeants. “So, as you heard, situation is as follows: Imperial forces embroiled in heavy trench warfare around the Capital City. Two terran weeks ago, the enemy withdrew his remaining forces to the Capital, luring Lord Commander Dimonovsk into believing the enemy was in full retreat and that victory was at hand, thereby drawing the Imperial forces into the suburbs of the City. Then, 5 terran days ago, the enemy activated a shield of unknown make or classification which literally creates a shroud over the entire war zone, distorting communications with the fleet and blinding all its sensors, so we have no accurate information on troop dispositions. The enemy also activated a large hidden defence laser, thereby stopping the Fleet from dropping into lower orbit to penetrate the shroud. Lord Commander Dimonovsk ordered the evacuation of all ground troops two days ago, but the landing sites are coming under direct attack by the enemy, and the transport ships are being shot down by the defence laser. In short: the ground troops have been encircled by the enemy and are being obliterated with no hope of fleeing the planet.”

Markos Demmerung, leader of Imbard Devastator Squad, stepped forward. “Then our objective is clear. We need to destroy the shrouding device as well as the defence laser.”

The assembled sergeants nodded their assent. Patrax stepped forward. With a voice as scathing and sharp as one his power claws, he added: “We need to make planetfall first at the landing sites in order to get an overall picture of the situation. Up here, we are blind. My suggestion is we use the inconspicuous Thunderhawks to reach the landing site, gather what intelligence we can, then decide on further course of action.”

Mayer nodded. “Agreed. But this means we need to gear up on as many weapons as possible, since we will not have a chance to return to the ship once we’re on the surface. Squad Leaders, equip your squads as best possible, take flexible weapons options and large amounts of explosives, oh, and Loric” – he turned to the leader of the terminator squad, a brutish veteran with a heavily scarred face in hulking Cataphractii Tactical Dreadnought Armour – “wake the Ancient.”

Loric Amboss grinned, his scarred mouth twisting in a strange angle as he did so. “With pleasure.”

 

 

 

 

 

What do you think so far? C&C welcomed, would really like to hear what you think of it! ;)

[Tyear]

It's pretty good, the writing is at least nice to read.

 

Even so, we could do with a fair bit of explanation about who the protagonist is. So far I've only got a name and that's it, as for the company being in war before the Great Crusade got underway means they are Terran marines?

[Ufthak]

Thanx for the comment Tyear :P The background stories to the different protagonists will be explained bit by bit as the story goes on, or at least that's the plan, hoping to get it right.

 

Anyways, here's the next part:

 

 

 

 

Leuwen and Astropath Nisei stood on a balcony overlooking the massive armoury chamber, watching the Imperial Fists and Raven Guard gear up. Simonides Patrax joined them. “Magnificent, are they not?” he asked in a barely audible whisper.

“Indeed. The absolute perfection of a killing machine, the ultimate warriors.” Leuwen answered, his gaze passing over one of Amboss’ massive terminators igniting his power claws. “But I ask myself whether that justifies arrogance.”

Patrax smiled a thin smile, gazing at the Imperial Fist Devastators checking their heavy bolters, rocket launchers and autocannons. “They are Imperial Fists” he said, as if that were an explanation.

Leuwen glanced at him with an annoyed look. “I once had the honour of carrying a company of Iron Warriors on my ship. I liked them: blunt, to the point, hard, didn’t talk much. A bit like me, really. Their commander said that if there’s one Legion amongst their brothers that they truly dislike, it’s the Imperial Fists. He said the two Legions have a hate for one another. I think he has a point.”

Patrax waited for a moment to answer. “The Iron Warriors hate the Imperial Fists, yes. But the Imperial Fists do not hate the Iron Warriors, oh no. They’ve got no hard feelings towads the Iron Warriors at all. They just know they’re better than them.”

Leuwen groaned. “Now I guess I understand the Iron Warriors.”

 

 

 

:)

[Tyear]

One small area of criticism, it's a little 'short' and while there is definitely a feeling going on, seeing the Imperial Fists and their haughty nature. It kinda lacks in terms of details, how does the armor look, do any of the leaders have specialized equipment with them. That sort of thing.

 

That said, it's still easy to read. Just.. I want more in a single post :devil:

[Ufthak]

Thanx for the comment, Tyear :D Will take your crits into account!

 

Anyways, here's the next part:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Imperial landing site

 

 

 

With a roar and a hiss the Thunderhawks touched down at the landing site. The ramps dropped down and the Astartes set foot on 219-58. Mayer gazed out over the spectacle unfolding before his eyes. Everywhere, as far as the eye could see, there was war. The landing site, situated on a raised plateau, was a mess; massive troop ships were rapidly ferrying men and material back to the fleet, and in the scramble to get on the ships masses of men were trampled underfoot. Streams of walking wounded limped toward aid stations; debris, wrecked vehicles and dead bodies littered the whole area. Hydra Flak emplacements blazed away at incoming air attacks, batteries of dug-in Basilisks added a constant barrage to the noise and the chaos. To the north lay the Capital City, high towers and spires stretching across a wide plain. A dark, streaking line snaked it’s way through the plain, and Mayer suspected it had once been a river. From the landing site all the way to the city itself there were miles and miles of trenchworks, littered with wrecked tanks and equipment. But Mayer realized that the true threat wasn’t coming from the enemy assaulting through the trench systems, but from the flanks and the rear, where strong enemy forces had achieved total encirclement of the imperial forces.

 

Mayer breathed in through the filter of the grille of his MkIV armour helm. The air smelled of ash, of fyceline, of blood, of death. The sky was black, scorched by countless columns of black smoke portuding from all over the land. Huge fires blazed where fuel depots had been set alight, bathing the dark, black land in a hellish orange light.

 

Looking around, he could see Imperial soldiers stopping and gazing in wonder at the full company of Imperial Fists disembarking from the Thunderhawks. Clad in their yellow MkII power armour, and wielding massive heavy bolters as easily as an ordinary soldier would carry an autogun, they looked awesome. The Raven Guard, in black MkII armour, wielded an array of close combat weapons, from crackling storm shields and chainswords to bolt pistols and power fists. Mayer himself, in his magnificent new MkIV armour with the helmet painted black, held aloft a long two-handed power sword which crackled with lightning as he ignited it. They were truly the embodiment of the perfect warriors. The earth shook as the huge MkIV Dreadnought, Ancient Hohenstaufen, took his position behind the command squad with a loud f-whump f-whump.

 

Mayer had planned on coming down exactly next to the Lord Commander’s command leviathan, but due to the shroud intelligence had been woefully inaccurate, and the leviathan was visible about a mile away, on its side, blazing and adding a further column of black smoke to the sky. Looking around, Mayer espied a Basilisk battery command section, dug into an earthwork and covered with camo nets. He swiftly strode over to the command section and grabbed the commander, who was busy calculating firing solutions on a data-slate, by the arm. “Soldier, give me the location of Army Command!”

 

The commander of the battery looked petrified at the sight of the massive, awesome figure of the Astartes captain. Stammering, he said: “L-last I heard, whoev-whoever survived the des-destruction of the command leviathan s-set up a temporary command post half a mile east of here, my lord!”

 

Mayer let go of the officer, and the man dropped to the ground, gasping for breath as if someone had been strangling him. “Thank you, commander. Keep working on those firing solutions, and keep up the good work.” The battery commander stared at him as though an angel had just spoken to him.

 

Mayer left the mezmerized man and returned to his company. “Patrax, Theoderic, your squads and command section, follow me. The rest of you, secure a perimeter around the Thunderhawks and do what you can to stop the rout, try to rally as many men as you can. Don’t move until you receive further orders.”

 

 

 

Considering Lord Commander Dimonovsk commanded a vast army numbering millions of soldiers, his HQ command company – or what was left of it – was a pitiful affair. Situated in a hastily-dug earthwork and protected by a couple of Hydra Flak emplacements, it looked more like a simple regimental command HQ. A number of orderlies, adjutants and aides scurried about or operated large long-range vox casters. All looked filthy and fatigued, and shouted orders into the vox-casters with hoarse voices, attempting to hold a slowly disintegrating army together. Mayer motioned for the Astartes warriors to wait outside, and for Patrax and Theoderic, his senior Sergeant and 2^nd-in-command, to follow him inside.

 

The moment the three Astartes warriors entered the command HQ everyone went quiet. “Where is Lord Commander Dimonovsk?” Mayer demanded. A tall general in filthy camouflage uniform and a blood-streaked face stepped up and said: “Greetings, my Lord. It is good to know the Astartes have arrived to support us. The Lord Commander is nowhere to be found. He survived the destruction of the leviathan, then disappeared shortly after. I fear” – look on the general’s face grew somewhat awkward and frustrated – “that he is absent without leave.”

 

“Then he will answer for it when the time comes. If the Lord Commander is absent without leave, then who is in command here?” Mayer asked.

 

“Currently, I guess I am. Count Gneisenau, Chief of Staff” the general added. “We have been doing what we can from this makeshift command HQ, but the enemy is pressing the landing site from all sides, and I fear we will be overrun within days or even hours.”

 

“Then we do not have much time. Now, listen to me very carefully, Count. I need the following as soon as you can provide it: the locations and any intel you have on this defence laser, as well as the shrouding device. I may also be needing reinforcements from Imperial Army regiments, specialist troops if you have them. I will be needing all this within an hour or so. If we can take out the shrouding device and the defence laser, the Imperial Navy can provide orbital support and safely land reinforcements.”

 

The Count stared at Mayer through worn-out eyes for a moment. Then his face broke into a smile. “You shall have whatever you need, Lord.”

 

 

 

 

:)

[Tyear]

Nothing to say really, well written. I can see it in my mind, which when you're writing or reading is definitely a good thing.

 

On to more war. And some more C&C

[Ufthak]

Next part:

 

 

 

 

“Lord, I am Lieutenant Eva Montmartre, HQ intelligence officer. Count Gneisenau has provided me and my team to update you on intel and provide whatever help we can.”

 

Mayer looked the lieutenant up and down. Clad in a long dark red army overcoat, thin, very feminine, with short-cut black hear and green eyes, in an earlier life Mayer might have called her attractive. “Thank you, lieutenant. Please show the assembled sergeants what our objectives are.”

 

Lt. Montmartre nodded to one of her aides, and a 3-D holo-image of the area flickered to life above the holo-caster.

 

“First objective: Khaman defence laser system. Location: here” an area to the north-west of the Capital City lit up in yellow, showing a large dome-shaped building with a massive potruding barrel. “Defences: extensive trenchworks and bunkers with integrated heavy weapons; at least 3 battalion-sized units of Falsinfild Corporation regulars, reinforced with a few squads of Mons Sanctus Corporation Gene-Guard and combat robots. The regulars should not be a problem for you, but the Gene-Guard are Mons Sanctus Corporation’s elite, reportedly they are genetically modified and” – she glanced around at the assembled Astartes warriors – “power-armoured. Additionally, there are two anti-aircraft emplacements, here and here.”

 

She paused for a moment to let the information sink in. Before she could continue, Sergeant Patrax stepped forward. “Captain, request honour of assaulting and incapacitating the Khaman defence laser.”

 

Mayer looked him in the eye, grinning. “Let me guess, you already have a plan.”

 

Patrax nodded. “Yes. Our Primarch teaches us to search for the enemy weak spots and then strike at the perfect moment. The two anti-aircraft emplacements are situated in such a way to take out any standard aereal attack – but if you look carefully, you’ll see there is a blind angle: straight above the defence laser dome. It is probably so well armoured that they would not expect anyone to come in a 90 degree descent. But my Talon Squad will.”

 

Mayer considered it for a moment. “What will you need?”

 

“I need a Thunderhawk, one of your Devastator Squads, and ideally, some Imperial Army support.” Patrax glanced at Lt. Montmartre. “Some airborne support.”

 

Lt. Montmartre nodded. “I’ll see what I can organize.”

 

Mayer nodded. “Good. Markos, take your Devastators and join Patrax, you’ll be under his command for this mission. Get you squads ready, time is short. Lieutenant, what about the shrouding device?”

 

Lt. Montmartre motioned to another yellow-highlighted area. “We don’t know for sure what it actually is, it could be anything. We only know the source of the shroud which is blinding the fleet above us is located in this strange temple complex, here, in the northeast of the city. There are no apparent defences, but there is a strong enemy troop presence in the area, including armour and heavy infantry. When the shroud was activated, and we pinpointed the source, we had actually devised a plan for entry: the sewer system, here. It’s about a mile to the objective, and you may have to blow a few walls to achieve entry, but it’s far less conspicuous than an all-out assault.”

 

Mayer nodded. “Theoderic, that’s your job. Pick yourself a team of twenty and get ready.” Theoderic saluted and went to pick his team. Mayer knew he could trust his senior sergeant; they had been battle-brothers for a long time, having fought in the liberation of Roma and many other battles back on Terra, many years past, clad in the old MkI “Thunder” armour. They had also known each other even before then, having grown up in Freeburg Hive in Southern Jermani, and having enlisted together to become some of the Emperor’s finest. They had fought toghether on countless battlefields, and if Mayer could trust anyone to get the job done, it was Theoderic.

 

“Lieutenant, I would be much obliged if you could provide my sergeant with Imperial Army support, preferably combat engineers and demolition specialists.”

 

“I’ll do my best, Lord. What of the rest of your company?”

 

“What of them? We’ve got a landing site to hold.”

 

 

 

Lars von Bingen knew he was the best sniper in the 1^st “Templar”, earning him the title Master Sniper. Like many of the marines in the 1^st, he was originally from Jermani, a central province of what had, many millenia ago, been known as “Europa”. He had grown up in one of the myriad of hive gangs, and had already then been praised for his marksmanship. He knew many of his brothers thought of him as a rather eccentric character who kept to himself. He had never got along with the standard sniper-techniques told in training, nor did he like the general-issue hot-shot-sniper rifles. He had always worked best with his ancient, massive, hand crafted bolt-action rifle, and always wrought each single round himself. Though he had been elevated to full battle-brother a long time ago, he had opted to stay with the Scouts, training the initiates who came to join the Legion.

 

Along with the initiates Drax and Thymias, he made up the Scout/Sniper contingent of 2^nd Company. Both the initiates were hot-heads, but were slowly learning and would one day be good snipers. Drax was Lars’ sniper-eye – he carried an array of observation instruments, a bolt pistol and also operated the team’s servo-skull drone. Thymias carried additional ammo and spare parts for the sniper rifle, as well as a bolter, being the teams sniper-guard, charged with watching the teams’ back. All were clad in Cameleoline cloaks which offered good camouflage.

 

By appearance, Lars was an unremarkable character, even for an Astartes. He had short-cut brown hair, a dark eye – the other had been replaced with a bionic one a few years back – and a pale complexion. The skin on his face was silky and perfect, in stark contrast to the scarred, leather-like hide stretched over veteran’s faces, like sergeant Amboss’. This falsely implied that Lars was green, new, without experience. Lars knew for himself he had been through more battles than he cared to remember.

 

Everyone was gearing up, and Lars warily watched the other marines. Mayer was talking to a small individual clad in a filthy cloak which masked him almost entirely and rendered him inconspicuous. After a moment, the Captain came over. “Scout-Sergeant, this is Djatto Quatt, spy for 219^th Expedition Fleet. He says a window of opportunity has just presented itself: Yun’ti Scudroth, the Commander-in-Chief of the enemy forces in the region, and also vice-director and third-highest investor of the Mons Sanctus Corporation, has been located by Quatt’s contacts. This is a opportunity we cannot miss. I am attaching you and your team to him with the orders to assassinate Scudroth. Understood?”

 

“Understood.”

 

“Good. Until you have completed the mission, follow Quatt’s orders.”

 

“I will, Captain.”

 

Mayer turned and left to see to the defence of the landing site. The eerie spy turned to Lars and whispered “No time to lose, Master Sniper. We only have a few hours. Follow me.”

[Tyear]

Again, good story, don't really have anything to add but one thing. I want Moar ;)

[Ufthak]

Thanks Tyear :cuss Your wish shall be my order!

 

Next 3 parts:

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, the black skies near the Khaman defence laser system

 

 

“Never flown in a Thunderhawk before, have you, lad?” the massive Astartes warrior hefting a huge heavy flamer remarked.

 

“No, I haven’t, as a matter of fact” answered the ill-looking Imperial Army soldier. I’m more used to the Warhawk pattern gunships; if you spent your life jumping from those, there’s a world of difference when you have to change suddenly. Good thing their so small and inconspicuous though, we haven’t been shot down yet.”

 

The Astartes warrior nodded and pulled of his helmet, offering one massive gauntleted hand to the soldier. The man stared at it with a frightened expression, seemingly no knowing what to do.

 

“Aw dang, silly me, always forget not everyone has the same customs as we Terrans do” the Astartes warrior laughed. “On Terra, it’s the same as saying ‘nice to meet you’.”

 

The soldier relaxed and offered his and, which completely disappeared in the gaunteleted fist of the marine. The soldier ground his teeth together in pain as his hand was almost crushed by the sheer strength of an Astartes handshake.

 

“Srabion” the marine introduced himself. The soldier smiled. “Havildar Uas Renditch, Mughali assault troops.”

 

“So, you guys worth anything?” asked Srabion, looking back at the forty-odd Imperial Army soldiers in bright blue carapace armour, hefting autoguns, lasguns, flamers and other standard imperial weaponry.

 

“We have not seen too many battlefields yet, but so far we have always emerged victorious, and we have also had the best training that the Mughali army has to offer. We’ll serve you well today, Lord.”

 

The Astartes laughed. “I hope so.”

 

 

 

“Assault Squads, get ready for drop!” the Thunderhawk’s pilot’s voice echoed through the vox. The Mughali assault troopers ignited their jump packs and made sure their equipment was packed tight.

 

With the sound of an explosion, the ramp of the Thunderhawk opened. This high up, there was nothing visible except dark smoke.

 

“1^st, 2^nd and 3^rd assault squads, get ready!” Patrax’ voice echoed through the vox. “Three...two...one...go, for Corax and the Emperor!” And with that, he jumped into the black fog.

 

 

 

219-58, black skies above suburban district C5-67B3 of the Capital City

 

 

 

The Thundehawk shook as heavy anti-aircraft rounds smacked into it. The trooper next to Ulman vomited black slime as the craft dipped and turned to avoid streaking rounds. “We gonna take much longer we’re gonna be turned to mincemeat up here!” another trooper shouted.

 

“Stay calm boys.” Lieutenant Sho Daman shouted. “We wanna show the Astartes that they may be the Emperor’s finest, but we are the Emperor’s sneakiest, hardest sons of bitches! Watcha say?!”

 

The rest of 8^th Company, 5^th Kyrdesh Stormtroopers roared in assent. Ulman Temne was proud to be part of such a fine outfit of soldiers; they were truly elites among the Imperial Army. They had received some of the toughest training and best equipment possible. They had been trained to fight under almost any circumstance, any situation, with any weapon. In addition to that, they were very experienced, the unit having been embroiled in global wars even before Kyrdesh was brought into compliance. As a result, the neat red uniform and dark grey carapace armour had degraded and been repaired and modified in the countless warzones the regiment had fought, and accordingly no stormtrooper looked alike, and all were filthy, ripped and torn – they were veterans.

 

The trooper who had just vomited remarked: “Still, why the hell do we need to go to war in yellow gunships? You can see them from miles away, so much for camouflage!”

 

The Astartes warrior standing by the hatch leading to the cockpit turned his MkII-helmeted head to the trooper and answered in a metallic voice: “Because we are the Angels of Death, and we want the enemy to see their Death coming for them.” He let out a distorted, metallic laugh which sent a chill down Ulman’s spine.

 

The pilot’s voice cracked through the vox. “3 minutes to drop zone, get ready to disembark!”

 

 

 

219-58, black skies above Corporate Residence and Government district

 

 

Lars von Bingen felt unease. Using a small, inconspicuous local craft to get into position was a stroke of genius, but should they be detected then they were as good as dead. Everything depended on stealth here.

 

The local craft appeared to be some sort of troop and ammunition carrier; there were many such craft in the skies above the city. Draped in their cameleoline cloaks, the sniper team gazed out over the sprawling outer habs, the sky-high spires of the Government district, and the gardens in the old centre of town. All was grey and black, ravaged by war, a war that had started centuries ago, long before the Imperial Expedition Fleet had arrived. Too bad that the Corporations had chosen to unite against the new common threat. Too bad that centuries of war had brought forth a wide array of fearsome war machines, massive armies, enhanced warriors and experienced tacticians, all now arrayed against the Imperium.

 

Djatto Quatt flew the craft expertedly, and Lars had the feeling that the spy had been on the world longer than one would think. He didn’t trust the spy, though he had no reason not to. Perhaps that was just the aura a spy would emit.

 

Quatt’s voice slithered though the vox like a snake, passing down Lars’ spine. “We’re above the Government district now, I just need to find the right building...almost there...get ready for landing.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whatcha think? C&C?

[Ufthak]

No crits & comments? :) No one? I'd really like to know where I can improve...

[Dorns Padawan]

I would love to read your story but am pressed for time. I have emailed it to myself so I can rad it at work later and will gladly comment on it. Don't give up just because no one replied yet!

[Ufthak]

@Dorns padawan:

Nice to know ;) Currently writing the next part, I'll probably be posting it this evening or tomorrow morning. In any case, let me know what you think!

[sonofwaranddeath]

Hey, just stopped by to check out your story. Sorry I can't read it all this sitting, but just thought I'd drop you a few critiques. In the fist bit of the story, I think you referred to Sigismund's symbol as "the Black Cross on a white field with black trim." This is fine, but I think you could better describe it as what it really is, a Maltese Cross. This helps denote that it is something more than say a vertical black bar, with a horzontal black bar crossing it. I hope you understand :wacko: As for the story itself, it is fantastic! I will keep reading bits when I can! :P

[Ufthak]

Hey sonofwaranddeath!

 

Thanks for commenting! And also thanks for telling me what type of cross it is, when I wrote the first part of the story I instinctively wanted to write "Greek cross" - but then corrected myself, no that's not it. Not knowing what sort of cross it was, I simply wrote "black cross".

 

In any case: I'll EDIT it :wacko: Thanks again!

[Ufthak]

Update! Here's the next couple of parts of the story :lol: Please comment and correct me if i get fluff wrong or if you have suggestions for improvement!

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, skies above the Khaman defence laser system

 

 

Sergeant Simonides Patrax heard his fellow warriors of Talon Squad shriek in joy as they dropped towards the surface of the planet with fearsome speed. The experience of free fall was exhilarating and wondrous, and made even an enhanced warrior such as an Astartes want to shout out in joy.

 

Suddenly, they were out of the smoke stratus, and the torn land was visible below them. The pilot had brought them in perfectly above the defence laser system – they were spot-on. Glancing to his left and right, Patrax could see squads of the Mughali assault troopers dropping a few hundred yards away. They were good, thought Patrax, nowhere near Astartes standards, but good.

 

A few hundred yards from impact Patrax activated his jump pack to full power in order to decrease speed. He could see enemy troopers scurrying to man defence posts below him, and espied some preparing some sort of heavy weapon to turn on the dropping Imperial troops. Patrax let out a battle cry and ignited his fearsome power claws. Lightning danced around them, crackling in the air.

 

The enemy troopers, clad in what appeared to be heavy mesh armour, had trained the heavy multi-barrelled weapon directly at him and were frantically attempting to load an ammunition belt. Too slow, thought Patrax.

 

“Death from above!” he cried as his massive ceramite power armour boots smashed into one of the enemy troopers, crushing him to the ground and breaking the concrete floor beneath. The impact knocked back the other enemy troopers so hard they flew several yards, landing hard on the ground. Even the massive heavy weapon was destroyed by the impact of several Astartes warriors landing hard.

 

Patrax took a moment to get over the exhilarating descent and feel the ground below him. He looked around; he was right were he’d planned to be – next to the massive dome that made up the defence laser system. He looked to his left, and there, a few hundred yard away, was the first objective: the primary power generators. Destroying them would incapacitate the laser until the enemy re-routed power from somewhere else, thereby buying time. He would not have much time before the enemy figured what had happened, so he shouted to his fellow black-armoured battle-brothers: “To the power generators, brothers! First objective!”

 

Activating his power pack with a mere thought, Patrax took to the skies, his battle brothers behind him, flying in a wide arc toward the generators. While in the air, Patrax shouted: “Aktos, Graiff, Dumyony, prepare charges!”

 

The impact of the squad landing beside the massive generators destroyed the high-powered wire fence surrounding them. The power from the fence danced over the marines’ armour without even slightly harming the marines themselves. Brothers Aktos, Graiff and Dumyony sprinted toward the three generators, expertedly throwing explosive charges to the weakest points of the generators, followed by secondary charges to other weak points. Within 20 seconds all charges had been set and the three marines had rejoined the squad. “Good, back to original positions, brothers!” Patrax shouted, and with a roar and a hiss the packs propelled the marines back toward the defence laser dome. While in the air, Patrax shouted: “Blow charges!” and with a deafening roar and a blueish-orange light the generators exploded, the blast enveloping surrounding security buildings, bunkers and trees.

 

Patrax landed hard on the concrete ground of the defence post, further cracking it. With rock-crushing sounds, the other warriors landed around him. “That – was fun.” Brother Graiff remarked, laughing.

 

Patrax’ vox channel cracked and he recognized the voice of Subedar Ios Parambata, the commander of the Mughali assault troopers. “Anti-aircraft sites taken as ordered, my Lord. No casualties sustained, anti-aircraft guns commandeered.”

 

“Textbook work, subedar. Fortify yourselves around the sites as well as possible and expect imminent enemy counterattack.”

 

“Understood, my Lord.”

 

“This is Talon 1 calling Super 6, enemy anti-aircraft capabilities contained, bring in the rest of the cargo immediately on my position, over.”

 

“Understood, Brother” the pilot of the Thunderhawk acknowledged.

 

Now for the hard work – taking and holding the defence laser until all the explosives had been applied. “To me, brothers!” Patrax shouted and jumped toward the main entrance of the dome.

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Imperial landing site

 

 

“Loric, we’ve got enemy heavy armoured infantry supported by tanks advancing against sector 4B67. You know the drill, and take the Ancient along with you. When you’re done with them, make sure you rally enough Imperial Army troops to hold the positions, clear?”

 

Amboss’ deep voice cracked through the vox. “Clear.”

 

So far, 2^nd Company had beaten back 3 major attacks fairly easily, at the loss of only a single battle-brother, with a further two incapacitated. The weapons the enemy had brought to bear so far had failed to penetrate the MkII and MkIII power armour the Imperial Fists were clad in. His warriors had also managed to rally fragmented groups of Imperial Guardsmen and assign them to defensive positions. So far, it was looking good.

 

“My Lord?”

 

Mayer turned to see a large group of Imperial Army soldiers in close-fitting stone-grey carapace armour, standing in perfect ranks, all wearing identical helmets with slightly skull-like rebreathers, concealing their faces.

 

“Sergeant A-340586, 305^th Dyssadian Clone Troopers, reporting for duty” one of them said in a cold, servitor-like dead voice.

 

Mayer gazed at the prefect ranks of the 150-or-so troopers. All were filthy, and their armour looked battle-scarred. “Where’s the rest of the regiment?” he asked.

 

“Dead, my Lord.”

 

“And yet you report for duty instead of retreating to the ships?”

 

“We have received no such orders, and these men are able, my Lord. As surviving ranking officer I have taken command of the regiment. We have received no orders from anyone for a while, so we are at your command.”

 

The machine-like coldness of the clone troopers took Mayer aback for a moment, but he was grateful that there were troops willing to fight.

 

“Very good, sergeant. Take your men east to sector 4B67, we are expecting an enemy attack there. Support my warriors there as best you can, and place yourselves under their command.”

 

“As is your will, Lord” A-340586 answered, and at his hand-signal, the clone troopers took off toward their appointed sector in perfect columns.

 

 

 

Sector 4B67 was a mess. Imperial troops streamed rearward in routing masses, enemy mortar rounds landing in their midst, killing scores every second. For Amboss and his terminators, just another day at the front.

 

“Calling sector command, who commands this sector?” There was a crackle in the vox before a wailing voice shouted: “Major Kombur, 832^nd Bourdak! We can’t hold them, they’re overrunning us in multiple breaches of the line. Requesting permission to withdraw!”

 

In a calm, deep, steady voice, Amboss answered: “This is Veteran Sergeant Amboss of the Imperial Fists Astartes Legion. That’s a negative. No one withdraws. Hold where you can, but let the enemy in through those breaches, we’ll take care of those. Let the men know the Astartes are behind them. For the Emperor!”

 

“U-u-understood, my Lord. We shall hold. For the Emperor.”

 

Amboss turned to the 15 terminators and Ancient Hohenstaufen. “Right then, shall we let the enemy know what it means to feel pain?” The veterans roared their assent. “Right. Brother Gotthammer, take your team right; Rodriguez, take your team left. The rest of you with me down the centre. You know the drill: flank, crossfire, converge, annihilate. I don’t want a single enemy alive within our lines in 20 minutes, is that clear?” Not being able to nod in their massive Cataphractii armour, the team leaders answered “understood, brother.”

 

The counterattack began. The three teams of terminators each moved in a V formation against the masses of screaming enemy troops storming through the breaches in the trench lines. The enemy troops were clad in strange, exotic mesh armour and wielded weapons which vaguely resembled Imperial autoguns. Just as the mass of enemy troops entered his teams’ wide V formation, Amboss shouted “Crossfire!” and the terminators opened up with their weapons. Two twin-linked bolters and a massive Reaper autocannon blasted into the surging mass, rapidly reducing human soldiers into inhuman heaps of lacerated meat. Brother Pausanias advanced with his heavy flamer, incinerating whatever survived or tried to get away. “Converge!” Amboss roared, and the V formation advanced toward the rapidly disintegrating enemy attack. Behind him, Amboss could hear and feel the f-whump f-whump of Ancient Hohenstaufen advancing behind him, adding a barrage of shells from his large-calibre twin-linked autocannon to the fray with the roar “Die, die, die!”

 

“Annihilate!” Amboss ordered, and the 5 terminators surged in and swiftly dispatched the survivors of the attack with their power fists, lightning claws and power axes. For a moment, Amboss surveyed the scene: where moments before there had been a good 200 advancing enemy troopers, now there was an obscene heap of mangled flesh and blood. A job well done.

 

“Team, back in formation, prepare to advance. Let’s see the rest of these bastards out of our lines, shall we?”

 

 

 

Captain Pavlos Mayer had been in worse situations. Back on Terra, during the conquest of Tali and the battle of Roma, he and his company – mostly initiates, clad in the old Thunder armour – had been surrounded and cut down one by one, until only Mayer and six others were left, but they had held, pinning the enemy long enough for reinforcements to be brought up and carry the day. Old Theoderic had saved Mayer’s life twice that day, and had paid for it with his left hand.

 

But it was still hard-going. The enemy pressure on the landing site was building as they realized that they were encountering fierce resistance by the Astartes. Mayer had to rush his squads from one breach to the next, rally Imperial Army troops and assign them to defensive positions, and all the while coordinate his defence with the mortar and artillery sections still supporting him.

 

His vox crackled. “Lord, this is Lt. Montmartre. We have multiple breaches of our lines in sector 36C761, mostly enemy regular infantry; I have directed two mechanized platoons of infantry there, but I doubt they will suffice. Requesting your warrior’s support.”

 

“Understood, Lieutenant. We’ll be there ASAP.”

 

Mayer took a couple of seconds to calculate. All his squads were engaged, there was nothing he could send over at the moment.

 

He turned to his command squad – Brother-Sergeant Damocles with the Company Banner, the signifer; Apothecary Hildebrand; Brother-Specialist Donar with the Flamer; and Brother Huno with the two-handed Thunder Hammer. Chaplain Komnenos was busy rallying Imperial troops; and Tech-Marine Stahlhelm and his servitor squad had accompanied the Ancient. His command squad was all he could send against the enemy breaching the lines.

 

“Command Squad, on me! Let us show them what it means to anger the Emperor’s finest!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What do you think?

 

Just in case anyone wondered: the "Aquilifer" is, literally, the "Eagle Bearer", and the "Signifer" is the "Banner-bearer".

[Tyear]

Hey, sorry I didn't respond before, must be losing my eyesight cause I didn't see your post.

 

Anyway, on this section of the story, it was great until I got to the terminator bit. As far as I know, the only ranks in the Space Marines are Brother, Brother Sergeant, Brother Captain. No Corporals, so perhaps it would be best to simply acknowledge them by name?

[Ufthak]

Hm, concerning ranks:

 

I'm a bit torn. I vaguely remember that in previous editions Space Marines HAD Corporals. In WH40K, the Ultramarine Squad has a Sergeant, denoted by a red skull, and a lower rank, denoted by a red star, plus 8 battle-brothers. The lower rank would logically be a corporal, and it also makes sense that the squad has a further senior brother to replace the Sergeant. I mean, imagine the Sergeant gets killed and the surviving brothers start bickering about who is senior, who has more experience, who is the better tactician/strategist, who has killed more enemies, and so on. So it would make sense to make sure the Sarge has a potential replacement/XO before going into battle.

But then, the word "Corporal" is never used; perhaps you would call them "senior battle brothers", or something. In any case, you have a point; I'll edit the text ;) Thanks for pointing it out!

 

Any other crits?

[sonofwaranddeath]

This story is just awesome! Still reading bits and pieces as I can, and it is great! I myself have only read a few of the HH novels, and these could easily rank with them :pinch:

[Ufthak]

Thanks sonofwaranddeath :D

 

Personally, I don't think I'm getting anywhere near the Black Library guys, but the story so far has turned out better than I had hoped. Praying that I get the rest right!

[Ufthak]

Ok, update, here's the next couple of parts:

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Capital City Sewer system

 

 

Theoderic’s chainsword sang as he bisected the massive scaled sewer vermin. With an eerie gurgling sound the obscene thing splashed into the liquid waste, shuddered, and was still.

 

No one had warned them of the deadly vermin housing the sewers, but Theoderic was an Astartes. The training had brutally conditioned him to expect an ambush at every turn, and he and his fellow warriors easily dispatched the vermin with chainswords and combat knives. One of the Stormtroopers had not been so lucky, and had been dragged under the slimy brown goo flowing down the sewer before anyone could react.

 

“Montmartre calling Pugnus 1, do you copy?” The lieutenant’s calming, female voice echoed through the vox.

 

“Copy.” Theoderic answered.

 

“Right. Go left at the next intersection. Radiation levels slightly rising, toxic waste in the sewer parallel to you.”

 

“Got it.”

 

“I’ll keep updating you, my Lord.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Montmartre out.”

 

Theoderic turned to lieutenant Daman, leading the Stormtroopers. “Elevated toxic and radiation levels up ahead, prepare your men.”

 

 

 

Through his night vision goggles, Ulman Temne registered the hand signal the lieutenant gave, and the stormtroopers all immediately pulled out tiny siringes from pouches on their upper arms and plunged them into their skin. The siringes were filled with a substance which highly stimulated the expulsion of sweat and enhanced the filtering processes of the liver. Then every single stormtrooper fixed his rebreather to his helmet. These counter-measures would provide some form of protection against the toxic waste. For now.

 

Ulman felt unconfortable. With the rebreather on and the drug working in his body, he soon felt hot, stuffy and sticky. Also, the eerie green-eyed night-vision-goggles did enhance the vision, allowing him to see in the dark, but the vision was blurred and slightly distorted.

 

The Astartes sergeant gave a hand signal, and the party moved on. The Astartes were at the head and the tail of the column, which was reassuring.

 

The sewers were vast tubes, fifty metres in diameter, and mostly pitch dark – here and there a damaged light flickered and illuminated a small section of the vast catacombe-like network. Ulman felt a horrible shiver go down his spine, that feeling that invisible eyes were watching him from the dark.

 

 

 

Theoderic was old by Legion standards. Together with Mayer, he had been one of the first to join the Legion and had already been considered a veteran by the time the Crusade took off. Tall, blonde, with blue eyes that seemed to emit energy, he was striking. When the company had fought together with a contingent of the Emperor’s Children, one of them had remarked that there were only two things which marred Theoderic’s perfect appearance: the long, thin scar which ran diagonally along his face, and the brutal yellow MkIII armour.

 

Theoderic had always favoured the MkIII power armour for its superior frontal protection and its brutal looks. He didn’t put much stock in the new, elegant, MkIV suit.

 

Emperor’s Children. Stupid dandy-boys.

 

“Montmartre to Pugnus 1. I have multiple heat signatures moving toward you two intersections up to the right. Can’t say what it is, but it looks like fifty-plus enemies. Contact in aproximately 3 minutes.”

 

“Got it.”

 

Though Theoderic was an Astartes veteran and, essentially, beyond such mortal trivialities, he found the intelligence officer’s calm, female voice soothing. She was also doing her job very well, and he appreciated her help.

 

He turned to Daman.

 

“Lieutenant, position your stormtroopers at the next intersection, prepare an ambush.” He glanced over to one of his own warriors, a MkIII-armoured senior brother. “Church, take your team and join them, standard ambush technique. The rest of you, hold here and take out any enemies trying to sneak up on us from behind. Go.”

 

 

 

219-58, Capital City Government district

 

 

“Auspex report?”

 

“Nothing, sarge. Building appears empty.”

 

Lars von Bingen turned away from Drax and surveyed the surroundings. From the roof of the 400-storey-building, the view was awesome. On the horizon, war blazed around the Imperial landing site. Lars’ view passed westward, to the Khaman Defence Laser System, visible in the distance. Even as he looked, a large, fiery orange-blue cloud bloomed up next to it. Patrax and his talons at work, no doubt.

 

The Government district had been ravaged by war. Looking down to the streets far below, one could see trenches zig-zagging the rockrete ground. Most of the sky-high buildings were pock-marked with hundreds of black impact holes, had been severely damaged or collapsed alltogether. Corpses rotted in the street below, corpses that had been lying there even before the Imperium had come to this world.

 

The local craft sat behind them on a landing pod on the roof. Lars gathered it wouldn’t look to suspicious to any on-lookers, since similar craft were parked on other rooftops in the area. Djatto Quatt, the spy, was checking on a map as Lars came over. “Well then, master spy, what is the plan?”

 

Quatt’s voice hissed and slithered with every word. “Approach went well, I don’t think we were detected. And we are right were I planned us to be.” He paused and looked around.

 

Lars gave him a moment, then was about to ask “Good, but...” when the spy cut him short. “Master Sniper, I hear from your Captain that you are the best sniper in your unit, and that you are the only one to have hit 10 targets in a kill-streak at a distance of 2,000 metres, using only 8 rounds, from an antiquated, modified sniper rifle. Is that correct?”

 

Lars felt annoyed. “Correct” he said, irritated.

 

Though the spy’s face was half-hidden under his hood, Lars could see his mouth twist to a thin, cold smile.

 

“Master sniper, I am setting you a challenge.” He pointed to a sky-scraper in the distance, and Lars could see that, unlike the buildings surrounding it, it had not been damaged in the fighting, or had recently been repaired; its windows were not shattered and it gleamed a beautiful silver. “Your target. Yun’ti Scudroth, will be on the roof of that building in approximately 26,4 terran minutes. You will propel one of your modified rounds straight into his forehead.”

 

Through his bionic eye, Lars scanned the building, then turned back to the spy.

 

“Distance?”

 

“3,232 metres.”

 

Lars’ eyelid flickered ever so little. A challenge.

[Tyear]

Looks good, nothing really to add.

[Ufthak]

@Tyear:

You are invited to add something, anything :jaw: I'm intrigued what you guys think of it...is the story good? Is the text easy to read? Is the style ok? Am I over-doing certain things?

 

 

Anyways, here's the next part:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Khaman Defence Laser System

 

 

Markos Demmerung was a proud devastator. Ever since making full Astartes, one of the things he loved most was the vibration and the kick of a heavy bolter being fired from the hip. That feeling of power as the large-caliber rounds struck home with miniature explosions. The tinkle of empty bolter shells as they fell to the ground. The smell of burnt propellant gas. The thin trails of smoke that silently snaked their way out of the mouth of the massive weapon.

 

The sergeant was younger than most of the other sergeants in the company, but like them he was Terran-born. His affinity with heavy weapons and his broad tactical spectrum, especially when on the defence, had soon earned him the command of Imbard Devastator Squad. A tall, bald, ugly brute, he was well-liked by most of his fellow battle-brothers.

 

Demmerung always followed orders to the letter, which was why the Captain had seen fit to have him support the Raven Guard on their mission. But for himself, Markos Demmerung felt contempt for Patrax and his flying glory boys.

 

The crump and shock-wave of a rocket-propelled grenade impacting into the rockrete wall behind him, showering him with debris, made him duck. The three battalions of Falsinfild Corporation regulars were now counterattacking through the trench and bunker systems toward the dome, and were using mortars and rocket-propelled grenades to flush the defenders out.

 

With the anti-aircraft-sites taken, Super 6 had immediately flown in the rest of the assault group – Demmerung’s warriors, two additional squads of Mughali assault troopers, and a squad of combat engineers from the Dumonti Royal Guard Engineer Battalion. Patrax and his Talons had cleansed the defence laser system, and the combat engineers had immediately moved in to plant charges and sabotage the controls.

 

Meanwhile, Imbard Devastator Squad and the Mughali assault troopers had taken up defensive positions. Demmerung had assessed the three weakest points in the defence and had distributed six of his devastators in groups of two, all equipped with heavy bolters, heavy flamers or autocannons. He himself and the remaining four devastators – armed with a heavy bolter, two rocket launchers and a massive blue-glowing Plasma Cannon, stood on standby by the main entrance to the dome. Usually, Demmerung deployed his squad all equipped with the same weapons, but circumstance had dictated he take as flexible a force as possible.

 

With a crunching sound, sergeant Patrax landed heavily next to him. The Raven Guard sergeant stood and made the sign of the Aquila, which Demmerung returned by batting his clenched fist to his breastplate. Patrax’ white MkIV helmet was slightly dirtied and blackened by smoke and fire, and there were flecks of blood covering his armour here and there, implying his claws had recently scythed down enemies.

 

“Brother, Montmartre says the servo-skull is picking up armour being re-routed our way, E.T.A. 15 terran minutes. The Mughalis are putting up one hell of a fight, but I doubt they’ll stand to a concentrated attack by armour. Make sure your tank hunters are ready.”

 

“We are always ready.” Demmerung answered.

 

 

 

Havildar Uas Renditch fired his autogun down the trench, felling another mesh-armoured enemy. “Squad, regroup on me!” he spoke into his micro-bead. A grenade, lobbed from a connecting trench a few yards away, fell to the ground right on front of Uas, and he kicked it back down the trench before jumping for cover behind an empty ammunition crate.

 

Two of his blue-armoured troopers, sepoy Srindupatna and sepoy-specialist Kneel, joined him just in time as four mesh-armoured enemy troopers, led by an officer in heavy scale armour and a helmet with a grinning face-mask and wielding a massive, red-glowing mace jumped from an adjoining trench and ran at them, screaming eerie, high-pitched war cries.

 

Sepoy Srindapatna went down screaming as a large-calibre round blew his right leg off. Kneel, hefting a grenade launcher, put two bullets from his autopistol through the head of one of the enemies before another jumped at him with a knife, binding him in close combat.

 

Uas brought up his autogun and blew out an enemy trooper's brains, then bayonetted another through the throat, and the man went down, blood spewing from the wound in short bursts as he attempted to breathe.

 

The enemy officer with the glowing mace came at him, swinging the massive thing and shouting obscene war cries. Before Uas could react he felt a thunderous blow to his side which smacked him against the side of the trench. For a split second, everything went black. His vision returning, Uas looked down at his breastplate; it had been crushed by the blow from the mace and fizzled with strange, red sparks. He tried to move; a sharp pain in his chest told him the blow had broken a couple of ribs.

 

Looking up, he could see the enemy officer standing over him, readying his mace for a killing blow. Uas frantically felt for his autogun, anything that would aid him. Suddenly, he felt a hand grasp his left wrist and another place a bayonet in his hand. Without looking who had aided him, Uas sunk the blade into the officers’ foot. It penetrated the thick boots and nailed the man to the ground.

 

The officer grunted in pain and smashed his gauntleted fist into Uas’ face as a reaction. Uas was thrown back to the ground, his ears ringing and a sharp pain erupting on the side of his face.

 

The officer swung his axe. It’s over...

 

He stopped in mid-swing and stared at something behind Uas. Even though the man’s face was concealed, Uas registered his surprise. Uas looked back and saw sepoy-specialist Kneel, bloody and wounded, pointing his grenade launcher straight at the enemy officer.

 

“Eat this.”

 

The krak grenade blew the man apart, chunks of meat, organs and bowels flying everywhere and coating the trench red.

 

Uas took a moment to breathe before turning to his two troopers. “Good work, lads.” He drew the bayonet out of the foot, still nailed to the floor, and handed it to sepoy Srindupatna. “Yours, I guess, and thanks.” He gathered up his autogun, then turned to Kneel. “Get Srin to the medicos and send the rest of the squad here.”

 

Kneel grinned, picked up the whimpering Srindupatna and made his way back to the dome. Uas glanced over the trench and espied multiple enemies moving towards him through the trench system. He slammed home a fresh clip.

 

Come and get me, you bastards.

 

 

 

The ripped and torn Mughali trooper dropped his wounded comrade off at the nearby earth bunker serving as a makeshift medical station. Sergeant Demmerung grabbed him by the shoulder.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Multiple enemies jumped us, my Lord” the man stammered. “The havildar's still holding on, but I can’t find the rest of the squad to send them to support him.”

 

“Where’s this?” Demmerung demanded.

 

The sepoy pointed to a part of the trench system about a hundred yards away.

 

“Srabion, get you pyromaniac backside to the trench system to your left. The Mughalis need some support there.”

 

 

 

Uas winced as a hard slug round grazed his shoulder and a further slammed through his steel helmet, missing his head by millimetres. He hunkered down behind the ammo crate and reloaded his autogun with shaking hands.

 

Too many, too many, damnit!

 

He came up from behind cover and fired his autogun, missing the nearest enemy trooper but wounding the one behind him. Suddenly, half-way through the clip, the slowly over-heating autogun jammed.

 

For half a second, there was a lull. Then Uas felt the hard slugs impacting in his chest, knocking him over onto his back and punching the air from his lungs. He lay on the ground of the trench, wheezing as he attempted to breathe. He could hear the voices of the advancing enemy troopers.

 

He was going to die. Any moment now, a bayonet would pierce his neck and end his existence. He looked up at the dark, smoke-blackened sky. Just one more death on a far-flung battlefield.

 

Suddenly, the sky above him turned to fire, a blazing, yellow-orange fire, and intense heat singed his face. Closing his eyes and shielding his face, he could hear the enemy troopers emitting hideous screams of agony.

 

The intense heat suddenly subsided, and Uas felt a heavy, metallic footfall right next to his head as someone or something passed over him with slow steps. A strange hissing sound, and further agonized screaming.

 

Uas opened his eyes. An Astartes warrior in yellow MkII armour with a massive heavy flamer was advancing down the trench toward the enemy, rounds pinging harmlessly off his armour. “Burn, buuuurn!” the warrior laughed as he opened up again with his flamer, incinerating multiple enemies at once.

 

It was magnificent, and Uas would have laughed out loud for joy if he hadn’t been in so much pain.

 

He checked his body for wounds. Miraculously, his already damaged carapace armour had stopped the enemy rounds half an inch from his skin. He had light burns on his face and mutliple light wounds from grenade splinters.

 

Suddenly, a yellow gauntleted hand was held out to him. “You alright, Uas?”

 

Awed, Uas took the hand, and the Astartes hauled him up painfully. “Yes, I am alright, my Lord.”

 

The marine laughed. “I already told you my name, so call me Srabion, idiot.”

[Tyear]

The story so far is good, though those dang Imperial Army guys are taking their sweet time ;)

 

Text is indeed easy to read, I'd reckon easier then mine, the style is different, but like I said it reads away easily so no problems.

 

Not over-doing things, though Mister Uas is a damned lucky bastard ;)

[Ufthak]

Yep, Mister Uas is lucky :cuss We'll see if he survives the story!

 

Thanks for your comment <_< Currently working on the next part of the story...see if I can post it tomorrow...