Through smoke and fire, through shot and shell

[Ufthak]

@raptor1199:

Yes, only the Emperor's Children were allowed to have the Aquila emblazoned upon their chestplates as an entire Legion. But individuals of other legions who had proved their worth were also allowed.

That apart, the dreadnought isn't wearing the Aquila on his chestplate; the Aquila forms the tip of the flagstaff - Ancient Hohenstaufen is the Company's Aquilifer: "a staff on its massive bulk bearing the golden two-headed eagle of the Imperium, and a beautiful, intricately woven flag with a black gauntleted Fist emblazoned upon it."

[raptor1199]

facepalm

you are correct on that

[Ufthak]

Here's the next part of the story, am rather proud of this one. What do you think?

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Capital City Government district

 

 

 

“I have eyes on target.”

 

“Good. Wait until he settles down somewhere.”

 

“Target is entering the pool. Readjusting eyes...”

 

Drax flicked through a few command options on the screen he was holding and the footage taken by the drone became more visible.

 

“Has the target settled?” Lars asked.

 

“No, target still moving. No, wait...target now settled but obscured.”

 

Lars gazed through the scope. One of the concubines in the pool had moved up to the target and appeared to be kissing him, obscuring him from view.

 

The spy’s voice slithered down Lars’ spine. “Can’t you put a shot through the whore and the target at the same time?”

 

Lars’ temple twitched irritably. “No. At this range, the slightest distraction of the bullet could make it go wide and miss its mark, and I only have a single shot. I need to see the target in plain view. Drax, what’s the status now?”

 

“Target now no longer obscured.” Drax whistled. “Whoa, he’s giving it to her good from behind.”

 

“That information is irrelevant to our mission, initiate. Do not let yourself be distracted. Target status?”

 

“Target settled and clearly visible.”

 

“Good. Precise range?”

 

“3,245 metres.”

 

“Wind status?”

 

Drax checked the readings of his observation equipment. “Wind status at 2.2, northwest.”

 

Lars looked over to one of the destroyed buildings in the vicinity. The curtains in one of the windows were slightly moving in the wind.

 

“More like 3, northnorthwest, initiate. Never blindly trust the readings of a machine.”

 

“Got it, sarge.”

 

Lars adjusted his aim. Trained snipers merely adjusted their scope to the situation; Lars did the adjustments in his head and by feeling.

 

“Compensation due to Planet rotation?”

 

“Roughly terran.”

 

Lars calculated for a second, then adjusted his aim again.

 

“Air humidity and pressure?”

 

“Air humidity: very light. Pressure: moderate.”

 

Lars compensated again.

 

“Good to go, sarge” Drax said.

 

Lars didn’t answer. He was immersed in his own world. Through the scope, he could see the target, a middle-aged man with dazzling white hair and bronzed skin. Lars’ senses seemed to sharpen, and the world slowed down to slow motion. Hundreds of minute calculations went through Lars’ head, compensating his aim every second. He calculated that the projectile would take about 4.3 seconds to reach the target; a eternity in which anything could happen. The target’s head was moving rhythmically to his thrusting into the concubine, and Lars knew that if he fired a nanosecond to early or too late, the shot would miss.

 

Again, he compensated his aim.

 

He felt his lungs expand and contract with his slow, controlled breathing. His hands felt the trigger of the ancient, customized sniper rifle. Lars immersed himself in the rifle, became the rifle, felt the projectile lying in the chamber. He felt the tiny, minute lumps of dirt in the barrel which would influence the ballistic tables by millimetres, felt the tiny scratches on the cartridge which would make the projectile steer off slightly to the right.

 

He compensated again; the crosshairs were now a full yard to the left of the target’s head.

 

He immersed himself deeper. In his tiny, quiet world, Lars became the bullet.

 

His finger slowly but surely pressed down on the trigger.

 

An ear-splitting explosion, and a long tongue of fire. Lars travelled out of the mouth of the barrel, spinning around hundreds of times per second. He flew through the air, passing over rooftops. He felt the wind steer him to one side, felt himself pressing through the air.

 

With a soft thud, he burrowed himself into the forehead of Yun’ti Scudroth.

 

He travelled through the soft matter and flesh of the brain before exploding out into the air again. He felt the shockwave following him blow the head apart.

 

Drax’ voice brought Lars back.

 

“Target is down, I repeat, target is down.”

[raptor1199]

boom headshot!

[Legio Draconis]

This is getting better and better. :ph34r:

[antique_nova]

I bet he must have been concentrating with the seen he was watching :woot: and i thought the marines had their sexual senses stripped or degraded significantly? It doesn't matter, but good chapter.

thanks

antique_nova

[Ufthak]

Thanx for the comments guys, really appreciate them <_<

 

@antique_nova:

Well, Lars isn't the one getting distracted, initiate Drax is. I guess the initiates are still more prone to this sort of thing than full-fledged marines...

[antique_nova]

Erm initiaties are fully fledged marines, neophytes are the mariens in training.....

[Ufthak]

The following chapter is less action-packed but necessary; hope it turned out well anyway. Let me know if you have criticisms or find mistakes, so I can avoid them in future. Thanx ;)

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Capital City Sewer System

 

 

Ulman Temne’s vision swam. He tried to sit up, but almost passed out, the ache in his head almost unbearable.

 

“You’re awake.”

 

He vaguely registered the voice as Octavia’s. He felt a sting in his arm as a syringe was inserted.

 

Slowly, his vision focused. He looked around. He was lying on the ground in a large, circular room with walls of rockrete and pipes and power lines running along the walls. In the center of the room lay some sort of large command hub with strange logic-engines.

 

Around him lay many of his comrades, wounded, bleeding, missing limbs, whimpering. Four Astartes also sat against a wall with horrific injuries. Lieutenant Daman, who had a large gash across his face, was talking to the Astartes sergeant.

 

“What...what happened?” Ulman asked no one in particular.

 

 

 

Theoderic turned from Lieutenant Daman. The situation was not good at all. Only seventeen of the forty-or-so stormtroopers were still fit for active service, the rest having been killed or wounded by the mutant horde. Theoderic had himself lost six battle-brothers dead and four wounded, and, worst of all, he had had to leave the dead behind for the sewer-vermin to feast on, meaning the precious gene-seed was going to be lost.

 

Getting all the wounded to the admin chamber had also been hard enough. With more than 50% casualties, the mission was in jeopardy. And yet it was crucial that they continued as fast as possible.

 

“Pugnus 1 calling Montmartre, do you copy?”

 

After a moment of static, a female voice came feebly through the vox.

 

“Copy. Good to hear you, from what we’ve been seeing on the holographic readings we feared you might be dead. Lieutenant Montmartre is currently unavailable, my name is Ulomni and I shall guide you for now.”

 

“Got it, Ulomni. We’ve taken heavy casualties fighting a horde of mutants. Any idea what these things are?”

 

“It appears the Mons Sanctus Corporation performed genetic experiments on the populace over the years, and that they dumped their ‘failed’ subjects into the sewers, where many somehow survived. Just after we lost contact with you, holographics showed that a sealed section of the sewers up ahead was opened, releasing the mutants. I am terribly sorry we were unable to warn you, my Lord.”

 

“What happened happened and cannot be undone. Now, Ulomni, we are running out of time. Give me any intel you have on the next section of the sewers. We need to continue.”

 

“ Of course, my Lord.”

 

 

 

Octavia laughed as she checked Ulman.

 

“You look horrible.”

 

“Thanks, you too, Oc.”

 

In fact, Octavia looked as attractive as ever. Ulman liked her bronzed skin, dark eyes and short-cut jet black hair, which she usually covered with a red headscarf.

 

“No major wounds, just bruising, a few bloody bites and inhalation of the toxic gasses, but they should be out of your system in a few minutes. You’ll be good to go again soon.”

 

She stood up.

 

“By the way, you really are a dead weight.”

 

“What, you carried me all the way here?”

 

Octavia laughed and went to tend to other troopers’wounds.

 

Ulman groaned as he sat up against the wall. The drugs working in his body made him want to throw up, and his every joint hurt. He picked up his autogun and feebly set about cleaning the dirt and filth out of it.

 

“You alright, boy?” the deep, metallic voice of an Astartes asked.

 

Ulman looked up; the Astartes standing before him was awesome, wearing brutal MkIII armour. On his shoulder pad, the warrior wore a strange symbol over the black Maltese cross, a one-headed red eagle. By the numerous inscriptions on the armour, Ulman gathered that this was a senior battle-brother. The warrior’s left gauntlet was covered in gore, and Ulman realized this was the Astartes who had saved his life during the fight with the mutants.

 

“I am alright, my Lord. And I thank you.”

 

“Not at all.” The warrior took off his helmet, revealing a handsome face and dark brown hair. Oddly, his skin had been coloured starkly white on one half of the face, and starkly red on the other, the colours perfectly divided in a line along the forehead, nose, lips and chin.

 

“Hanas Churchendal.”

 

“Ulman Temne.”

 

“You boys put up a good fight. I have never seen Imperial Army fight so hard. Shame you lost so many comrades.”

 

“We are honoured to fight alongside the Emperor’s finest, my Lord” Ulman answered, pride swelling within him.

 

The Astartes laughed. “And I am amused to fight alongside the Emperor’s sneakiest, hardest sons of bitches. You know, you guys remind me of the hive gangs of Bauzan Hive, were I come from. The wars in the deep tunnels were hellish, so I wear the colours and coat-of-arms of my home so as never to forget that.” He pointed to the eagle and the red/white colours on his face.

 

“In any case, however sneaky or hard you are, gather your strength, Ulman Temne. Because hell is where we’re going.”

 

 

 

“Maric.”

 

Theoderic knelt down by the leader of recon squad. Maric had been brutally swamped by mutants and had extensive minor wounds, but miraculously had survived.

 

“I’m alright” he answered, though Theoderic felt the pain in his voice. “I’ll be battle-worthy in a moment.”

 

“Maric, you have lost your weapon and your power pack, and you are wounded.”

 

“I can and will still fight, brother.”

 

“Very well. Resolute like a true Imperial Fist! You do our Legion honour, Maric. Arm yourself with a bolter from one of our wounded brothers then get ready.”

 

 

 

Lieutenant Daman assembled the stormtroopers.

 

“Right boys, listen up. Plan’s as follows: we continue on our mission. Ndene, Issam, Bhattam, Mbakhu, Ngwono, you’ll stay here with the wounded, Ndene will lead. Mine and booby-trap all passages to this chamber, barricade all exits and seal all doors, if possible. You’re gonna hold out here until relief shows up.”

 

The five stormtroopers nodded grimly. Lesser soldiers would probably have mutinied at such a suggestion, but the 5^th Regiment, Kyrdesh Stormtroopers were elites. They would hold.

 

“Don’t worry, you won’t be alone, the Astartes wounded will still be able to fight and the Apothecary is also staying.

 

As for the rest of us: we’re moving out in the minute. So gear up on ammo, grenades, anything you need from the wounded. Nkhonde, Idnan, explosives, as much as you can carry, and secondary charges for everyone else. Go.”

 

 

 

Theoderic watched the stormtroopers calmly go about their work. Despite having fought hideous creatures and having sustained heavy casualties, they still did their job well. Montmartre had indeed provided good men.

 

The force was now much shrunken. Theoderic was down to ten warriors; Daman could muster some twelve troopers in total.

 

He watched as the stormtroopers’ female medic pulled up an ill-looking trooper from the ground and briefly smacked him on the cheeks to wake him up. In their torn, filthy red uniforms and scratched, dented grey armour, the stormtroopers looked the part. Brutal combat knives were bound to helmets, shoulders, belts or boots; ammunition bandoliers draped their muscular forms; entrenching tools, mines, grenades, ropes and scanners were attached to their belts; high-velocity short-barrelled commando autoguns with underslung shotguns or grenade launchers hung at their sides. They looked all that they were: rock-hard.

 

Daman hand-signalled that the troopers were ready, and Theoderic turned to the metal door through which they would have to continue.

 

“Pugnus 1 calling Montmartre.”

 

“Copy” Ulomni’s voice answered.

 

“Fill me in.”

 

“I have multiple heat signals scattered throughout the tunnels ahead, so proceed with caution.”

 

“We don’t have time to proceed with caution. The shroud needs to come down. But thanks for the warning.”

 

“Understood, my Lord. Proceed straight on past three intersections, then go right on the fourth. I’ll keep you updated along the way.”

 

“Thank you, Ulomni. Pugnus 1 out.”

 

Theoderic turned to the assembled assault group.

 

“Alright, brothers! Team 1, on me. Team 2, on Church, Team 3, you troopers with Daman. Team 3 will cover our rear, teams 1 and 2 advance and give covering fire alternately. We move at the double-quick. Expect multiple enemies scattered throughout the sewers. Let’s do this, brothers! For the Emperor!”

 

The team roared their assent.

 

Theoderic pressed a button on the wall, and the door slid open with a hiss. Half a second later, brothers Maric and Derfried were through the door and disappeared into the darkness, the muzzle flashes from their bolters lighting up the sewer with deafening barks. Theoderic leapt after them into the dark tunnels.

[Ufthak]

@antique_nova:

As far as I know, that only goes for the Black Templars. In the game DoWII, the Scout-Sergeant calls his squadmates "initiates" - which makes sense. I guess that outside the Black Templar chapter, a neophyte is also an initiate (or perhaps a neophyte who has already gone through a few processes of becoming a full-fledged marine?)

[antique_nova]

Your going to have to look through the creation of a space marine in the codexes to find out.

[Ufthak]

Lexicanum says that only Black Templars have initiates, but the game DOWII refers to the Scouts as initiates. I dunno what to believe...

[Legio Draconis]

Another good chapter, I like how they are coming thick and fast and the quality is not slipping.

[Ufthak]

Thanks Legio Draconis ;)

Thick and Fast is what I'll try to maintain, but don't be mad at me if, now and then, nothing comes for a few days (my new job only gives me a couple of hours every day...)

 

Anyways, next two chapters. Hope you like them ;) As always, if you have crits&comms, just let me know!

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Imperial landing site

 

 

At first, Mayer asked himself whether it was a trick, an enemy trap to lure the Imperial troops into counterattack.

 

It was strange; seemingly all of a sudden, the enemy attacks had either been launched badly coordinated, broken down or ceased altogether. Enemy artillery fire seemed no longer concentrated, and attacks came piecemeal and were mostly easily defeated by the defending Imperial troops.

 

What had happened?

 

Had Lars achieved his mission after all? Were the enemy in disarray because they were currently leaderless?

 

Due to the shroud, vox transmissions were limited, and the sniper was unfortunately too far away to contact.

 

Either way, Mayer decided to make the best of the situation. He met with his command squad in Count Gneisenau’s HQ position. The Count looked worn out and could barely stand; other Imperial commanders who had been summoned were in an even worse condition.

 

“Everyone listen up. Whatever’s happening, it looks like we have some breathing space, for now. We need to use that time until the enemy get their act together again.”

 

He turned to his chaplain.

 

“Komnenos, assemble what discipline officers and iterators you can find and restore order. Rally whatever you can and put the troops into defensive positions.”

 

The black-armoured, skull-helmeted chaplain nodded.

 

“Count, oversee the evacuation of all wounded, non-essential personnel and damaged war machines. And when that is well underway, get some rest.”

 

The Count barely nodded, his eyelids drooping and his hands shaking with exhaustion.

 

Mayer turned to the apothecarius.

 

“Hildebrand, see to our own wounded and collect whatever gene-seed you can from our fallen brothers.”

 

“I will, Captain” the apothcary answered.

 

“Stahlhelm, see you repair any of our own vehicles as soon as possible; go and check up on the Ancient specifically.”

 

“Understood” the Tech-Marine blurted out through the grille of his red, custom-wrought helm.

 

Mayer paused and surveyed the assembled exhausted Imperial divisional and brigade commanders.

 

“All of you, use the time we have to reorganize your sectors, strengthen the defences, resupply your troops, and raise morale. Tell the men they fought like true heroes of the Imperium today, and that they make the Emperor proud.”

 

Last of all, he turned to the fleet liasion officer.

 

“What about fleet support? Now the Defence Laser is contained, can we drop the fleet into low orbit to penetrate the shroud and give orbital support?”

 

“N-no, I am afraid not, my Lord. Moving the fleet would take precious hours during which we evacuate troops and send in reinforcements. The shroud needs to be deactivated for us to do all at once.”

 

“Understood. Send in whatever reinforcements you can from orbit, and evacuate whatever we do not need.”

 

For a moment, he surveyed the group.

 

“Good job, men. Dismissed.”

 

 

 

219-58, Khaman Defence Laser System

 

 

Markos Demmerung was furious.

 

He was furious at the Dumonti engineers for taking so long; he was furious at Patrax for ordering him around; he was furious at the enemy for coming on and on and slowly killing his devastators.

 

And he was furious at the vox reports from the landing site. It appeared that the enemy attacks were abating, but no such thing was happening here.

 

He should have gone inside the dome a while ago to kill the engineer officer, but he simply hadn’t had the time; the enemy were everywhere.

 

The bodies of the Falsinfild regulars littered the trench system, and scores of burning tanks smouldered all around the dome, but still the enemy came.

 

Strange, large, spider-like robots of the MykroPortae Corporation scurried over the ground, fast and difficult to hit. Fresh battalions of Falsinfild troops were moving in, coordinating their attacks at weak points in the Imperial defence. Squads of screaming Bavar berserkers, pumped full with combat drugs, charged the Imperial lines, swinging huge close-combat weapons.

 

Markos brought up his heavy bolter and, with a roar, blew one of the spider robots to bits.

 

Come on, you abominations!

 

 

 

Havildar Uas Renditch lay slumped against the side of a trench, his breath coming in wheezing gasps. The pain from his injuries was suffocating.

 

His squad was now down to five troopers. Sepoy Serqa, though wounded, still manned the strange ray gun they had commandeered, but even that was running out of ammunition.

 

Uas brought up his autogun and shot another two Bavar berserkers charging down the trench at him. He had emptied his entire magazine by the time they finally drooped to the ground, dead.

 

He voxed the subedar.

 

“My subedar, we can’t hold out much longer, we need support!”

 

Subedar Ios Parambata’s voice was slow and fatigued.

 

“I know, Uas my boy, I know. I can’t send you anything. We’re about to be overrun ourselves. Just kill as many as you can.”

 

“Understood, subedar. It has been an honour serving under your command.”

 

“The honour is mine, Uas.”

 

Cursing, Uas felt his ammo pouches for a fresh mag, but they were all empty. He discarded his autogun and searched the ground for another weapon. Sepoy Malik, whose head had been blown off a minute before, was wearing a shotgun strapped to his back, along with a belt of ammo. Uas grabbed the shotgun and slung the belt around his torso.

 

He flicked the lock of the gun and changed the firing mode.

 

Semi-auto. Now try and get me, you bastards!

 

“Bhutra, on me!”

 

Sepoy Bhutra joined him.

 

“Cover my flanks!”

 

“Yes, havildar!”

 

Twenty yards away, in the trench parallel to theirs, a squad of Falsinfild regulars was assembling for another assault.

 

“We’ll flank them.”

 

Uas bit his teeth together as every inch of his body ached with every single step; and yet, he sped along the trench system, down a connecting trench, until he was in the flank of the Falsinfild troops.

 

“Good, cover me, Bhutra!”

 

The enemy troopers had almost no time to react. Uas charged down the trench, roaring. His shotgun disintegrated heads and blew off limbs as he rapidly emptied the chamber with successive shots.

 

There were five enemy troopers left standing by the time the chamber was empty, but Sepoy Bhutra was just behind him, and blew them apart with a grenade from his underslung grenade launcher.

 

Uas laughed and thumped Bhutra on the back.

 

“Good job!”

 

Suddenly, the vox crackled.

 

“Havildar, fall back, fall back to your defensive position!”

 

It was the subedar’s vox operator.

 

“Fall back, multiple heavy-armoured...things moving in to your position!”

 

What?

 

Uas glanced over the lip of the trench.

 

Some twenty huge man-like walkers were advancing toward their position. Taller even than an Astartes they were, and clad in gunmetal grey segmented armour, which fizzled and hissed with sparks of energy as they moved. They carried massive, multi-barrelled rotary cannons and fearsome, red-glowing swords which seemed to replace their lower left arm.

 

They advanced slowly and resolutely, like sure death slowly coming for you. Uas flinched as one of their huge cannons opened up and sent a hail of red bolts all along the Imperial defensive positions.

 

“What...what are those things?” Uas gasped into the vox.

 

The voice of the Astartes Raven Guard sergeant came through the vox almost as a whisper.

 

“Mons Sanctus Gene-Guard.”

[Brother Captain Ming]

“Mons Sanctus Gene-Guard.”

Now the fun begins, right? It's an amazing story so far.

[Ufthak]

@Brother Captain Ming:

Thanks for your comment :) Yes, the Gene-Guard are "genetically modified and power-armoured", so they could be a match for the Astartes.

May I ask you which characters and which parts of the story so far you particularly liked?

[raptor1199]

now it seems that gene-guard are pre-heresy Obliterators :lol:

[Ufthak]

Wait and read on before you judge :tu: Next chapter coming up soon!

[Ufthak]

Sorry for taking a while guys, work tied me down the last couple of days, and Thursday evening taught me an important lesson:

 

party + drinks + partying until half past 4 + drunk girlfriend + living over half an hour away from where the party is + freezing cold + rain = waking up the next day more dead than alive.

 

In any case, didn't get round to writing anything until this morning. Sorry for the delay, hope you still want to hear the continuation of the story!

 

Here comes the next chapter. Sorry it's a little short:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Capital City Sewer System

 

 

The 5^th Regiment, Kyrdesh Stormtroopers were veterans. They had fought on countless battlefields against a myriad of different foes. They had prevailed against all odds and seen all the horrors war had to offer.

 

Or so Ulman Temne thought.

 

This, however, was pathetic, insane and horrifying.

 

Through his night vision goggles, Ulman saw the mangled remains of hundreds of deformed human bodies littering the floor of the sewer. Naked, skeletal beings huddled in corners, whimpering, or wandered about, crying, laughing, or jabbering nonsense to the walls. Mutants whose legs had been gnawed off by sewer vermin pulled themselves through the filth, wheezing. Others simply stood with their face against the wall, unmoving.

 

It was sickening.

 

But worse than that: they were being hunted.

 

The stormtroopers formed the rearguard, and ever since they had left the admin chamber, Ulman had had the feeling they were being followed. Snarling and wheezing, barely audible, seemed to follow them swiftly along the tunnels, and he had the horrible sensation that strange beings flitted about at the edges of his vision.

 

“Move it, move it lads!” Lieutenant Daman urged the troopers on. The Astartes were leaving them behind; the power armour allowed them to move at increased speed without the slightest effort, while the worn-out stormtroopers had no such means.

 

Deafening barks of bolter fire echoed down the tunnel systems as the Astartes took down those mutants who attacked them, while they ignored the others.

 

Suddenly, one of the stormtroopers ahead of Ulman screamed as he was hoisted far up into the air. Ulman glanced up, and his heart almost stopped in horror.

 

A barely hominoid mutant hung from the ceiling of the sewer tunnel; his skin seemed to have fallen off, revealing bare muscle packs. The lips and eye-lids were also missing, as was the hair and nose; the lower jaw was horribly distended, and rows of obscene, sharp teeth jutted out from the mouth. But worst of all was the tongue; a long, thick rope of flesh, which extended for many metres, enveloping the screaming stormtrooper.

 

“Fire!” the lieutenant shouted, and four autoguns opened up. The thing darted away from the incoming fire with amazing speed, trailing the screaming trooper along behind it. Ulman screamed in near-panic and brought up his autogun, adding his fire to that of his comrades. One of the rounds found its mark and the thing dropped from the ceiling down into the filth with a crunch.

 

Octavia sped over to the trooper who had been taken. The man was dead; the concentrated fire of the autoguns had sadly killed him too. She briefly touched his brow with the palm of her hand before running back to the group.

 

“Move move move!” the lieutenant shouted. They needed to keep up with the Astartes.

 

As they ran, Ulman kept glancing up and with a stroke of horror noticed more of the hunter mutants scurrying after them along the ceiling and walls.

 

“My Lord, we have multiple enemies following us, very tough and fast bastards!” Daman voxed the Astartes sergeant.

 

“Alright lieutenant, switch places with team 2, let Church form the rearguard.”

 

“Understood, my Lord.”

 

 

 

Theoderic cursed. Tough as the stormtroopers were, they were being killed off. Church would better take care of the strange mutants hunting them.

 

“Mutants, 11 o’clock, ceiling!” Maric shouted. Theoderic glanced up and saw five of the hideous things darting toward them.

 

“Purge them.”

 

He brought up his bolter and aimed it at the leftmost creature. It attempted to dart his fire, but Theoderic was an Astartes warrior, and had spent endless training hours firing at fleeting and flitting targets. Two successive shots from the large weapon blew the mutant apart, painting the ceiling red.

 

Further shots from his team brought down the other mutants, but before anyone could react, a further mutant had darted up from the right and coiled its tongue around Brother Derfried’s leg, pulling him to the ground. The marine cursed as he was being pulled along the slimy floor of the sewer and fired his bolter at the flitting hunter. The creature blew apart, but before Derfried could get up, another of the creatures jumped him and expertedly sunk its hideous teeth into the marine’s neck. Derfried screamed in pain before his throat was torn out.

 

“Nooo!” Maric shouted and put a shell through the creature’s head.

 

He sped over to Derfried; his brother was dead, his neck a mess of torn flesh and spurting blood.

 

Theoderic cursed.

 

“Back into formation, Maric! Move it, we need to continue!”

 

The vox crackled and the voice of Ulomni came through.

 

“My Lord, continue on past the next two intersections until you come to a door on the left side of the tunnel. There seems to be a further admin chamber there, it could be a potential safehouse for you. Move swiftly, I have multiple enemies following you hard and fast.”

 

“Understood, thank you, Ulomni” Theoderic grunted as he sped along the tunnel. Glancing back, he could see the stormtroopers catching up with them, and flashes of gunfire behind them as Church’s team engaged the hunters. A scream through the vox told him one of Church’s warriors had been taken down.

 

They were being killed.

 

Theoderic realized that probably none of them would get out of here alive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

What do you think?

[Legio Draconis]

Why do marines never keep their bloody helmets on :) Another good addition. keep up the good work and helemts on marines ;)

[Ufthak]

Thanks once again for commenting legio Draconis, I'm very thankful so I am :)

 

By principle, ALL my marines, whether models or in my stories, keep their helmets ON. It is just so utterly and completely pointless to take the helmet off, since the head is the most vulnerable part of the marine's body - it only houses a single organ (so no replacements like with the extra heart and lung) and cannot be replaced by a bionic replica. Running around without a helmet virtually screams: "please shoot me (with your autopistol) for stupidity".

No, brother Derfried did have his helmet on; the mutant just got in between helmet and torso armour - soft armour there = weak point.

Sorry if this was unclear...

 

In any case, thanks again ;) Next part probably due tomorrow, since I have time *wooohooo!* but only until the evening *d'oh!*

[Ufthak]

Hey guys!

Here, as promised, the next couple of chapters. Hope they turned out well.

 

@Legio Draconis:

Which storyline/which characters do you like best? Any preferences?

 

Anyway, here goes:

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Imperial landing site

 

 

The Dumonti Royal Guard 1^st and 2^nd Grenadier Battalions, though much shrunken in size, advanced in good order. In their long blue trench coats and tall bearskin hats, they looked the elite they were. Behind them, the remnants of the 1^st Voltigeur Battalion moved up in supporting formation as the grenadiers advanced.

 

Brother-Chaplain Komnenos turned to Loric Amboss.

 

“They advance well indeed. Brave men they are! Now, brother, take your veterans, lead them on and do the Emperor’s will!”

 

“I will, Lord” the hulking veteran answered.

 

With the enemy in disarray and reinforcements being dropped from the fleet above, the Captain had ordered a series of counterattacks to throw back assaulting enemy formations, destroy supporting artillery, and, above all, take critical bunker- and earthwork-systems in the surrounding countryside.

 

Taking these forts would strengthen the defence and secure a better perimeter than the cramped landing site and its meagre earthworks. It was crucial the opportunity be taken to secure these defensive positions before the enemy regrouped and renewed their assaults in good order. At best, the Imperial troops had a couple of days. At worst, they had a few hours. The Captain had assigned a battlegroup of splintered, rallied but good formations to Amboss and had ordered him to take a large fortress-like defensive position which the Imperial troops had nicknamed “the Meat-Grinder”. It pre-dated the arrival of the Imperium, having been constructed by the Bavar Corporation army. It consisted of a network of trenches, earthworks, minefields and bunker systems, all built into a low ridge a few miles from the Imperial landing site.

 

Amboss now led a large, elite, yet worn-out force to take the Meat-Grinder. Almost the entire Dumonti Royal Guard Corps was under his command: the 1^st, 2^nd and 3^rd/4^th battalions of veteran Grenadiers, the 1^st/4^th and 2^nd/3^rd Chasseurs, the 1^st and 2^nd Voltigeurs, the Royal Guard Tank Battalion and self-propelled Artillery Battery.

 

In support, he had been assigned the 817^th/823^rd, 832^nd, 834^th/875^th, and 878^th Battalions, Bourdak Line Infantry, the 56^th Regiment, Sernii Light Armour, the remnants of the 305^th Regiment, Dyssadian Clone Troopers, and a consolidated unit of cavalry. His own Terminator Squad and the faithful Ancient Hohenstaufen advanced with them.

 

Amboss had decided to use his own terminator squad and the Ancient as the spear-tip, with the best units of the Royal Guard – the 1^st and 2^nd Grenadiers – following immediately behind. They would strike hard and fast at the weakest point of the fort, penetrate the perimeter and take the fort from within.

 

The bad news was that the fort hadn’t been nicknamed the “Meat-Grinder” for nothing. Thousands of Imperial soldiers had left their lives trying to take it, its defences nigh impenetrable.

 

The good news was that, what with the enemy thrown into disarray and the fort not having been used ever since the encirclement of the Imperial landing site, there were only few enemy troops in it. Intelligence reported the presence of three third-rate Bavar garrison demi-brigades and a few shredded Falsinfild regular battalions. The biggest problem was the large concentration of dug-in artillery batteries.

 

Hence the need to move hard and fast.

 

Amboss gazed out over the land. His Corps needed to cross a pock-marked, black land covered in craters and wrecked vehicles. Here and there, the bombed-out remains of small hamlets dotted the landscape, and forests of skeletal, branchless trees covered strips of the beat land.

 

The blue-uniformed Royal Guard Corps was moving down the slopes of the plateau into the plain of the valley. Though his enhanced body ached from countless minor wounds, Amboss felt a thrill pass through him. They were on the offensive again!

 

“Anvil Squad, on me!”

 

The terminators silently fell into loose formation behind Amboss. Ancient Hohenstaufen moved into position behind them, his heavy footfalls making the earth shake.

 

Amboss switched the vox channel so the entire advancing Corps could hear him.

 

“Men of the Imperium, noble warriors of the Emperor! You have given all you have, you have braved and weathered a storm of enemies! You prevailed against the greatest odds and spat the enemy in the face! And now, this day, we take the fight to them! We shall smite them harder than ever before! Know that the Astartes are with you, and together we shall prevail and annihilate those who reject the Imperium! Fight today, for Dumont and for the Emperor!”

 

Almost as one, an echoing cheer went up from the thousands of guardsmen. Grenadiers stuck their bearskins on the ends of their autoguns and held them aloft as they cheered.

 

“Men of Dumont! You see the ridge in front of you? I want the banner of Dumont flying next to the double-headed eagle on the top of it by this evening! Will you carry the ridge with me?”

 

The next cheer was louder and lasted longer. Officers of the Grenadiers pulled out their power swords, holding them aloft and igniting them with crackling energy.

 

“Then let us do this together, brave men of Dumont! Let us advance as one! For the Emperor!”

 

The cheer was thunderous as the terminators and the Ancient joined in. The colour parties of the individual battalions raised and unfurled the torn yet beautiful flags of Dumont, depicting the double-headed eagle flying over a blazing, setting sun on a dark blue background.

 

“Nothing like good rhetoric” Brother Pausanias remarked to Amboss with a chuckle.

 

“Loric, you’re going to put me out of my job someday” Komnenos added.

 

 

 

Tanks churned the black ground as they advanced, metal wheels and tracks grinding against each other. Artillery thundered volley after volley into the sky, paving the path of the advancing corps free of scattered enemy units.

 

At the speartip of the advance, Amboss and his brothers lumbered onward, with the Ancient stomping after them. A couple of hundred yards behind them, the grenadier battalions advanced in loose but good order, tanks rumbling behind them in support.

 

Let’s do this!

 

 

 

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

 

 

The small craft dipped and turned as Djatto Quatt flew it expertly, darting and avoiding anti-aircraft-fire and tracers from pursuing enemy craft alike.

 

“Hold on, damnit!” Thymias shouted over to Drax as the neophyte almost slid off the open side of the craft. Though all three scouts had secured themselves fast with ropes, they could still go overboard, hanging from the craft.

 

As Drax righted himself, Thymias blazed away at an enemy craft which had come up alongside them with his bolter, disintegrating the pilot cockpit. The craft spun away and out of sight.

 

Lars glanced out through the open side at the enemy crafts following them.

 

“Master spy, multiple enemies on our tail, incoming heavy fire!”

 

“Understood. Hold onto your beers, master snipers!”

 

“WHAT?”

 

The scouts were almost blown out of the craft as it suddenly spiralled through the air at an amazing speed, up becoming down and then up again within moments.

 

Warm, sloppy liquid splashed into Lars’ face as Drax vomited, while Thymias let out his exhilaration vocally.

 

“WHOOOOAAAAA!”

[Legio Draconis]

Another good addition. For me the story works well as a whole and it is hard to say which bits stand out as best. I really liked the sniper part, I think it was your most descriptive and easiest to follow. That being said you have set yourself a high standard to keep up and I am glad to say your haven't let yourself down as yet.

[Ufthak]

When I browse through the Librarium/Short Story Forum I notice so many people posting their stories, then dropping them after a few posts, some of them in fact very good. Which really is a shame.

 

I will try to finish the story; I'm quite motivated, since I estimate I'm something like 2/3rds or 3/4ters through. It's also really nice you guys keep commenting; it's definitely an invaluable extra motivation ;)

 

So thanks to all you who saw fit to read my story and to comment on it :D

 

I have a little time tomorrow, so I'm hoping to do the next part then - Khaman Defence Laser System with the assaulting Gene-Guard needs to be tackled ;)

[Ufthak]

Hey guys!

 

Here the next chapter as promised ;)

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Khaman Defence Laser System

 

 

Brother Dumnon roared in pain as the Gene-Guards’ heavy fire riddled him. For a short moment, he seemed to weather the storm, struggling on through the hail of red bolts, before his voice fell silent and he slumped down into the mud, his MkII armour having been blown to shreds, blood leaking out through the holes.

 

Two Mughali assault troopers came up from the cover of the trench and fired their autoguns at the slowly advancing, hulking monsters, but the projectiles bounced off the armour harmlessly. The Gene-Guards’ Power armour was different from the Astartes’; strange, copper-coloured coils projected out of it everywhere, which crackled and fizzled with electric sparks. The armour seemed heavier than the Astartes plate, indeed unwieldy and cumbersome. But it apparently offered very good protection.

 

Markos Demmerung cursed as the two Mughali troopers’ heads were vapourised in a barrage of red bolts. The Gene-Guards’ rotary cannons had a phenomenal rate of fire, unlike anything Markos had experienced so far.

 

“Everyone, take cover! Heavy fire inbound! Wait for them to get near, do not expose yourself!” Markos shouted into the vox.

 

“Imbard Squad, on me, we need to concentrate our efforts!”

 

Suddenly, the vox crackled, and the voice of the Dumonti engineer officer came through. “My Lord, we have detained all auxiliary systems and are rigging all weak points with explosives. Estimated time until we are ready to blow: 5 minutes.”

 

“Finally!” Markos grunted. “Finish the job, then rejoin us at the aid station. Do not blow until ordered to!”

 

“Understood, my Lord!”

 

 

 

Patrax landed heavily by the entrance to the dome. Out of his orginial nine brothers, now only five were still with him, their armour heavily dented, scratched and damaged. They had been involved in close combat almost non-stop, darting from one threatened position to the next.

 

“Talon 1 calling Super 6, do you copy?”

 

“Copy.”

 

“Super 6, we need extraction at the designated extraction point in fifteen minutes. Can you do that?”

 

“Talon 1, this is Super 6. Affirmative, will do. Just make sure the extraction point is free. Over.”

 

Patrax sped over to the aid station and shouted to the Apothecary and the medic. “Prepare for extraction! Move all wounded to the extraction point now! You have ten minutes!”

 

He then turned to Markos Demmerung, who was sheltering behind the earthen rampart of the nearest trench.

 

“Demmerung, we need to hold the Gene-Guard off for as long as it takes the engineers to prepare the charges and the extraction to be complete. We’ll need to fight them together. Are your warriors ready?”

 

“Always ready.” Demmerung grunted, his dislike for Patrax obvious in the tone of his voice.

 

“Good. On my signal, I will assault, drawing their fire. Use that distraction to concentrate all you have on them one at a time.”

 

“Don’t lecture me on how to do my work!” Markos snarled. “We Imperial Fists know how to fight! We’ll take them down as soon as you have drawn their fire!”

 

“Very well, sergeant.” Patrax voice came as a sharp blade rasping over a hard surface.

 

 

 

Sepoy Srindupatna lay in the aid station, whimpering, his breath coming in gasps from the pain in the stump that had once been his leg. The Apothecary and the medic were organizing the walking wounded to support the more serious cases to the extraction point behind the Defence Laser Dome.

 

“Do you have eyes, trooper?” a raspy but deep voice came from next to Srindupatna. He looked over and noticed the wounded Astartes warrior was talking to him. The lenses of the warriors’ helm were destroyed and wept bloody tears, and his left arm, now merely a stump, was a mangled mess of gore, cables and armour segments.

 

“Y-yes, I do, my Lord” Srindupatna answered.

 

“Then will you be my eyes, trooper?”

 

Without another word, the Astartes grabbed Srindupatna and sat him behind his head. The Mughali trooper screamed in pain. Then the Astartes felt around until he found another wounded trooper, lying on the floor, passed out, and gently hefted him up with his good hand, cradling him against his chestplate like a baby.

 

“Give me directions, trooper” the Astartes wheezed.

 

Sepoy Srindupatna almost passed out from the pain, but held on to the Astartes’ helmet, steadying himself.

 

“S...straight on, my Lord.”

 

 

 

“Strike from the skies, brothers!”

 

Patrax was propelled through the air by his jump pack. His surviving troopers followed him: Brother Herran and Brother Aktos, armed with storm shields and chainswords, Brother Maimonides, wielding a flamer, Brother Obdoukos, with a bolt pistol and a chainaxe, and Brother Graiff, with a large, two-handed power axe.

 

At the apex of their flight, Patrax roared “For Corax!” and ignited his lightning claws. The lumbering Gene-Guard turned their weapons to face the incoming Raven Guard, and a hail of bolts spat through the air. Brother Obdoukos was shredded and spiralled off course, bits of armour and limbs dropping off as he made his descent. Brother Maimonides’ leg was blasted off by multiple shots and he roared in anger and pain, also steering off course.

 

 

 

“Now, devastators!” Demmerung roared, and all the surviving members of the squad came up from cover and opened up with their heavy weapons. Massive autocannons and heavy bolters sent streams of tracers toward the nearest Gene-Guard. The concentrated fire first halted the hulking monster, then blew it apart.

 

“Good, next one, to the left!”

 

The devastators shifted their fire onto the next target, and the next Gene-Guard blew apart.

 

“Divide fire teams!”

 

The squad halved their fire, one team concentrating on one target, the other on another.

 

“Good! Keep it up! Annihilate them!”

 

The devastators roared in furious battle-joy as they brought their heavy weapons to bear.

 

“Die, abominations!”