Through smoke and fire, through shot and shell

[Legio Draconis]

Again, and again this just gets better. I liked the inter legion tension, I really liked the wounded marine and the guards men. Keep up the very best of work.

[Ufthak]

Thanks very much for your comment :D Really appreciate it!

 

Though I am an Imperial Fist player/fan, they sometimes just are arrogant bastards, and I thought I'd let the devastator sergeant embody that trait a bit.

I also like Raven Guard a lot, and while writing the story grew particularly fond of Patrax and his boys.

 

Let's see who makes it out of all this alive :)

 

I was hoping to post the next chapter today, but work won't let me, so I guess it'll have to be tomorrow, at the latest the day after. I'll definitely do my best to keep it up :)

[Ufthak]

Hey guys!

 

So, since i got work off today, I had time to do the next chapter. I think it turned out quite well, though it took me about 3 hours to write. Hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think! :D

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Capital City Sewer System

 

 

Hanas Churchendal slammed the metal hatch shut and twisted the wheel, locking it. Barely a second later, something heavy smashed into the door from the other side with a heavy thud. The sound of claws scraping over metal made one’s hair stand on end.

 

Four marines and three stormtroopers had left their lives in the tunnel, and many of the survivors had minor wounds.

 

The mutants had taken their toll.

 

 

 

“Pugnus 1 calling Montmartre.”

 

“Pugnus 1, this is Montmartre. Good to hear you” the calm, soothing voice of the lieutenant came through the vox. “I am sorry I was indisposed for a while. I trust my adjutant was of some assistance to you?”

 

“Ulomni did her job well. But good to hear you, lieutenant. Listen, I’ll be frank with you: we’re being killed. We’ve taken heavy casualties and I don’t know how long we can continue. Please tell me the objective is near.”

 

“I have some good news for you, my Lord. Your target is near. Follow the left passageway out of the chamber to the sewer tunnel, proceed along that on a north bearing until you reach a small storage room to the right. Once there, you need to blow a hole through the northern wall. Whatever it is that is creating this shroud lies in the chamber beyond.”

 

“Finally. Enemy activity?”

 

“Very minor heat readings here and there, nothing too big. A small group of readings in the storage room, possibly a patrol or something.”

 

“Thank you, lieutenant.”

 

“My pleasure. The best of luck to you, my Lord.”

 

 

 

That was good news indeed. The fact that there was an enemy patrol meant that the passage was probably free of mutants.

 

Theoderic turned to the assembled group. The Astartes were holding themselves erect and proud as ever, but the stormtroopers looked worn out and fearful.

 

“Listen up. We are very near our objective. We have seen many horrors here and you have braved them all. Brave this last section with me.”

 

The Astartes all slammed their clenched fists against their breastplates, and the stormtroopers followed suit.

 

“For Dorn and for the Emperor!”

 

Theoderic turned the wheel of the door, pulled it open and sped into the darkness.

 

 

 

Ulman’s head swam. He felt woozy and his muscles all ached. He sweated profusely from the drugs working in his body and the rebreather mask over his face. He saw the Astartes sergeant pass through the door into the dark tunnels. Behind the other two doors leading to the chamber, scraping, scratching and snarling echoed, making Ulman’s skin crawl, and he fought the urge not to panic.

 

“Come on boys, we’re almost there” Lieutenant Daman urged the troopers on.

 

Ulman slapped himself on his helmet to wake himself up a bit, checked his autogun and sped after his comrades.

 

 

 

This tunnel was smaller than the ones they had walked along so far. Hanas Churchendal scanned the tunnel with his night- and infrared vision. Apart from a few small sewer vermin, there was nothing in immediate sight.

 

“Move out” Theoderic ordered, and the six remaining Astartes fell into a standard patrol formation immediately, moving down the tunnel. The stormtroopers trailed along behind.

 

After having faced the horrific mutant in the last tunnel, it seemed almost eerie that this one was empty, and Hanas’ senses sharpened. He perceived everything, every little detail, his brutal training having conditioned him zu analyse every tiny bit of information with lightning speed, calculating risks and dangers.

 

His flitting glance passed over Maric next to him. The Recon marine wheezed with every footstep, his armour dented and torn, thin trails of coagulated blood coating the armour around the numerous wounds. Every footstep seemed to cost Maric an effort; with his power pack lost, the marine needed to carry the immense weight of the power armour almost entirely himself.

 

Church could perceive no threat; and yet, a strange gut feeling told him something was horribly wrong. A strange sensation welled up in him, a sensation essentially alien to the superhuman Astartes. Church asked himself whether this was what mortals called ‘fear’.

 

 

 

Ulman’s hands shook as he cautiously moved along behind Octavia. The tunnel was quiet but for the footfalls of the troopers.

 

The peace and quiet was unnerving. Ulman’s heart missed a beat at every little drop of water splashing to the base of the tunnel. The flickering, distorted night vision made his mind imagine shadows and shapes move through the darkness.

 

He felt fear grip him and his skin crawl, like a thousand tiny needles boring into his skin. Something was wrong, of that he was entirely sure.

 

He felt cold; though the tunnels so far had been rather warm and humid, he started shivering. After having traversed the sewer system for what felt like a lifetime, everything in this tunnel seemed alien. No enemies; the cold; that unnerving sensation that someone was watching them, not out of the dark, but from everywhere, as if someone were totally aware of their presence.

 

Ulman felt panic slowly building in his gut, the feeling that his bowels were about to empty themselves, that his legs were about to give way.

 

Suddenly, Ulman jumped as a bolter shot rang out deafeningly through the tunnel. Everyone stopped in their tracks, hunkered down and searched the tunnel for enemies, autoguns sweeping right and left.

 

 

 

“What?” Theoderic asked.

 

Maric lowered his smoking boltgun slowly.

 

“Nothing...I thought I saw something.”

 

“You thought you saw something?” Theoderic asked, his tone very slightly mocking. “What did you think you saw?”

 

“A shadow, flitting along the walls. Or perhaps not, I don’t know.”

 

“Maric, we don’t just shoot at anything that moves. You excel in stealth, you of all people should know.”

 

“Yes...but still...I don’t know...”

 

Maric’s vague and confused answers unnerved Theoderic.

 

“Move to the back of the group. Church, you take point.”

 

 

 

The group moved on. Everyone seemed spooked by the Astartes’shot at nothing. Ulman almost dropped his autogun, he was shaking so bad. The cold was freezing, and seemed to penetrate not only his uniform, but his very insides.

 

Suddenly, one of the stormtroopers behind Ulman screamed and blazed away with his autogun. Everyone whirled around to see the trooper at the end of the group emptying his clip against the wall of the tunnel. When the clip was empty, the man dropped to his knees and whimpered, attempting to reload the rifle.

 

Lieutenant Daman ran up to the trooper and held him firmly by the shoulders.

 

“What did you see, what happened?”

 

The trooper’s voice shook from fear.

 

“There was something...it reached out to me, it called to me...I felt it, felt it in me...the walls...”

 

“Did you hit it?”

 

“I don’t know...but it was there, I’m sure of it!”

 

The lieutenant helped the man to his feet.

 

“Octavia, you cover the rear from now on.”

 

 

 

The strange feeling was creeping all over Church. He felt it pass through his insides, felt it grip his heart. It was alien to him, distracted him and made his heartbeat increase.

 

Suddenly, the tunnel warped.

 

Church stopped in his tracks, mesmerised, as the shape of the tunnel itself bent and twisted, the walls stretching and turning in ways unimaginable.

 

“Church?”

 

He snapped back to reality, as if being torn out of a dream.

 

“Do you see something?” Theoderic asked.

 

Church realised his breathing was coming hard and fast. He took a moment to calm himself. The tunnel was perfectly ok.

 

“No.”

 

 

 

Maric’s skin prickled. Shapes and forms, all undefinable, flitted through his vision. With all the strength of will he could muster he resisted the attempt to blaze away at the strange forms. Shadows seemed to pass over the walls, even though there was no source of light that could throw them.

 

A wave of agitation passed through Maric as he heard – no, felt – whispers in the darkness, a thousand tiny voices whispering together, forming a chorus.

 

Maric’s breathing quickened as he swept his bolter left and right, searching for the source of the whispers.

 

There was nothing.

 

What is happening here?

 

 

 

Ulman's legs gave way as crazed laughter suddenly echoed down the tunnels. He dropped to the ground, whimpering. The laughter increased in volume and seemed to enter his very head, attacking his mind. He tore off his helmet and clawed at his head with his hands in an attempt to stop it.

 

“Ulman, Ulman, what happening?” Octavia’s voice cut through the laughter.

 

Ulman opened his eyes; Octavia was kneeling beside him, shaking him.

 

“The laughter...I can’t stand it...” he whimpered as it increased again, the strange, gibbering laughter of a madman.

 

“What laughter, Ulman? What is wrong?” Octavia asked, her voice slightly panicky.

 

“The laughter, don’t you hear it?” Ulman shouted, desperately clawing at his head.

 

The lieutenant suddenly appeared next to Octavia.

 

“What’s wrong with him?”

 

“I don’t know, Sho...it seems like he’s losing it...” Octavia answered, her voice cracking.

 

“I’m not losing it!” Ulman screamed. “The laughter...my head...”

 

 

 

Church brought up his bolter and blazed away at the walls reaching out to him, attempting to envelop him. The tunnel itself was turning in on him, the walls surrounding him and grasping at him.

 

“Begone!” he roared as he emptied the clip at the reaching strands of wall and tunnel twisting and turning around him.

 

He felt his sense of up and down dissolve and a suffocating grip take hold of his lungs.

 

He roared and swung his power fist at the strands of reality coiling themselves around him, slowly engulfing and crushing him.

 

 

 

Church sees them too, they are real! Maric thought, and with a shout opened up at the flitting shadows, the bolter shells blasting large holes in the walls. The whispers were becoming unbearable, a chorus of voices combining themselves to a horrible buzzing sound which seemed to enter his very brain.

 

“Die, die! Leave me!”

 

 

 

Theoderic’s eyes widened in surprise and horror as he watched madness unfolding within his group. Church and Maric were emptying their weapons at nothing; stormtroopers were clawing at each other, rolling around in the slime, screaming and laughing; two Astartes brothers had dropped to their knees and were holding their heads or faces, as were some of the stormtroopers. Another soldier had sat down on the ground, wrapping his arms around himself and singing at the top of his voice.

 

Theoderic felt his control of the situation slip from his fingers.

 

Three stormtroopers were cut down by the fire of a fourth trooper who had opened up with his autogun, screaming at the top of his voice.

 

What is happening, damnit?

 

Suddenly, a huge, black shape appeared out of the darkness, hovering toward him. It was long and thin, with black, leathery skin and a gaping, toothless maw at the end of its body. A multitude of strange, thin legs with suckers held it suspended from the walls in the middle of the tunnel. Theoderic knew what it was.

 

A Tatselworm.

 

Theoderic had only seen a Tatselworm once before in his life, when he had journeyed the northern reaches of the Alpine Region back on Terra, the only place they could be found. They were extremely dangerous and rare creatures, inhabiting rocky valleys in the mountains, preying on unsuspecting wanderers. Tatselworms were the stuff of children’s nightmares, and to be devoured by one was one of the most agonizing ways to die imaginable. The Tatselworm sucked you in, whole, muscle action and suction conveying you to it’s stomach, where the oxygen-rich fluids kept you alive while digesting you at the same time.

 

The sight of the hideous creature made Theoderic gasp.

 

He felt bile rise in his mouth, and the bitter taste mingled with the stench of the air he had just breathed in through the grille of his helmet – the smell of excrement, mould, ozone, fyceline.

 

Ozone.

 

Theoderic gazed at the massive creature moving toward him.

 

He was sure of two things.

 

The first was that a hand-to-hand-fight with a Tatselworm could only end in death.

 

The second was that Tatselworms only existed in the Alps, back on Terra.

 

His gaze wandered to the walls of the tunnel. A thin layer of frost coated everything, icicles hanging from the ceiling.

 

Theoderic now perceived the Tatselworm for what it really was.

 

He stood, calmly, and let it come. The huge thing moved toward him, strange puffing noises emitting from holes along its body as air was vented out.

 

It reared up, sucking in air through its hideously distended maw, readying to swallow him whole.

 

Theoderic calmly watched as the maw came down and enveloped him...

 

Then suddenly, it was gone. As if waking from a dream, Theoderic blinked.

 

There was no Tatselworm.

[raptor1199]

Four marines and three stormtroopers had left their lives in the tunnel, and many of the survivors had minor wounds.

------------------------------------------------------------

“Move out” Theoderic ordered, and the six remaining Astartes fell into a standard patrol formation immediately, moving down the tunnel. The stormtroopers trailed along behind.

!!!! where those two marines came!!!

[Ufthak]

@raptor1199:

Well...10 marines+Theoderic and 12 stormtroopers + Daman left the admin chamber; Derfried and 3 marines plus 3 stormtroopers were killed in the tunnels, which amounts to:

Theoderic + 6 marines and Daman + 9 stormtroopers.

 

Did I make a mistake?

 

And what do you think of the latest chapter?

[raptor1199]

@raptor1199:

Well...10 marines+Theoderic and 12 stormtroopers + Daman left the admin chamber; Derfried and 3 marines plus 3 stormtroopers were killed in the tunnels, which amounts to:

Theoderic + 6 marines and Daman + 9 stormtroopers.

 

Did I make a mistake?

 

And what do you think of the latest chapter?

fail for me you are correct ;)

 

good stuff

"sets small tent for waiting" :ermm:

[Ufthak]

Thanx for your comment ;) If you didn't quite get the marine/body count then shame on me for not making it clearer!

 

Next chapter perhaps tomorrow, but probably on Saturday or Sunday!

[Brother Captain Ming]

That chapter gave me goosebumps...and I was reading it in the comfort of my living room. I friggin' hate psykers! Good job Ufthak, keep the updates coming! <_<

[Ufthak]

Thanx Brother Captain Ming!

 

I actually quite like Psykers, though they can be pretty unconfortable when you're fighting against them ;)

 

If I managed to give you goosebumps, then the chapter did turn out well! Great to hear mate! :)

 

Next chapter up soon hopefully...

[Ufthak]

Hey guys!

 

Sorry for the delay, was held up at work (again) <_< Still, I managed to write a short chapter. Hope it turned out well and that you all enjoy reading it! As always, please drop by some crits & comms, they keep me going ;)

 

So here goes!

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Imperial landing site

 

 

Halfway across the plain, the shelling started.

 

Loric Amboss had organized the advance well. At the tip marched his own lumbering terminators and the Ancient in a loose assault formation. Some fifty yards behind them, the Dumonti Royal Guard Tank Battalion, supported by a squadron from the Sernii Light Armour. Fifty yards behind the tanks the 1^st and 2^nd Grenadier Batallions followed. The rest of the Dumonti Royal Guard was massed close behind, ready to deal the sledghammer blow to the enemy defences. Left and right of the Royal Guard, the Bourdak Infantry and the Cavalry guarded the flanks of the advance.

 

The scattered formation of the speartip was intentional. Amboss knew that the enemy artillery wouldn’t be able to do much damage to his own warriors or the tanks unless they scored direct hits – very unlikely, considering they were moving. But the Grenadiers were a soft target and could sustain heavy casualties. Amboss was counting on the enemy concentrating their fire on the speartip and what looked most dangerous – the terminators and the tanks. Therefore, the Grenadiers followed at good distance until the advance hit the enemy positions, at which point they were to surge in and support the terminators and tanks in breaking through.

 

Amboss had made no effort to conceal the advance or to mount diversory attacks. He was an Imperial Fist, one of the Emperor’s Angels of Death, and he wanted the enemy to know what was coming for him, exactly where the hammerstroke would fall and where he would be utterly annihilated. Breaking the enemy’s morale in this way was just as good as any sneaky diversion or stealth attack. The Alpha Legion, the cursed shadows, would have done the latter, sure; also Corax’ vultures, and possibly Night Haunter’s dreaded nightmare warriors may have.

 

But Loric Amboss was an Imperial Fist, and he would take this fort the old-proven way: direct all-out assault with everything available at the weakest point in the enemy defence.

 

 

 

Dirt and debris rained down on Amboss as an artillery shell blew a few yards in front of him. He felt the shockwave pass over him, almost knocking him over, and registered hundreds of small shards of metal bouncing off or embedding themselves in his Cataphractii suit.

 

“Onward, brothers!” he roared.

 

His terminator brothers’ answering bellow was drowned out by another explosion, which knocked over Brother Pausanias. The veteran groaned as he fell onto the stump of his left arm, which he had lost earlier in the fighting.

 

Nevertheless, he immediately pushed himself from the ground and lumbered on.

 

Behind the terminators, the heavy Malcador tanks of the Dumonti Tank Batallion added a barrage of fire from their heavy weapons to the din, and the enemy positions erupted in a series of earthy mushrooms as the shells impacted.

 

Amboss glanced straight ahead, toward the fort. At the point they were aiming for, the ridge was low and gentle, and the positions consisted mostly merely of earthworks and trench systems.

 

Easier to penetrate.

 

He assessed and analyzed the data his advanced sensorium was feeding him. Three flak emplacements, at least six heavy weapon positions, one dug-in anti-tank cannon.

 

He barked a few commands to his battle-brothers, thereby assigning each of them emplacements to take out, positions to secure and assault patterns to follow.

 

The plan was working: the enemy was shelling him and the tanks, not the vulnerable infantry. Amboss laughed out loud and picked up the speed, his hearts pumping adrenaline. He was willing to get to grips with the enemy; it was almost as though his lightning claws itched to slice through enemies again.

 

He voxed the Dumonti Royal Guard command. “Anvil 1 to Dumont 1, status report?”

 

“Advance going smoothly, very light casualties, tanks taking artillery fire, my Lord.”

 

“Good.”

 

Suddenly, Amboss felt heavy slug rounds slam into his armour with deafening clangs.

 

They were in range of the dug-in enemy heavy-weapon positions.

 

He barked two quick commands, and his two terminators armed with Reaper autocannons opened up with a hail of rapid fire, putting suppression on the enemy heavy weapon emplacements.

 

“Good, keep advancing, Brothers!”

 

They were now merely a hundred yards from the enemy positions.

 

“Charge, for the Emperor!” Amboss roared, and the heavy terminators broke into a lumbering run.

 

Amboss charged toward the nearest enemy gun emplacement, shrugging off the hail of heavy rounds slamming into him at short range. But before he could reach it, a shell from a Malcador tank found its mark and blew the emplacement apart.

 

Brother Pausanias advanced against another strongpoint and washed the enitre section with gouts from his massive heavy flamer, burning promethium setting alight everything it touched. Screaming enemy troopers ran out of the firestorm, dropping to the ground and trying to extinguish the fire in vain as their very flesh melted and turned black.

 

Amboss switched vox channels to the commander of the Dumonti Grenadier Batallions. “Batallion-Chief, bring in your veterans would you please, use the “borer” assault formation.”

 

“Affirmative”.

 

 

 

As one, the 1^st and 2^nd Grenadiers changed formation. The 8 companies formed up in a series of Vs, with each V being composed of 2 companies, the tip of the V pointed toward the enemy.

 

Then, at the double-quick, they charged in after the tanks. The first V hit the enemy line where it had been penetrated by the Astartes, then suddenly split – one company turned and assaulted to the right, the other to the left, while the tip opened. Through this tip, the next V advanced, further penetrating the enemy lines, before likewise splitting and allowing the next V to pass through and penetrate even further.

 

It was a tactic Amboss himself had coined, and which the Royal Guard had eagerly taken on. In this was, the spearhead literally bored itself through the enemy defences while keeping its flanks secure.

 

The Grenadiers, though filthy, worn out and understrength, did their job admirably. In their blue greatcoats, bearskin hats and bowl helmets, they hurled themselves at the enemy positions. The officers led from the front with the banner parties following immediately behind, each party bearing aloft two tattered banners, the banner of Dumont and the banner of the Imperium.

 

Scores of grenadiers were cut down by the withering fire from the heavy weapons emplacements and the flak guns, but still they came on, roaring war cries in their native tongue.

 

 

 

Captain Pavlos Mayer watched the assault from afar through a holo-image. Fine troops indeed he had given to Amboss.

 

He turned to Count Gneisenau and Lieutenant Montmartre.

 

“Count. Landing site status?”

 

“P...perimeter secure” the Count wheezed. “Enemy attacks abating. It appears our little counteroffensive is throwing them completely off-balance.”

 

“Very good.” Mayer rubbed his hands together. “Now go and get some rest.”

 

“Thank you, my L-lord.”

 

As the Count stumbled away, supported by an aide, Mayer turned to the intelligence officer.

 

“Now, Lieutenant Montmartre. Finally we have some time. Fill me in. How’re my boys doing?”

[Ufthak]

Absolutely no C&C? :)

[Ace Debonair]

Well, I've just read the entire thing, from start to finish. Very impressive!

That must have taken a lot of work to write.

 

My personal favourites up to now are the devastator sergeant and the Raven Guard sergeant, although you've done a fine job of portraying all of the characters thus far.

Oh, and the blind marine was awesome. Pure, concentrated, distilled awesome.

 

There's a couple of spelling errors throughout the story, but when that's your biggest problem you know you're doing well. :D

I'm not even that big of a Fists fan, and I'd say you've got a heck of a story on your hands. :lol:

[Ufthak]

WOW!!!!!!! You actually read the whole thing in one go??? Respect!

That means I managed to keep it more or less interesting all the way along...so great news!

Thanks Ace Debonair :lol:

 

The wounded/blind marine, the sniper and the dreadnought seem to be everyone's favourites so far. Will let that influence the storyline a bit ;)

 

Yes, the story takes away much of my free time currently, but I'm hoping to finish it this week or next. Am really happy i got this far - too far not to finish it!

 

Anyways, thank you very much for your kind comment - that's exactly the stuff that keeps a wirter (or at least an amateur writer) going ;)

 

I wrote the next chapter this morning, I'll be posting it soon! If Patrax and Demmerung really are your favourites, Ace Debonair, then you'll like the following chapter :D

 

--Ufthak--

[Ufthak]

As promised, next chapter. C&C as always very welcome!

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Khaman Defence Laser System

 

 

Patrax’ whirled around, his crackling claws connecting with the massive forms of the gene-guard surrounding him. He felt the slightest tug as the thin blades sliced through the gunmetal armour plates and the flesh beyond. Another hulking monster dropped to the ground, its head rolling through the dirt.

 

Patrax ducked a swing from one of the huge, red-glowing blades which made up the Gene-Guards’ lower left arms, and activated his jump pack for the briefest of seconds, propelling his armoured boots directly against the nearest enemy. His boots smashed into the massive metal frame, and Patrax let out a cry of surprise as he failed to bowl the monster over, instead landing flat on his back. Dazed for a moment, he registered a red-glowing blade slicing through the air toward him.

 

The blade and the arm it was attached to suddenly disappeared from view as the razor-sharp edge of a crackling power axe lopped it off. Brother Graiff swung his axe with deafening bellows, parrying the thrusts from the three enemy monsters around them.

 

“Get out of here, sarge!” he roared.

 

Patrax reacted immediately, jumped up in a swift motion and activated his pack, which propelled him up and out of the fight.

 

While in the air, he surveyed the scene.

 

Enemy troops were advancing on the dome through the trenches, masses and masses of Falsinfild regulars and Bavar Berserkers. The remnants of the Mughali assault troopers were slowly falling back toward the dome. The wounded from the aid station were moving as fast as possible to the extraction zone behind the dome. Patrax allowed himself a grin as he made out Brother Kraeye carrying two wounded Mughali troopers to the zone, one of the troopers apparently directing him.

 

Patrax’ gaze passed over the Imperial Fist sergeant and his devastators. Drawn up in a low trench in support fire formation, they were a blurr of muzzle flashes as the heavy bolters and autocannons sent streams of tracers toward the Gene-Guard, dropping one of the massive monsters after the other. The plan was working.

 

All this took Patrax merely a second to register. His attention snapped back to the close combat below him, where his black-armoured troopers were fighting for their lives. Aktos, Herran and Graiff were dancing through the swirl of melee, parrying one brutish blow after another. Brother Maimonides, whose leg had been blown off mid-flight, lay on the ground a few yards further away. A Gene-Guard advanced on him, swinging its massive blade, but with a roar Maimonides bathed the monster in a sea of orange and blue with his flamer, engulfing it. With a strange blast of noise, much akin to a foghorn, which deafened even Patrax’ enhanced and protected hearing, the Gene-Guard first faltered, then dropped to the ground, its body covered in flames.

 

Patrax flinched as a stream of red bolts came his way, and he immediately chose another Gene-Guard as his target. He spiralled through the air, expertly avoiding the bolts fired against him, and hurtled toward the ground.

 

He landed heavily on the shoulders of one of the Guard and buried both his claws in the armoured head of the thing, ripping it to shreds before jumping off the dropping monster with a perfect salto.

 

Through the vox, he heard a roar of pain and stole a glance to Brother Maimonides. Three Gene-Guard had battled their way through the firestorm he was unleashing with his flamer and were bludgeoning him with their swords and massive, armoured boots.

 

Maimonides’ bellowing was cut short as a red-glowing blade sliced his head off.

 

With a snarl of vengeance, Patrax leapt toward the offending Gene-Guard, his lightning claws crackling.

 

 

 

“All critical points rigged and ready to blow, my Lord!” the voice of the engineer officer came through the vox.

 

Over the din his devastators were making, Markos Demmerung shouted through the vox.

 

“Good! Now get your useless backsides to the extraction point, dig in and defend it with your lives, and wait for my order before blowing, understood?”

 

“Yes, Lord!”

 

Markos switched vox channels to Patrax.

 

“Ready to blow, glory boy.”

 

With a snarl, Patrax answered. “Then get everyone out of here! We’ll cover the retreat!”

 

“Understood.”

 

Markos changed channel again so all units could hear.

 

“This is Sergeant Demmerung speaking. All units, withdraw to designated extraction point in good order. We’re finished here!”

 

He turned to his devastator squad, now down to five troopers.

 

“Fall back by fire-teams! Cover and withdraw!”

 

Two of his troopers stopped firing, turned and sped off down the trench while the rest kept firing.

 

 

 

“Fall back, fall back!” Uas Renditch shouted to his three remaing troopers.

 

They slowly fell back down the trench, firing their last rounds at the screaming enemy troops charging toward them. Sepoy Serqa triggered a last blast with the strange ray gun, cutting down an entire squad of regulars that had just leapt from a trench, before sprinting after his comrades.

 

Uas felt proud. They had held their position for what seemed like an age, and hundreds of dead enemies littered the trench system around their position. Never had the Mughali Assault Batallion C78 fought a finer battle.

 

And now, seemingly out of nowhere, a sliver of hope came. Uas had given up the hope of ever getting out of this hell alive a while back, and now, suddenly, they were to fall back to the extraction point. They could make it...

 

Uas’ heart sank as he registered some twenty enemy troopers storming down the trench system after them. They would easily catch up with his wounded and worn-out troopers.

 

It was clear. Someone needed to hold them.

 

“Fall back to the extraction point. I’ll hold them, then follow you!”

 

For a brief second, Sepoys Serqa, Bhutra and Kneel glanced at him. By the looks on their faces, he knew that they realized what he was doing. Bhutra saluted, then burst into tears before turning and limping off down the trench toward the extraction zone; Serqa briefly touched his havildar’s arm and smiled before following Bhutra.

 

Sepoy Kneel, whose face was covered in blood, having lost his helmet in brutal hand-to-hand combat, calmly loaded his grenade launcher with frag grenades.

 

“I’m going nowhere, Ren. Let’s kill as many as possible, shall we?”

 

Uas grinned and loaded his shotgun with a cra-clack.

 

 

Markos Demmerung turned and hosed the nearest Gene-Guard with his heavy bolter, while his fire-team fell back under his covering fire.

 

It was going well, they would make it.

 

“Patrax, get yourselves out of there!” he shouted through the vox.

 

The Raven Guard sergeant answered in angry gasps.

 

“No! We’ll...hold...them...until you’ve...got everyone out...”

 

Demmerung cursed.

 

A stand worthy of the Imperial Fists.

 

As the fire-team which had just fallen back took up covering porsitions behind him, Markos turned and fell back with the second team, while the first provided covering fire.

 

“Imbard 1 to Parambata, what’s the status? Is everyone at the extraction point?”

 

The subedar’s answer came as a barely audible wheeze.

 

“All but one of my squads are accounted for. What is left of them.”

 

“Who’s missing?”

 

“Havildar Renditch’s squad.”

 

“Prepare to embark, subedar. Super 6, where are you?”

 

The calm voice of the Thunderbird pilot came through the vox.

 

“Imbard 1, this is Super 6. Coming in to land, E.T.A. fifteen seconds.”

 

As Markos lumbered down the trench, two Mughali troopers stumbled across his path. Both looked horribly ripped and torn. Brother Srabion, following behind Markos, adressed them.

 

“Are you from Havildar Renditch’s squad?”

 

“Yes” one gasped, and pointed down the trench where they had just come from.

 

Srabion turned to the sergeant. “Brother, I request the permission to go and attempt extraction of the rest of the squad. I’ve been in that sector before, I’ll find them.”

 

For a second, Markos considered it. To risk the life of an experienced Astartes Battle-Brother merely to save some Imperial Army soldiers who were probably dead anyway seemed madness, and under other circumstances he would never have allowed it. But these Mughali troops had fought harder than any Markos had ever seen. If anyone deserved a second chance, then it was them.

 

“Go. Meet us at the extraction point.”

[Ace Debonair]

WOW!!!!!!! You actually read the whole thing in one go??? Respect!

That means I managed to keep it more or less interesting all the way along...so great news!

Thanks Ace Debonair ;)

It was hardly a chore, I assure you. :D

Keep up the good work.

 

The wounded/blind marine, the sniper and the dreadnought seem to be everyone's favourites so far. Will let that influence the storyline a bit ;)

 

Yes, the story takes away much of my free time currently, but I'm hoping to finish it this week or next. Am really happy i got this far - too far not to finish it!

 

Anyways, thank you very much for your kind comment - that's exactly the stuff that keeps a wirter (or at least an amateur writer) going ;)

 

I wrote the next chapter this morning, I'll be posting it soon! If Patrax and Demmerung really are your favourites, Ace Debonair, then you'll like the following chapter :)

 

--Ufthak--

Ah, you kept up the good work. :P Your surmise was correct.

Those two for me portray the archtypal Imperial Fist and Raven Guard. Demmerung is stubborn to a fault, seeing any tactic other than the ol' fashioned 'stand and fight' as a bit unworthy, and Patrax gives the impression of being in control and relaxed, even when he bounces harmlessly off the gene-guard. :P

 

If that's what you wanted from these two, then cool. :P

[Ufthak]

:) Thanks Ace Debonair!

 

I think all the Imperial Fist characters portray some aspects of the Legion, but Demmerung especially :lol:

 

I'll try to write the next chapter this evening or tomorrow sometime...I think it's time to tackle Theoderic and his group in the sewers...

 

In any case, I hope I can keep it entertaining and coming thick and fast!

 

Thanks again for your comment!

[Legio Draconis]

Hey again, I have been away for a few days and I come back to two cracking updates, keep it up dude.

[Ufthak]

Thanks Legio Draconis :lol:

 

Will try to write the next part this evening!

[Ufthak]

Ok, finally managied to write the next part! It was a bit hard to tackle, and I really don't know whether it turned out well. It's a bit of a change from the rest of the story. In any case, let me know what you think!

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Capital City Sewer System

 

 

A bang, a flash.

 

The crazed laughter was wrenched from Ulman’s head; he felt a shockwave pass through him, momentarily knocking him out. He awoke after a moment, his vision blurred from multi-coloured blotches on his irises which the flash had caused. His ears were ringing, and he felt disorientated; he attempted to get his bearings by feeling around with his hands, finally finding someone’s body, and held onto it.

 

Slowly, Ulman’s vision came back, and the ringing subsided. He blinked in an attempt to focus his vision. Slowly, the blurred shapes became clearer. He was holding onto Octavia’s arm. She stared at him as though he wasn’t there, apparently still trying to het her bearings as well.

 

A loud, deep, clear voice rang out. It was the Astartes sergeant.

 

“Men! Whatever you see or hear, heed it not!”

 

The giant pointed to the icicles on the walls and ceilings.

 

“Do you not see? Do you not feel the cold? Do you not smell it?”

 

The whole group had fallen silent and were staring at Theoderic.

 

“The touch of the psyker! Shadows and illusions, brothers! Heed them not, they are not there!”

 

Ulman felt like his head was spinning, and he fought the urge to retch.

 

“Merely illusions, brothers! Steel your will against it!”

 

The Astartes sergeant grabbed one of the stormtroopers and pulled him from the ground, standing him upright.

 

“Now rise again, let us do this! Whatever shadows or horrors assail you, will them to be gone and pay them no heed, for they are not there!”

 

Ulman retched and threw up as, seemingly in a far corner of his head, the crazed laughter started again, though very dim and far away.

 

Steel yourself!

 

The laughter grew again in volume, slowly creeping back into Ulman’s mind.

 

No, no!

 

His breathing quickened, and he felt panic rise again within him. His gaze passed over the bodies of his three comrades, felled by one of the other stormtroopers, who was now wailing and whom the lieutenant was now attempting to calm. The Astartes sergeant was pulling up his brothers and shaking them, as if trying to wake them from some slumber.

 

Ulman felt desperation grip him, and the sudden realisation that he would die here, in this filthy sewer, going mad with the crazy laughter. The laughter came steadily on; he whimpered, and tears streamed from his eyes.

 

He felt soft hands, woman’s hands, clasp his face.

 

“Ulman, Ulman!”

 

Octavia’s voice drove back the laughter for a moment.

 

“Octavia, I can’t hold it...I can’t...can’t take it...”

 

“Ulman, look at me, look at me! You can do it, drive it back! It isn’t there, it only exists in your head!”

 

“No...can’t take it...I’m crazy, aren’t I, Oc?”

 

“No, Ulman, you’re no more crazy than any of us” Octavia answered with a sincere voice, cracking with emotion.

 

Ulman felt her hands stroke his cheeks, wipe his tears away. The laughter was still there, but far away. He whimpered.

 

“Oc, we’re going to die here, aren’t we?”

 

Octavia paused for a moment, gazing at him with a sad look.

 

“Quite possibly, yes.”

 

The laughter intensified again.

 

“I don’t want to die here, Oc...”

 

“None of us do, Ulman. But we need to go on, we need to finish what we came here to do.”

 

“I...I can’t...”

 

Octavia cupped his face in her hands.

 

“Ulman, listen. We can do it. We can finish this, we can make it. We can do it together.”

 

The laughter receded back into the far reaches of Ulman’s mind. He gripped Octavia’s arms.

 

“T-together?”

 

“Together always. Let’s go on, let’s finish this” she said, putting her arms around him.

 

The laughter was now merely a tiny voice, far away. At Octavia’s words, Ulman felt hope surge through him. With it came strength, and Ulman felt his resolve return. He gazed at Octavia, and realised that he loved her. With an groan of anger, he pulled himself up and purged the voice from his head. He felt it flicker for a moment in the back of his mind before dying.

 

He turned to Octavia, who was now smiling at him.

 

“Well done, Ulman. You did it.”

 

“Thanks, Octavia, couldn’t have done it without you” Ulman answered, trying to catch his breath from the effort.

 

Octavia grinned. “Come on. Let’s go. I’ll be right here, next to you, the whole way, alright?”

 

Ulman felt a fresh wave of hope pass through him, almost intoxicating him.

 

“Yes.”

 

They rejoined the slowly reassembling group. Octavia turned to Ulman, grinning mischieviously.

 

“By the way, when we get out of here, I'll give you some 'special treatment'. I know you’ve been wanting that for a while.”

 

Still grinning, she turned away, leaving Ulman red-faced and glowing.

 

 

 

Theoderic smashed his clenched fist against Maric’s helmet with a loud clang.

 

“Are we good?”

 

“We’re good, brother” Maric answered, shaking his head, dispelling the daze the blow had caused.

 

Theoderic turned to the group. The stormtroopers had reassembled and seemed composed.

 

“Men! Are you ready?”

 

The stormtroopers murmured a quiet assent.

 

“Men! You are Kyrdesh stormtroopers! You flinch at nothing you have braved the most hideous horrors. Now you can say you have braved the psyker! You have nothing left to fear except fear itself!”

 

He paused for a moment.

 

“Now I ask you: are you ready?”

 

Lieutenant Daman raised his autogun.

 

“We are the Emperor’s hardest, sneakiest sons of bitches! Are we ready, boys?”

 

The stormtroopers roared their assent, holding aloft their autoguns.

 

The lieutenant turned to Theoderic.

 

“We’re ready, my Lord!”

 

 

 

The group set off again, with the Astartes taking point.

 

Theoderic switched his vox channel to a private one so only Church could hear.

 

“Church, we can’t let the psyker take control of us like that again. If anyone gets jittery, blow another flashbang.”

 

“Got it, sarge.”

[Ace Debonair]

Hah.

Competition between Theoderic and Octavia for the funniest line in that chapter.

Good stuff - you've got me wondering what happens next now. :lol:

[Ufthak]

@Ace Debonair:

Thanks :blush: Well, someone's got to lighten up the situation a bit!

 

Next chapter up, though it's a bit short. What do you think?

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, “The Meat Grinder” - Fortress

 

 

“Onward, brave men of Dumont!”

 

Behind Sergeant Loric Amboss, the colour party of the Dumonti Royal Guard 2^nd Grenadier Battalion charged through the innermost breach of the enemy defences. Streams of tracers came their way, felling the frontmost grenadiers, but more took their place and stormed on, war cries on their lips.

 

Two of Amboss’ terminators charged toward the flak emplacement which was mowing down the grenadiers. The heavy quadruple cannons swung around to face the terminators, and with a deafening rattle hurled a barrage of heavy shells into one of them. The terminator roared as the shells pelted into his leg armour, denting it and finally cracking it, and he collapsed onto the leg, wounded. The other terminator however reached the emplacement and with a roar decapitated one of the crew with a swing of his power axe. The remainder of the crew attempted to flee along the trenches, but the bark of the terminator’s twin-linked bolter ended their lives in a bloody mess.

 

The colour party of the grenadier battalion charged past Amboss, chanting in their native tongue. Though they were inside the fort, fire was coming from everywhere as enemy troops attempted to push back the Imperial troops and close the breach. Grenadiers dropped in scores as they were caught in crossfire from three sides.

 

“Pausanias, take Team 1 right! Take apart those heavy weapon emplacements!”

 

A brief grunt from Pausanias showed he understood.

 

“Rodriguez, Team 2 to the left! I’ll take care of the command bunker down the middle!”

 

“Understood, sarge” Rodriguez acknowledged.

 

As the terminator squad split up, Amboss turned to the grenadiers which were taking up firing positions around him, returning the enemy fire.

 

“Grenadiers! There is the command bunker, the heart of the fort! Will you take it with me?”

 

Intoxicated, the grenadiers roared and charged. Now led merely by a lieutenant, the shredded 2^nd Grenadiers stormed toward the bunker, a large yet low rockrete structure in the centre of the fort. Heavy weapons barked from the firing positions all along the walls of the bunker, and more grenadiers dropped.

 

“CHARGE!” Amboss roared and sped toward the bunker, shrugging off the heavy rounds pelting into his armour and ignoring the streams of blinking runes on the inside of his lens which told him his armour was taking damage.

 

The Dumonti lieutenant was blown apart by an explosive round, but the grenadiers charged on nonetheless. With perfect precision, teams of them put covering fire on the firing emplacements while assault groups moved up, chucking grenades in through the openings and rigging the steel doors to the bunker with explosives.

 

The colour party, along with Amboss, charged up an earthern rampart to the top of the bunker, where trenches and sandbag positions had been constructed.

 

We need the flags here, for all to see the fort is taken!

 

The grenadiers expertly felled the few defenders manning the sandbag positions, by the look of them local militia in civilian clothing.

 

The grenadier bearing the flag of the Imperium ran to the highest point and, though an enemy round grazed his leg, making him stumble, he rammed the flagpole into the earth with a war cry. The bearer of the flag of Dumont, however, was hit in the head, and the beautiful banner went down. Amboss snarled and switched off the power coursing through the claws of his left gauntlet. He clumsily picked up the banner and held it aloft, earning a hearty cheer from the grenadiers, before he rammed it into the ground next to the banner of the Imperium.

 

 

 

Within half an hour of the command bunker being taken, the garrison surrendered. The entire assault had been fast and brief. The two grenadier battalions had taken heavy casualties, and the survivors now amounted to less than 500 men altogether, but the other assaulting units had taken only light casualties, and only five Malcador tanks had been lost.

 

“Captain, this is Anvil 1. Fort taken and occupied. Digging in as we speak.”

 

“Textbook work, Loric. Prepare yourself for counterattack, I’ll see what I can send you as reinforcements.”

[Sons of Horus]

i just read everything :lol: it's awesome :tu: nice story

[Legio Draconis]

Hey the only bother I had was this,

 

“By the way, when we get out of here, you can shag me. I know you’ve been wanting that for a while.”

 

I think you could maybe change this a bit. Make it so it is not so blatant. How about?

 

 

"By the way, when we get out of here, why don't we go somewhere quiet and see what kind of trouble we could get into?"

 

I think that what we have seen so far from your writing style and your characters I don't think something that blatant sits that well. but hey that's just my 2 cents

[Ufthak]

@Sons of Horus:

Thanx mate ;)

 

@Legio Draconis:

Thanx again for your comment :D

Actually, I was initially even going to use the F-word, then decided against it since this website auto-censores it, and decided on the very slightly less vulgar british "shag". I wanted it to be so vulgar because, as I stated earlier in the story, Octavia is not only the medic, but also the company whore. So you would expect her to be so blatant and to the point.

But your crit is noted, and I shall edit the text a little ;)

[Ufthak]

Hey guys!

Somehow managed to find time to write the next chapter, hope it is entertaining and easy to read. As usual, comments are very welcome :P

 

 

So, here goes:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Khaman Defence Laser System

 

 

“Super 6 landed. Get everyone aboard!”

 

The ramp to the Thunderhawk opened and dropped to the ground. The Astarres Apothecary and the Mughali medic immediately started moving the wounded in. The squad of Dumonti engineers had dug in around the landing site in a perimeter.

 

Sepoy Srindupatna winced as the Astartes gently lifted him off his shoulders and carefully set him down on the metal floor of the Thunderhawk.

 

“Thank you, my Lord” Srindupatna groaned through the pain.

 

The Astartes turned to him. The black and white paint on the armour had largely burnt off, revealing the ceramite silver-grey beneath. Blood streamed from the gaping holes where there had once been green lenses, giving the strange impression the Astartes was weeping.

 

“I thank you for being my eyes, trooper” the giant wheezed before collapsing onto the ground.

 

 

 

Havildar Uas Renditch felt numb. Lying at the base of a trench, his vision swimming, his ears ringing, he felt the pain from his many wounds and aches subsiding. In a strange daze, he had trouble concentrating, even thinking of anything. He looked down at his shredded armour, his torn uniform, the bullet hole in his shoulder which wept sticky blood, the multitude of cuts, bruises and grazes which pockmarked his body. He could barely hear the firing all around him, the screams of enemy troops charging, the explosions.

 

Glancing around, he could see Sepoy Kneel lying a few yards away from him, covered in blood, shouting something, firing his grenade launcher down the trench, but Uas couldn’t even hear him.

 

Is this dying?

 

Uas felt a strange sensation grip him, a mixture of total hopelessness and a strange inner peace. The sensation swirled in him, made him shiver.

 

His gaze passed over Sepoy Kneel again. The brave trooper was still fighting; he had exhausted the ammunition for the grenade launcher, and now grabbed Uas’ semi-auto shotgun, blasting away at the regulars coming down the trench.

 

Uas smiled. He had indeed served with some of the finest. They had done their job admirably; they had served the Emperor and the Imperium well.

 

He glanced down the trench. Some ten enemies were coming down it, climbing over the heaps of comrades which Kneel had felled.

 

We’re going to die, Uas thought, and at the same time realised that he did not really care much. He tried to picture his home, the small stone hut on the grassy hills of the Malanki Rajput country on Mughal, where his parents would now be driving the livestock over to the river. He tried to recall the smell of his mother’s cooking, the roasted meat covered with spiced sauce and herb coating.

 

He smiled at the memories.

 

In his fading perception, he barely registered the massive form of an Astartes in yellow armour pass him, or the metallic roar followed by the wave of heat as the giant incinerated the enemy troops with his heavy flamer.

 

Through his blurring vision, Uas thought he could see Sepoy Kneel attempting to crawl away. But perhaps he was imagining it.

 

Uas felt his perception of time slip away. His blurring gaze wandered over to the hulking form of the Astartes. Uas’ vision lit up as another gout of bright flame erupted from the flamer, enemies screaming and twisting in the flames.

 

Uas vaguely perceived the Astartes roaring as the giant was swamped by a mass of enemies, bludgeoning him, hacking at him, stabbing at him with bayonets.

 

Uas’ vision slowly started to fade as his senses shut down.

 

 

 

“Srabion, come in!” Markos shouted into the vox.

 

He cursed as Srabion’s roar died down.

 

Rest now, my brother.

 

“This is Super 6, ready for take-off.”

 

“Then do it! But keep the ramp open!” Markos Demmerung shouted through the vox.

 

 

 

With a shudder, the Thunderhawk took off. Markos looked down the compartment at the shredded remains of the Mughali assault troopers and his own squad. Imbard squad had four surviving warriors; Subedar Ios Parambata lay unconscious amongst his bloodied an dying troopers. Barely five Mughali troopers were unhurt.

 

Markos flinched as a tank shell slammed into the Thunderhawk, making it shudder and groan. His gaze passed out over the dome and the trench systems around it. Hundreds of bodies littered the ground, scores of destroyed tanks sent black smoketrails into the dark sky. A few hundred yards away, he could make out the dark, hulking forms of the Gene-Guard. Flashes of red and white here and there told him Patrax and his boys were still fighting.

 

“Super 6, pass low over the Raven Guard!”

 

 

 

Brother Herran bellowed in pain as his left arm and leg was lopped off by two swift swipes from the red-glowing blades. He fell to the ground, gasping. The Gene-Guard advanced on him to finish the job.

 

“No!” Patrax roared and, with a burst from his jump pack, propelled himself claws-first into the monster, scything through its massive frame. The Guard let out another foghorn blast of noise which deafened Patrax before dropping to the ground with a loud thud.

 

Suddenly, the deep, brutal voice of the devastator sergeant came through the vox.

 

“Look to the skies, brother!”

 

Patrax stole a brief glance upward. The Thunderhawk was just above them, its ramp open. Two Imperial Fist devastators were raining streams of tracers from their heavy bolters at the Gene-Guard below.

 

“We’re not leaving you!” the Demmerung snarled.

 

Patrax heart leapt. He dodged the swing from another red-glowing blade and in the same movement grabbed Herran by the arm.

 

“Aktos, Graiff, disengage, we’re leaving!”

 

With a joyful whoop, Brother Graiff immediately ignited his jump pack and propelled himself up and out. A second later, Aktos, Patrax and Herran followed him.

 

The Thunderhawk slowly turned and shuddered as heavy fire smacked into it and the pilot fought to keep it stationary. Graiff, Herran and Patrax passed expertly through the open ramp and landed perfectly just inside the craft, but Aktos barely missed the opening, and with a yell caught the edge of the ramp with his arms, clinging on for dear life as red bolts spat after him. He clawed at the steel of the ramp, groaning, slowly sliding off, sparks flying as the ceramite screeched over the metal. One of the devastators yelled and launched himself toward Aktos, grabbing his hand just as the Raven Guard marine slid off.

 

With Demmerung’s help, they pulled Aktos on board.

 

“Thank you, brothers” the warrior gasped through heavy breathing.

 

With everyone safe, the Thunderhawk turned and slowly gathered speed, passing over the battlefield. It rocked and shuddered as streams of heavy weapon fire slammed into it from all directions.

 

Brother Graiff suddenly yelled and pointed down toward the trench systems.

 

“Wait, stop, there’s someone still down there!”

 

A lone, blue-uniformed figure was waving at them.

 

 

 

Uas felt a large, armoured gauntlet clasp his left hand. With an effort, he turned his head, and through the fading vision saw the Astartes lying next to him. The warrior’s power armour was torn and shredded, streams of blood leaking from multiple wounds. The Astartes had taken off his helmet, and Uas stared into the green eyes of the warrior who had now twice saved his life. The warrior’s face was angular and handsome, though a couple of scars criss-crossed it, but in his eyes Uas could see a fading light as the life slowly drained from him. Strangely, the Astartes was smiling.

 

“It was...an honour to...have fought at your side, Uas” he wheezed.

 

“It...was...mine...my...Lord” Uas gasped with a frail voice.

 

“I told you...to call me...Srabion...” the Astartes whispered as the last breath left him and he sank fully to the ground, his features turning peaceful as his muscles relaxed for their last time.

 

As the firm clasp of the Astartes gauntlet loosened and dropped from his hand, Uas vaguely registered someone – Sepoy Kneel? – waving at something or someone up above.

 

What...

 

Darkness engulfed Uas, and for a moment he felt himself slip away into blissful oblivion.

 

A thud, a shuddering of the earth as something heavy smashed into the ground next to Uas brought him back, tore him back to life, and through a blurred vision, he blinked.

 

Next to him, two massive, black, power-armoured legs with bands of overlapping armour segments towered up toward the sky. Uas couldn’t find the strength to look up, and before he knew it, he felt two strong arms lift his frail, wounded body from the ground.

 

A strange explosive sound, and Uas felt cool air rush over his face. Flying through the air, he felt weightless and blissful.

 

Darkness engulfed him again, and he knew no more.

 

 

 

With a loud clang Brother Aktos landed heavily on the ramp and lowered the bloody body of the Mughali havildar into the arms of the Apothecary and another trooper. A moment later, Brother Graiff crashed onto the steel in a clumsy landing, cradling another trooper in his arms. The Mughali medic gently took the second trooper from Graiff’s arms and, with the help from one of the devastators, carefully placed him by the other wounded.

 

“Excellent work, brothers” Patrax roared and pulled Graiff to his feet before turning to the devastator sergeant.

 

“I think the honour is yours, Demmerung.”

 

Markos Demmerung glanced out over the slowly receding trench system, where masses of enemy troops were still advancing on their old positions, to the Defence Laser Dome.

 

The Dumonti engineer officer came up to him, offering a small detonator switch with a terrified look on his face.

 

Markos grabbed it and glanced back to the dome, where enemy troops were now entering it.

 

His voice was a low, barely audible growl.

 

“Eat this, you bastards”

 

He pressed the switch.