The Angel's Cry

[LardO'Blood]

I decided to give a short story a shot. I know how to indent entire paragraphs, but how do I tab over at the beginning of a paragraph on the B&C?

I'm not sure about all the fluff accuracy so please tell me. Also, I have yet to proof read so feel free to point out typos or awkward sentences.

 

The Angel’s Cry

Brother Abram was a member of the Deathwing for 109 years. He forgot about his homeworld and his family long ago. His hair was grey, with a few sandy strands still left. On his forehead were 2 iron studs, hammered in for his two centuries of service in the Dark Angels. Abram’s face was covered in scars and burns from the battlefield. His face was hard, rigid and calm. Abram had seen the illustrious Tau Empire, the palace on Terra, the hive fleets of the Tyranids, the innumerable hordes of Orks and every other menace to the Imperium imaginable.

 

Abram strode into the armory, the sounds of his armored feet moving sent the servitors scuttling away as he moved. As he walked, the lights slowly flickered on, alerted by a motion sensor. Down the corridor he strode past racks of weapons, bolters, missile launchers, plasma guns, power swords, power fists, crates of grenades, even a conversion beamer. At the end, he moved aside a tall case of power swords and stepped behind. Inside was a door, held shut by a plethora of different locks and devices. With time-honed precision he went through all the DNA checks, keypads and various devices. As he punched in the last code, the door slowly creaked open. He just barely squeezed through the door because of the bulk of his tactical dreadnought armor. Inside the lights were already on, seated around a stone table were four brethren, also in terminator armor. These were the members of his Deathwing squad. On these walls were more superior weapons, chain fists, force weapons, assault cannons, heavy flamers and the like, all specially built for tactical dreadnought armor. Taking a large, tattered starmap from his locker, Abram spread it across the table.

 

“Okay lads. We’ve received a mission. The upstart inhabitants of the planet unskillfully named Forgiveness have succumbed to Chaos. Originally the Inquisition was planning to perform an Exterminatus as the planet had minimal value, but we received reports that they have captured our garrison, a squad of tactical marines from the 5th company. Several of them are prime prospects for promotion to the inner circle. We will perform a rescue mission, teleporting into their command center, seizing the captives and getting out. Any questions?”

 

As no replies came, Abram spread out another map. This map showed the area around where the command center was.

 

“As you can see, the base is very high security. We lost several spies attaining these maps. We won’t be trying for any stealth. Our plan is to teleport in as close as possible to the captives and blow the living daylights out of anything that gets in our way. As we secure the captives, three other Deathwing squads will disable any anti-aircraft weapons. As soon as we receive news they are down, we will plant meltabombs around the facility and blow through the roof. A thunderhawk transport will be standing by to swoop in and get us once we have accomplished the objective. Understood?”

 

“Brother, a full tactical squad will be hard to protect, will we be bringing weapons for them with us?” questioned the largest of the squad, Brother Joshua. He was also the newest member.

 

“Yes, since you brought it up you will be the one responsible for the tactical squads armament. I’ve searched the records and the preferred armament of the squad is this: One heavy bolter, six bolters, two plasma guns, bolt pistols for each of them and a thunderhammer for the sergeant. I want you to collect all this and put it in a steel container. We will teleport it in with us.” replied Abram, slightly flustered, “No more questions? Get your gear ready and report to the teleportation bay in two hours.”

 

The terminators dispersed, each going to the wall to take up their weapons. Abram walked towards his section, equipping two assault cannons. He had been taught to use all the weapons of the Deathwing in his first year of service and had settled on an assault cannon. For his 100th year in the Deathwing a friendly techmarine had crafted him a left handed assault cannon and given both of his assault cannons suspensors so he could fire them both at the same time. The squad, fully equipped, donned robes. They were the first squad and known throughout the Deathwing for wearing robes into battle, as they all had done as company veterans. The room slowly emptied as the squad finished up. Instead of going out the way they came in, they walked down another corridor to the strike cruiser’s teleportation bay.

 

The teleportation bay was relatively deserted. It was a large room, in the center was a large, square, glinting, metal platform. Above the platform was a cage like structure. The room had several cubicle like structures to the left. Around the cubicles bustled servitors, mindlessly obeying their masters. A techmarine emerged from the nearest cubicle and walked toward them.

“It will be just a moment brothers, we need to wait for the others.” he said, peering around them to see if there were any others.

 

“Very well.” agreed Abram, “Here are our co-ordinates.” Abram handed the techmarine a piece of parchment with a long stream of letters and numbers.

 

“Thank you, you may wait on the platform.” The techmarine smiled. Rarely did the terminators know their co-ordinates and he was frequently sent on a wild goose chase to find them.

 

Abram motioned his squad forward, to the platform. Assembling around him they each held their weapons in, close to their bodies. Joshua had with him a silver box, containing weapons for the captives. The techmarine walked over and placed the box in a silver, pulsing orb.

 

“On landing, when the box is ready to be opened, press this button.” ordered the techmarine, handing Joshua a remote.

 

Joshua smiled back, grateful. He had enjoyed his few months in the Deathwing so far, but oftentimes he wished for more forgiving, joyous brethren.

 

Gradually 15 more terminators entered the room, each in the beige armor of the Deathwing. A platform came down from the ceiling. On the platform was the company master, Belial, and a large screen. The terminators listened attentively to their master as they were retold all the details of the attack. Finally, after a rather un-brief briefing, he told everyone to go to their positions. Unsurprisingly, the first Deathwing squad would plunge first into the enemy, followed by the second, third and fourth who would go to their own locations. Abram and his squad once again readied themselves, all huddling around each other for the deepstrike.

 

“All systems are go!” shouted the techmarine, above the whirring of machinery as the cage came down from the ceiling around the platform.

 

“Teleportation in 5…4…3…2…1!” cried the techmarine.

 

For a brief moment Abram and his squad were blinded by warp energy from teleportation. Greeted by cries of surprise, the squad had teleported successfully into the heart of the enemy. Instantly, guns ablaze, the squad began administering the Emperor’s wrath. Cultists and traitor guardmen died in droves to the Deathwing squad. The area cleared, Abram motioned his squad through a door. Once inside the prison facility, he took a few shots at surprised guards. Walking up to the control computer, Abram laid down his assault cannons and inserted a computer chip. The chip instantly infected the computer system with a virus and transmitted all of its data to the strike cruiser in orbit around the planet. A few moments later, Abram received instructions via his helmet. They told him the tactical squad was situated in cell 12. Grabbing his assault cannons, he ran down the hall to the door. Taking a few steps back, he charged straight into it. The door was made of 20 inches of solid steel and titanium, but it was nothing compared to his terminator armor. The squad inside sat up quickly looking at him. The sergeant started laughing maniacally.

 

“Come on guys, we’re getting you out of here.” said Abram quickly.

 

To his horror, the squad’s armor was broken in many places as their daemonic manifestation became apparent. Some marines sprouted wings, others giant claws, and still others grew completely out of their armor. The sergeant lunged at him, claws outstretched. Grabbing the marines arm, he threw him back into his squad. Raising his assault cannons he started firing. Round after round shrieked from the barrels, of his gun, tearing through the Chaos marines with ease. Surveying his carnage, Abram stepped back out the door. Hearing a thunderous roar, he ducked just in time as a plasma bolt surged over his head. Four raptors were flying straight at him, firing their bolt and plasma pistols. Before he could raise his assault cannon to fire, a volley of shots and a missile obliterated them. Spinning, he saw his squad.

 

“Didn’t think we’d let you have all the fun, did you?” asked Solomon, the one equipped with a cyclone missile launcher.

 

Abram smiled for a brief second. Suddenly, an orb appeared around them, trapping them. A chaos sorcerer stood down the hall, cackling at his prey. The squad tried to fire upon him but the bolts harmlessly trickled out of their guns. The bubble started to squeeze the squad, forcing them into a deep sleep.