Through smoke and fire, through shot and shell

[Gree]

Wow....just wow. All I can say is that this is awesome. Just plain awesome. It's kind of big, so I have not finished reading it all yet. But it's good, very good. I really want to see more of Mayer and the Second Company.

[Ufthak]

Right guys, sorry I took a while, but my girlfriend "distracted" me a bit.

Anyways, managed to write the next part today. Hope you like it, I think it turned out quite well :)

Crits&Comms very welcome as always!

 

@Gree: Thanks mate, nice of you :) Though I must say, I would really have wanted to add a psychological component, which I didn't know how to tackle - you did in your stories, and it turned out very well!

 

Things are slowly moving on toward the end of the story...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, “The Meat Grinder”

 

 

Captain Pavlos Mayer groaned.

 

The blow had sent him flying, damaging his sensorium and throwing his power sword from his hands.

 

His vision slightly distorted, he glanced about himself. Everywhere were the huge Gene-Guard monsters, advancing on his group. Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out Loric and his terminators charge into the fray; but at the same time, another group of the lumbering things was advancing over the black sands as well. Brother Huno was nearby, roaring and swearing while bringing down his huge Thunder Hammer hard on the head of a Gene-Guard. Chaplain Komnenos screamed in pain as a red-glowing blade severed his wrist, his Crozius dropping to the ground. Tech-Marine Stahlhelm and his servitors were lashing out with their huge servo-arms, cracking armour beneath them.

 

Most awesome and glorious of all was the Ancient, who pummelled the enemy armoured brutes into the ground with his huge power fist. But even as Mayer watched, a large-calibre rocket-propelled-grenade slammed into the dreadnought’s side, the blast blowing off the revered machine’s twin autocannons. Hohenstaufen roared in rage and launched a Gene-Guard through the air with his power fist.

 

Mayer attempted to reach his power sword, but a huge gunmetal boot slammed into his side and sent him rolling across the ground. His three lungs worked hard to compensate the sudden loss of air, which had been knocked out of him. Gasping, Mayer attempted to reach for his sidearm, a beautifully artificered bolt pistol, but suddenly, an excruciating pain in his chest erupted. Looking down, Mayer saw a long, red-glowing blade sliding in through the chestplate of his MkIV armour and into his flesh. Mayer wanted to scream, but the lack of air in his lungs and the incredible pain reduced it to a mere grunt.

 

His voice returned as the Gene-Guard ripped the blade out of him. Mayer’s muscles failed him as all he felt was pain, and a tortured scream came from his mouth.

 

Looking up, he could see the Gene-Guard-thing lifting its blade for the killing blow. Mayer willed his arms to lift and block the blow, but they only twitched feebly.

 

I serve forever the Emperor, in life and in death...

 

Suddenly, the left lens of the Gene-Guard’s helmet exploded in a shower of fragments and blood. For a moment, the huge thing stood, frozen, as if time itself had stopped. Then, slowly and gathering speed, the monster swayed and toppled backward, slamming into the ground with a heavy thud.

 

 

 

“Critical systems failing!” Djatto Quatt shouted over the vox as the craft shook under a barrage of heavy autocannon fire.

 

“You got him, sarge, you got him!” Drax shouted, clapping Lars’ over the shoulder. “You saved the Captain!”

 

Lars blinked as he awoke from his immersion. The shot had been another hard one – from a speeding craft, at a range of 600 metres, under heavy fire, against a moving target.

 

“Master spy, get us out of here.”

 

“Oh no...too late...” the spy’s voice came as a whisper over the vox.

 

An Imperial Hydra anti-aircraft battery had zeroed in on them. Within seconds an incredible barrage of heavy autocannon rounds slammed into the craft, piercing its light armour easily. Drax screamed as a round penetrated his thigh, blowing out a large chunk of meat. He slid off the side of the craft; in the last moment, Thymias caught his wrist and held fast.

 

“Hold on, Drax, I gotcha!”

 

Lars winced as another round took off half of his right foot and another grazed the side of his head.

 

A red-blinking light and a bleeping sound announced critical system failures and rapid loss in altitude.

 

Blinking blood from his eyes, Lars gazed out of the side of the spiralling craft. Below them was a section of trenchworks manned by blue-uniformed Imperial troopers.

 

“Brace yourselves...” he shouted.

 

With a deafening crash, the small craft smashed to the ground, half-burying itself in one of the trenches.

 

 

 

Stims and painkillers pumped into Mayer’s system.

 

Focus. Get your sword.

 

With great effort and grunting with pain, he rolled over toward his sword and grasped it with his hands.

 

Good, now get up.

 

Roaring with pain, he forced himself first to one knee, then to the other, then finally to his feet.

 

His command squad was dying. Komnenos was lying on the ground, his right arm lopped off; signifer Kolom had gone down too, his head taken off by red bolts, the company banner lying in the sand, trampled asunder by the boots of the Gene-Guard; Apothecary Hildebrand lay on the ground, immobile, blood leaking from a large wound in his chestplate. Stahlhelm and Huno were still fighting, though both were wounded and the Tech-Marine had lost all the servitors.

 

An explosion signalled the destruction of Ancient Hohenstaufen, and Mayer watched in dismay and sorrow as the huge machine dropped to the ground with a thunderous thud, the beautiful armour rent and torn by grenades and red-glowing blades.

 

Screwing up all the strength left to him, Mayer swung his two-handed blade and charged the nearest Gene-Guard, evading the swipe from the enemy’s blade and in the same movement lopping the monster’s head off. With swift pirouettes, he immediately danced on to the next enemy, his power sword whirling.

 

But Mayer realised that he no longer had the strength to keep this up. The pain in his chest was excruciating and numbing, and it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to it.

 

Sorrow filled his heart as he glanced to his left and saw Loric Amboss and his terminators being swamped by Gene-Guards.

 

 

 

Amboss roared as he pulled his claws from the monster leaning over him. He pushed the dead Guard away and attempted to get to his feet, but red bolts slammed into him, knocking him back to the ground.

 

Flashing runes on his lenses told him that even his mighty Cataphractii suit was slowly failing, its integrity collapsing under the continuous assault of blade and bolts.

 

There were too many, too many of the damned Gene-Guard...

 

All of a sudden a hail of large-calibre bolt rounds smashed into the Gene-Guard, tearing large holes into their armour, and two of the hulking things dropped to the ground, dead. Amboss looked up and, through the black smoke, could make out one of the Thunderhawks. The ramp was open and three Imperial Fist devastators stood there, raining streams of tracers down on the Gene-Guard. As Amboss watched, three black-armoured Astartes launched themselves from the ramp, their jump packs flaring.

 

With a gleeful laugh, Amboss swung himself off the ground and sunk his claws into the nearest monster.

 

 

 

Mayer looked on in wonder as the large yellow craft passed over them, cutting through the Gene-Guard with a hail of fire from its weapons. As he watched, he saw three Raven Guard Astartes launch themselves from the ramp and into the fray.

 

The Gene-Guard let out angry blasts with their foghorns and turned to meet the assailants, but further heavy fire from the Thunderhawk and the devastators tore through them, dropping one after another.

 

Mayer collapsed to the ground as pain gripped him and his vision blurred. For a moment, he passed out.

 

“Captain! Captain!”

 

Mayer snapped back to reality. Looming above him was the white MkIV helm of the Raven Guard sergeant, Patrax, sprayed with blood, covered in filth and blackened by smoke.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Yes...I think I’ll manage...”

 

 

 

“Imbard 1, this is Super 6. Am out of primary ammunition.”

 

“Then bring us in” Markos Demmerung snarled.

 

The Thunderhawk touched down a hundred yards from the swirling melee. The ramp clanged to the ground and Imbard squad charged out, firing their heavy weapons on the move.

 

The platoon of Sernii Jägers fanned out behind them, firing their lasguns.

 

“For the Emperor!” Demmerung roared.

[Legio Draconis]

Well done, I didn't think this could get better but it has with each chapter.

[Darkchild130]

Whoo, go Raven Guard!

 

Darkchild

[Ufthak]

@Legio Draconis:

Thanx mate, really nice of you so it is! Great that you keep reading and commenting, and that I manage to keep it interesting ;)

 

@Darkchild:

You a fan of the Raven Guard? I also really like them :P

 

Next parts up tomorrow or the day after, given I'm not "distracted" further and work lets me!

[Darkchild130]

Yeah brother, my favourite chapters are Flesh tearers, Black Templars, Raven Guard and *Cough* Night lords.

 

Darkchild

[Ufthak]

If that's true then we must be some sort of soulmates - I like all those too! :P (Though my favourites are the Imperial Fists...)

[Ufthak]

Next part up! And finally, much is revealed...

Hope you like it :D Let me know what you think, ok?

 

I'll try to write the next tomorrow morning!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mors cum Surriso, Bridge

 

 

“Incoming data” the flat, dead voice of a servitor announced.

 

“Yes?” Captain Laarom Leuwen grunted.

 

“Enemy orbital defensive capabilities incapacitated. Request from 219^th Expedition fleet headquarters for orbital support.”

 

Leuwen snorted.

 

“Don’t these idiots realise that as long as I’m blind up here, I can’t do anything?”

 

With a sigh, he gestured to a crewmember controlling the ships’ vox-systems. The crewmember switched a rune thereby allowing the captain to speak to the whole ship.

 

“Attention, all decks, this is the captain speaking. Prepare for orbital bombardment, Plasma warhead ammunition, firing stations D through P. Firing solutions as yet unclear.”

 

Leuwen scratched his brow. Whatever happened, he couldn’t open up with his orbital capabilities before the shroud was taken out.

 

 

 

219-58, underground crypt

 

 

 

Church nervously switched his power fist on and off without registering it properly. Something was not right about this eerie, strange place.

 

And there was ozone in the air, he wasn’t just imagining it.

 

The huge spire was now merely fifty yards away, and still they had encountered no enemies. The strange coils of light-blue energy swirled around them, like a wind visible to the eye. Church held up his clenched fist, signalling everyone to halt. Sweeping their weapons left and right, the group checked the surroundings. Still nothing.

 

Church gazed up the wondrous spire. From up close, he noticed it was no tree at all. It was a column of metal and steel, a dizzying array of cables and power lines.

 

His gaze passed over the nearest of the strange pods. The clung to the spire like huge drops, roughly the size of a man, and glowed a beautiful light blue. They appeared to contain some sort of thick liquid, and as Church looked on, movement caught his eye. With a pang of disgust, he noticed thin, skeletal human limbs gently twitching and moving through the thick liquid. Skeletal human beings writhed in the pods, their eye socket all grown over with stretched skin and their mouths opening and closing as they let out voiceless moans.

 

“Psykers...” Daman whispered.

 

Looking up, Church counted hundreds of pods clinging to the spire, each containing a writhing psyker.

 

So this is what’s creating the shroud...

 

Church turned to Maric. “Ready krak grenades, Brother.”

 

Before anyone could do anything else, a beautiful, lilting, female voice came out of nowhere.

 

~Welcome~

 

Church spun around, searching for the speaker, but even as he did it, he realised the voice was in his head. By the reactions of the other members of the group, they had heard it too.

 

~Welcome to the Sanctum of Light~

 

“Who are you?” Church snarled.

 

~I am the Guardian of the Temple, the Temple of Light~

 

“Show yourself.”

 

~I shall, if you are willing to talk~

 

“Fine.”

 

In a sudden motion, a lithe figure suddenly jumped from high up the spire, gracefully flying arcs along and around the column, trailing beautiful blue energy behind it. With wondrous grace, it landed some twenty yards from the group.

 

It was a woman. Her features were young and beautiful, her eyes sparkled as they reflected the blue light. Her naked body appeared perfectly proportioned and her clear skin was a milky white which shimmered in the light. Long, dark hair twisted its way down her wondrous body, and arcs of blue, glowing wind encased her in a dome of swirling light.

 

~Let us talk, then~

 

Her mouth never moved.

 

It was a moment before Church gathered himself.

 

“Right.”

 

~For more than four thousand years, the Temple of Light has remained hidden as the faith in the Light dwindled and wars wracked this world. But it endured, it endured to fulfil its purpose. My forefathers foresaw this day: the day when the Light needed to come back to protect the people. To protect them from the future and a horrific fate. The day is now at hand~

 

“What day? Make some sense, psyker!” Church snarled, tearing his gaze away from the beautiful, perfect body of the woman.

 

She paused for a moment, a flicker of sorrow passing over her features.

 

~The day that you come to claim our world~

 

A glowing tear ran down her cheek.

 

~I ask you all, now, to leave this holy place. Leave our world and return whence you came~

 

For a moment, their was silence.

 

Then Church took a step toward her.

 

“It is you who is blinding us, is it not? And it was you” – his voice exploded in anger – “who made us see things that were not there!”

 

~I willed you to turn back and leave. I had no wish to kill you~

 

“We are Astartes, psyker! We fear nothing, because we are fear incarnate! Your trickeries are naught against us!”

 

~Such arrogance and hate. I feel great strength in you, but also great ignorance. If you knew the future, if you knew the age of endless horror which is about to engulf everything...~

 

“What in the name of Terra are you talking about?” Church snarled.

 

The beautiful voice of the woman cracked, the sorrow almost unbearable to hear, as if it was something wrong; as if sorrow was something that such a wonderful voice should never need to bear.

 

~I see worst future imagineable, the greatest horror ever...a great eye, an amber eye...marshalling all that is evil...the universe buried in eternal war...no peace amongst the stars...only...WAR...~

 

“I do not have time for your crazed prophecies, psyker!”

 

~Such blindness. How ignorant and petty you are~

 

More tears streamed down her face.

 

~I ask you now, one last time, to leave. My world does not wish to be part of the future you are carving for all of us. Leave us be in our imperfection...but leave us be~

 

“I shall finish what I came here for!” Church growled through gritted teeth. “I did not come all this way, lose so many brothers, only to turn back now. You are mad, woman!”

 

~Then sorrow fills my heart. Warrior, however this battle ends, I pity you. Whichever of us is left standing at the end, know that I have nothing but love for you in my heart, and that I so dearly wish we could have parted in peace. Farewell, brave warrior~

 

Before Church could react, the woman uttered a hideous scream, and the arcs of blue light around her coiled to form a glittering barrier between her and Church’s group. The temperature plummeted within seconds, and the stench of ozone almost overwhelmed Church’s senses.

 

Bolters barked and autoguns rattled as the group opened up on her. Streams of tracers pelted her way, but each round impacted on the psychic shield she had thrown up, waves dancing through the air along its surface. Inside her protective dome, the Guardian of Light was hovering in the air, both arms outstretched toward the ceiling, beautiful orbs of lightning in each hand, which grew in intensity as she prepared a psychic attack.

 

Church realised he had only seconds.

 

“CHARGE!” he roared, and the group stormed toward the Guardian, guns blazing.

[raptor1199]

why did the guardian reminded me of that god in ghostbusters? :P

 

no typos or anything silly so far :tu:

[Darkchild130]

Heh, as soon as the woman appeared i was like

"shoot it shoot it shoot it shoot it!!!!"

Some instincts are hard to overcome, dirty psyker.

 

good stuff.

 

Darkchild

[Legio Draconis]

“I shall finish what came here for!” Church growled through gritted teeth. “I did not come all this way, lose so many brothers, only to turn back now. You are mad, woman!”

 

Maybe....

 

“I shall finish what I came here for!” Church growled through gritted teeth. “I did not come all this way, lose so many brothers, only to turn back now. You are mad, woman!”

 

 

Only thing I saw dude. With every chapter I can see this as the basis for an animated show, so picturesque, so emotive. Keep up the good work. ;)

[Ufthak]

@raptor1199:

Alas, Ghostbusters was before my time...I only ever saw one single episode when I was like five, and very vaguely recall a ghost called "Slimo" or something that had the tendency to disappear through the floor...

So the psyker is no pun on Ghostbusters, sorry! ;)

 

@Darkchild130:

My warriors are Imperial Fists, not Space Wolves or World Eaters :D

 

@Legio Draconis:

Thanks, I forgot a letter there. Edited it immediately!

And thanks for your praise ^_^

 

Next part up tomorrow I hope!

[Sons of Horus]

It's so sad to see so many astartes die <_<

[Ace Debonair]

Excellent stuff!

 

This is a really gripping read - I'm always hooked to each chapter by the fourth or fifth word. :)

[Ufthak]

Thanks Ace & Sons of Horus :P

 

Next part up as promised! What do you think?

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, “The Meat Grinder”

 

 

Sergeant A-340586 executed a perfect, drill-like bayonet thrust into the neck of a Bavar berserker charging down the trench. The howling brute, with vials dotting its armour probably containing vile combat drugs and stims, charged straight onto the tip of the bayonet, impaling itself.

 

The Clone Trooper tugged the bayonet free from the dying enemy and swept around just in time to drop two more enemies with a series of shots from his lasrifle.

 

A-340586 took a brief moment to look about himself. His remaining troopers, as well as the Bourdak and Dumonti infantry around them, were pressed hard. The enemy was assailing their positions with an endless flood of human cannon fodder, and slowly but surely the Imperial lines were buckling.

 

As far as the Clone Trooper could see, enemy formations were advancing against the fort. Even though the enemy was supposedly throwing in everything they had left, their armies were still vast. Centuries of war had honed the Corporate armies into huge military organizations, and now that full, combined power was being unleashed against the Imperial lines.

 

A-340586 realised that, if no reinforcements or other support came from the landing site, it would only be a matter of hours before the fort was overrun; and then, a couple of days until the landing site itself was taken.

 

“Hold the line!” he shouted and opened up at further enemy troopers charging up the slope.

 

 

 

219-58, underground crypt

 

 

The group charged toward the woman wreathed in light, roaring war cries and weapons blazing.

 

Trooper Erman and Maric were at the front, closely followed by Hernando, Octavia and Church. Maric’s bolter barked on full auto while Erman fired round after round from his underslung shotgun.

 

With a graceful twist of her body, the Guardian hurled her arms around, and a storm of lightning erupted from her fingers, her eyes glowing white. The lightning struck Maric and Erman head on, and both convulsed, dropping to their knees. Erman screamed in agony as the lightning fried his brain, while Maric bellowed an angry roar as arcs of power danced over his armour. After a couple of seconds, both collapsed to the ground, dead, trails of smoke rising from their tortured bodies.

 

Hernando, Church and Octavia gave angry roars and charged in past the bodies. A shockwave of energy blew Hernando and Octavia off their feet, hurling them back, but Church braced himself against it and pushed on, grinding his teeth.

 

The woman whirled around, and hurled another storm of lightning at the charging Astartes. Church roared in anger and pain as he felt the arcs of power dance over his armour, frying cables and shutting down critical functions. The lightning seemed to enter his very head, and he gasped in pain as he felt needles pierce his skin and his insides everywhere. He battled on through the storm, never relenting, roaring his defiance.

 

Steel your will against it, Theoderic said! Overcome it with your will!

 

Church grunted and shook, his teeth grinding, as the psychic powers attacked his skin. Excruciating pain erupted all over his face as his red-and-white skin melted and sizzled under the assault of lightning.

 

Steel...your...will...

 

He felt the lightning tear at his very sanity, claw at his very soul, piercing his heart. It was the most hideous pain imaginable.

 

Yet still he battled on.

 

“YOU...SHALL...NOT...DEFEAT...ME...”

 

He felt a brief tug of resistance as his huge frame cut through the protective barrier. Church felt burning pain as the lightning attacked his eyes, and through his failing vision he saw nothing but swirling light.

 

With a deafening roar of anger, he forced up his huge power fist. It ignited with a shower of energy which crackled and hissed as it intermingeld with the psychic storm.

 

“DIE...NOW...”

 

Putting in all the strength he had left, he launched his fist forward.

 

He barely felt the blow as the huge thing slammed into the beautiful, frail body of the young woman. An explosion of psychic power resounded through the chamber with a thunderclap, almost bowling Church over.

 

The force of the blow launched the woman through the air, and her body flew a full twenty metres before landing heavily on the floor of the crypt, bones snapping under the impact.

 

 

 

Then, suddenly, all was still.

 

For a moment, Church stood rigid, frozen; then his muscles seemed to give way all at once and he dropped heavily to his knees. The yellow paint on his armour was burnt and shrivelled, and trails of smoke snaked their way into the air from all over his body.

 

 

 

Ulman ran over to the prostrate form of Octavia lying on the ground, shouting her name. He turned her over and shook her, tears streaming down his face.

 

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open, and for a moment, she stared at him. He let out a whimper of relief, his tears dropping down onto her face.

 

“I’m alright, Ulman, quit shaking me” she wheezed.

 

Ulman just took her into his arms and held her fast.

 

 

 

Lieutenant Daman sped over to Brother Hernando, who groaned as he slowly pushed himself up from the ground.

 

“I’m alright. Check the psyker.”

 

“Yes, Lord.”

 

Daman slowly advanced on the jumbled form of the woman, his autogun carefully aimed at her. A ragged wheeze told him she was still alive.

 

The blow from the power fist had crushed her legs, her ribcage and her right arm, as well as caused massive internal bleeding and lacerations. Her beautiful milky white skin was covered in large dark blotches were blood flowed freely through her broken systems, and her limbs lay at horrifically oblique angles.

 

Daman reached her. Her head turned to face him, and he was surprised to see not a look of pain or even anger, but of sorrow in her beautiful features. Feeling suddenly shamed, he knelt down next to her and laid down his autogun.

 

The woman’s pained face broke into a weak but beautiful smile. Daman suddenly felt a deep sorrow erupt within him as he perceived the sincerity of her smile, her happiness at him kneeling by her. Her left hand, shaking, slowly rose and stroked his face.

 

Her lips moved, her voice barely audible.

 

“Fate...has...decided the doom of...my world. The...universe...will be plunged...into eternal war...my world...destroyed...”

 

Her breathing came in ragged gasps.

 

“Brave warrior...will you...hear my words?”

 

“I will” Daman whispered, holding her hand.

 

“Then hear me. Brave warrior...even now...when you...have doomed...my world...for you I feel...nothing but...love.”

 

Gazing into her beautiful eyes, Daman was immediately sure of her sincerity, and a pang of shame, of guilt, of sorrow passed through him.

 

“I have...always ever...wanted peace...and protection...for the people...of this world. Brave warrior...strive...to do the same...peace...love...and freedom...amongst the stars...follow...these highest...ideals...”

 

She coughed up blood over her breasts.

 

To see her broken body, to hear her beautiful voice, so full of sincerity, touched Daman’s soul. A wave of sorrow passed over him as he perceived what they had done as so utterly and totally wrong.

 

“I am sorry” he whispered.

 

She smiled, tears streaming down her face.

 

“You...are a...good man...”

 

Her muscles tensed for a moment.

 

“Go now...in peace...brave warrior...”

 

Her eyes glazed over, all her muscles relaxed and she exhaled one last time.

 

Daman felt tears stream down his face.

 

 

 

“Sarge?”

 

Hernando put his hand on Church’s shoulder pad.

 

Hanas Churchendal looked a wasted husk of his former self. His face had melted and burnt into something barely recognisable as human; one of his eyes had burst; the red and white tatoo-paint had burnt itself into what remained of his face. His lips hung losely from his mouth, and his ears had shrivelled to small humps.

 

The opening which had once been his mouth slowly opened and a barely understandable wheeze came out.

 

“Get everyone...storage room. Krak grenades. Blow the spire to oblivion.”

 

For a moment, Hernando didn’t move, unsure what to do or say. Then he answered.

 

“Of course, sarge.”

[raptor1199]

dow 2 intro :)

 

soon will come two big booms?

[Legio Draconis]

Top class. :thanks:

[Gree]

“I have...always ever...wanted peace...and protection...for the people...of this world. Brave warrior...strive...to do the same...peace...love...and freedom...amongst the stars...follow...these highest...ideals...”

 

She coughed up blood over her breasts.

 

Peace in my grimdark future? Say it is'nt so. :wub:

 

Seriously though, another good peice. It's interesting to see the clones again. It reminds me of Star Wars.

[Ufthak]

@raptor1199:

1 big boom and then a series of huge, world-shaking booms more like...

 

@Legio Draconis:

Thanks man :P

 

@Gree:

Well, I tried to add that as an extra tragic component...that there are people who strive to peace and freedom, and who try to do everything to change the future and stop the 10,000 years of war to follow - but we all know that they fail at it, and that war engulfs the galaxy.

 

Next part up hopefully sometime today!

[raptor1199]

@raptor1199:

1 big boom and then a series of huge, world-shaking booms more like...

hmm big spire thing boom=1

navy orbital ownage=1

 

1+1=2 :P

[Ufthak]

Next few chapters up!

Though it may seem like the end, don't worry, it's not, at least not quite yet :D Still need to do a few finishing chapters!

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Capital City Sewer System

 

 

 

The hail of red bolts cut through the advancing Mons Sanctus troops like a scythe through grass. Trooper Ndwembe calmly swept the rotary cannon left and right. At this range, in the confines of a tunnel, it was impossible to miss.

 

The floor of the tunnel was plastered with dead bodies so thick you could no longer see the it.

 

And yet, every assault cost the defenders. Theoderic and Isidor both had additional damage to their armour and were by now wielding enemy weapons, having run out of ammunition for their bolters.

 

“Not much left in this thing, my Lord” Ndwembe remarked to Isidor, referring to the rotary cannon.

 

The pain inside Theoderic receded into nothingness as his senses started to fail. His muscles relaxed and he felt his body become wonderfully heavy. The hard floor of the tunnel suddenly seemed very comfortable, and his arms dropped down, the enemy weapon sliding down his ruined frame to the ground.

 

Through his failing vision, Theoderic could make out fresh enemy troops moving up the tunnel.

 

 

 

219-58, underground crypt

 

 

With a grunt of effort, Brother Hernando slumped Maric’s body down on the ground next to Church. Ulman followed close behind, steadying Octavia, while Daman, who had brought in Erman’s body, knelt by the blast hole in the wall of the storage room, gazing back to the spire.

 

“Blow it” Church mumbled, his scorched skin giving of a horrible rustling sound as he did so.

 

With a hollow look, Daman pressed the detonator.

 

A series of explosions rippled along the base of the spire, closely followed by another a bit further up as the krak grenades blew.

 

For a moment, nothing happened; then, the huge spire slowly toppled, gathering speed. A horrible moan suddenly passed through the air as the psykers collectively screamed in terror. Finally, it hit the ground with a deafening crash, masonry and cables flying everywhere.

 

The beautiful blue light suddenly dimmed and and went out. For a moment, the myriad of tiny crystals in the floor and the walls glowed on of their own accord, before they too went out, plunging the chamber into darkness.

 

Tears silently rolled down Daman’s cheeks.

 

 

 

Mors cum Surriso, Bridge

 

 

“Captain, Captain! Holographics are being updated! We have full eyes!” the helmswoman, Koineh Vanderbergh voxed to Leuwen.

 

Laarom Leuwen glanced over the map of the combat zone. Where before there had been nothing but a few red and green dots denoting positions of Corporate and Imperial troops, long out-of-date and covered with a grey film, now there was a fully updated and unshrouded picture of the situation.

 

“Firing stations D through P, arm plasma warheads, everyone stand by for orbital bombardment!”

 

He glanced over to one of the servitors manning the logic-engines.

 

“Any news on firing solutions from fleet HQ?”

 

“Incoming data” the servitor anwered in a dead voice.

 

Leuwen impatiently drummed his fingers against the armrest of his command throne, waiting for the solutions to come in. The seconds ticked by, seemingly lasting an eternity. The Captain felt the gleeful urge, the need to unload his ship with deadly warheads and crush the enemy below under a thunderous fire which would make them believe their own gods were hurling death from the skies.

 

“Data received. Firing solutions uploaded” the servitor droned.

 

“Good! All stations, confirm firing solutions!”

 

A series of coded clicks through the vox told Leuwen the guncrews had received the solutions and prepared the warheads.

 

Now, all they needed was permission to open fire from fleet HQ.

 

Again, endless seconds ticked by, and Leuwen ground his teeth together in anticipation.

 

Suddenly, a voice rang out through the vox.

 

“This is fleet command. All ships, open fire.”

 

Leuwen turned to helmsmistress Vanderbergh and nodded.

 

Her clear voice rang out through the vox.

 

“Everyone stand by. Orbital barrage in five...four...three...two...one...fire!”

 

The ship shook a fraction as ten huge plasma warheads ejected into space and sped off toward the surface of the planet below.

 

 

 

219-58, “The Meat Grinder”

 

 

Sergeant A-340586 had no warning, no time to react, as, suddenly, the very heavens opened and rained death from above. Hundreds of warheads, trailing smoke behind them, streamed downward.

 

The Clone Trooper watched them dive toward the earth. The first one struck about a mile out from the Imperial positions. At first, a dome of blue fire erupted, billowing outward within milliseconds. Moments later, it was joined by one, two, three more, huge blue domes which consumed everything within two hundred yards in super-heated, ionized gas. Then, a second after the first warhead had struck, the shockwave and the noise came. The explosions were so thunderous, so ground-shaking, that A-340586 was thrown off his feet.

 

The ground shook as in an earthquake as hundreds more of the warheads struck the assaulting Corporate forces.

 

Entire tank brigades were vapourised, city blocks with hundreds of civilians huddled in them disappeared in the blink of an eye.

 

After barely two minutes, the bombardment was over.

 

And with it, the war.

[Legio Draconis]

I propose good sir that this is fit for induction into the librarium. Well done, well played and what a cracking story.

[raptor1199]

shatter the sky lol

[Ufthak]

@Legio Draconis:

Wow, I feel honoured!

But wait a bit, it's not entirely finished yet, as I said, there's still a few finishing chapters to be done!

[Ufthak]

Four short chapters...nearing the end, but not quite yet :unsure:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

6 hours later

 

 

219-58, Imperial landing site

 

 

Captain Pavlos Mayer grunted as the Apothecary carefully tended to the deep wound in his chest. The pain was intense, but with the stims and painkillers the apothecary was injecting, it was tolerable – at least for an Astartes.

 

To distract himself from the pain, Mayer gazed out over the battlefield.

 

Torrential rain hammered down from the skies, a reaction to the tremendous powers unleashed during the orbital bombardment. The rain brought with it the black smoke from the sky, washing everything in a filthy dark film. Huge craters dotted the landscape where the plasma warheads had struck, obliterating everthing beneath them.

 

What remained of the Corporate forces had routed south or surrendered. Fresh Imperial Army regiments were being deployed to hunt down the shredded enemy forces still at large.

 

They had prevailed. In accordance with the First Captain’s orders, 2^nd Company had stopped the rout, taken down the enemy orbital defence capabilities as well as the shroud, and had successfully beaten the enemy.

 

Within a few years, this would be an Imperial World.

 

Though, when Mayer gazed out over the tortured, black land, he couldn’t help wondering whether it really had been worth it.

 

The cost had been dear. Of the full 2^nd Company, 1^st “Templar” Grand Company, now only 24 Battle-Brothers remained unhurt. 27 dead, and many more in stasis, close to death. For an Astartes company, the casualties had been enormous.

 

The Imperial Army had fared little better. Over sixty regiments were below 30% strength and would have to be sent home for refit, or be amalgamated to form effective combat units. The heroic Dumonti Royal Guard Corps, which had started the battle with 10 infantry and a tank battalion, could now only field a weak tank squadron and four amalgamated battalions. Other units which had fought bravely were in similar states. The hard-as-nails 305^th Regiment, Dyssadian Clone Troopers had shrunk from a strength of 3,600 to a mere 23 troopers, and yet they had never wavered and always held their position.

 

It had been one of the hardest fights 2^nd Company had as yet experienced, and it would take months if not years to replace the losses.

 

Tears silently ran down Mayer’s face as he recalled all those brothers slain...and those whose fate was as yet unclear.

 

Theoderic...

 

 

219-58, “The Meat Grinder”

 

 

Sniper-Guard Thymias stumbled over debris toward the remains of the local craft with which they had crash-landed into the Dumonti lines.

 

By some miracle, Lars and Drax, though both gravely wounded, had survived, and Thymias had managed to pull them both from the wreck and carry them, one by one, to the next aid station.

 

But the spy had not been so lucky. The crash had crushed the strange, small, quiet man, ripping his left arm of and breaking almost every bone in his body. Quatt’s cloak and part of his skin had been torn off, leaving him a half-naked, mangled mess.

 

When Thymias had pulled his squadmates from the craft, he had only stolen a quick glance at the spy to check whether he was still alive. A strange thing he had noticed was a tiny tattoo on the skin of Quatt’s exposed hip. A small, green symbol...vaguely resembling a three-headed snake.

 

Thymias had resolved to return to the craft and retrieve the body of the brave spy who had brought them through a hail of fire and helped them accomplish their mission well. He had not wanted the spy’s body to be simply cremated unceremoniously along with the enemy dead.

 

Yet now, he stood before the wreck of the craft.

 

Though Thymias had only been away a short while, it was empty.

 

The body was gone.

 

 

 

219-58, Capital City Sewer System

 

 

Trooper Ndwembe felt forlorn.

 

His leg seared with pain; the two Astartes had both stopped moving or doing anything a while back, and the ammunition for the rotary cannon was out.

 

He lay in cover behind the body of the massive enemy monster, gripping his autogun with shaking hands.

 

He knew the next enemy assault would finish him.

 

Desperation gripped him at the thought of dying in this sewer, alone, unceremoniously in the dirt.

 

Suddenly, voices rang out down the tunnel.

 

He gripped his autogun and aimed it.

 

Through his failing night vision, he could vaguely make out large, hulking shapes.

 

Terra be praised...Astartes!

 

The hulking warriors suddenly stopped in their tracks, aiming their weapons at him.

 

“Anyone left alive here?” a deep, metallic voice asked.

 

Ndwembe wept in relief as he slowly raised his arms and came up from behind the cover.

 

 

 

219-58, Imperial landing site

 

 

Lieutenant Eva Montmartre steadied herself against the wall of the HQ dugout. Fatigue was almost total, the effort of coordinating the defence, providing intel to the Astartes as well as surviving the enemy assaults having taken their toll on her.

 

She surveyed her team, all exhausted, still operating the vox units and holo-casters, analysing information and passing it on. Eva’s best aide, Ulomni, who had so faithfully aided the Astartes in her stead, lay slumped over the table, fast asleep, a half-empty cup of caffeine in her hand.

 

Eva smiled. She was proud of her team; they had done a good job.

 

“Greetings, Lieutenant” a whisper came from behind her.

 

Eva turned and stared into the noble, pale face of the Raven Guard sergeant. His armour was dented and scratched, blood flecking at all over.

 

“I just wanted to thank you for the help you provided us with; it certainly saved many lives and aided us in accomplishing our mission. You are a first-rate staff officer, lieutenant.”

 

Eva just stared, almost shamed by the very idea that an Astartes would thank her, Eva Montmartre, for her help.

 

“I...I...I...erm” she managed to stammer.

 

The noble sergeant’s face broke into a smile.

 

“In the name of the XIX Legion, I thank you, Eva Montmartre. May luck and good fortune follow you wherever you go.”

 

“I thank you, my Lord” Eva managed, feeling herself go red.

 

With a grin, the Raven Guard sergeant turned and left, leaving Eva red-faced and glowing.