Memories of War - Part 2

[Yaj]

Right lets see if this 4-intertwining storie arc/thing works...

 

Oh and if you haven't please read Memories of War - Part 1, thanks

 

comments etc are most welcome.

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How do I begin? do I write a great saga worthy of mankinds most respected poets and playwrights? Perhaps I should simply say nothing, save the truth. This, my tale, is the truth of that I am sure. It begins three hundred years ago in what would have been on long lost Arsadia, our now dead home, 'The Year of Hawks'. I do not believe it will surprise you that as a warrior my story begins...

 

in war.

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Does this world even have a word for night? it was a question Jarl Hartha often asked himself when fighting the 'Thandari Thought' upon the day-world of Hindaniausozakal, a name none of the Hounds of Night had ever mastered. The time according to his visor display was 0105hrs and yet the planets sun whose name was even more fantabously unpronouncable was still seemingly locked at middday. He found himself glancing up at the glaring orb even as he listened to his senior commander's orders.

 

'Understood, 3rd Squad to recon ruins to north-west' a blink and the vox connection was cut. A moment later and a series of co-ordinates roll before his right eye giving him the positions of the objective, location of friendly troops and enemy forces as best could be surmised by the strike cruiser's auguries. He turned to face his squad whom he had nicked named the 'Poor-Man' for there seemingly almost beggar like appearance even in full armour.

 

'I don't about you but I'm on my 100th strike' Hartha new he was no orator and did not need to be still he liked giving his thoughts voice. Perhaps what the other War-Hearts said about him was true..then again they had always resented his rapid rise from scout to War-Heart (sgt) of 3rd Squad, 8th Company.

 

'So, I think it's time I sort new flesh' he continued tapping at the worn leathery hide, upon his right pauldron, of what had once been the chest of an ork nob who he had personally defeated after it had crushed Ragari, former War-Heart of 3rd Squad.

 

'Fancy tagging along?' laughing at his own joke Hartha turned north-west and activated his jump-pack. Then he led the Poor-Man north-west in series of 'hops' which led them to the out-skirts of a small ruined fort, a guard-post perhaps? before the Imperial Guard shelled it into virtual oblivion thought Hartha. Like his squad he was armoured in midnight blue trimed with a lighter blue round the edge of his shoulder guard. In the never ending sun they had no hope of approaching the fort undetected and whilst the Poor-Man didn't shirk from combat Hartha wanted to gain some tactical knowledge of the grid-point he'd been sent to before the enemy arrived.

 

A flurry of las-shot followed by the roar-whoosh of some heavier weaponary brought the swift realisation that the Thandari Thought had beaten them there. Landing just by the wall and with only minor injuries save for Kad who had the misfortune to be struck head-first by what ever the Thought had fired at them. Hartha switched his viewing mode on his helm to pick up heat signatures he was then able to see beyond the stone wall and look upon the enemy. He grinned to himself for they were all aiming upwards expecting, no doubt, for his warriors to attack from the skies.

 

'Through' he voxed to the squad 'good hunting' and then with out further pomp preceded to alight his jump pack once more and use himself as a battering-ram to plough through the wall. Several of the defenders died instantly crushed beneath the falling debris. Mere stone and blood does not stop an astartes especially one traveling as fast as Hartha was and it wasn't until he had literally turned several dozen of the Thoughts Warriors into new types of meat-pate that he finally came to a halt. He turned back to exam the carnage his charge had wrought and to see how his squad fared.

 

The Thought seemed without number or so Colonel Rarth of 56th Jukal Light had insisted after he and the other dozen or so regiments of the guard had been pegged back by the Thandari Thought. They were of course limited with numbers as with any force but the commanders, the so called 'Process' seemed to regard there soldiers lives as cheap. In that way, mused Hartha the enemy was very much like the worthless guard. The cries of war from the east of his standing told him of a fresh wave of enemy troops. His left hand thumbed the activation stud on his plasma-pistol and the weapon started to hum quietly as it built in power. He had not activated it before as he himself had been the weapon and given how ineffectual the Thought were in stopping him Hartha wondered if he should just deactivate it and use his fists instead.

 

Another roar of hate to his north told him that even with his superior strength and skill a weapon wouldn't hurt. The first of the eastern force was now clambouring over the remants of a gate way. The Poor-Man's chainswords rang with a unified throaty roar as they held there ground allowing the enemy to break like a wave upon them before setting about hacking them to pieces by the time a minute had past the attackers were nothing more than bloody parts on the grass covered ground. A minute after that the second wave of the eastern force arrived and the Poor-Man this time counter-assaulted reaping a tally of dead and continued to do so as the third wave attacked.

 

Meanwhile the northern force had slowed in there approach seemingly having seen the fate of there comrades. Hartha, who had remained back from the fighting in order to allow his squad first blood, watched them approach the blasted ruins of the forts northern wall. Turning back momentarily to check on his squad he unhooked the hand-flamer at upon his left hip, a gift from the Blood Angels - or so Hartha claimed, and marched towards the northern Thought.

 

'I still need new flesh' he muttered to himself even as his first plasma shot vapourised three of the northern force as they finally started charging as rapidly as they had been doing before seeing the fate of the eastern Thought. As he advanced towards them Hartha found himself concentrating more on finding a worthy foe from which he could gain new flesh to replace the hide of ork Nob and to his disgust it seemed none of the Thought were even worthy of such an honour.

 

'Weak' he whispered to himself as he killed.

 

'Pathetic' he cried as he burned a dozen with his flamer.

 

'Fools' he roared as his plasma pistol beheaded a warrior about to throw a grenade at him at close range and then pulverised several more beyond. The resultant blast from the grenade killed several more of the enemy. Was there truly no one who could even provide something of a challenge? Hartha snarled in anger as he laid about with plasma and fire slaughtering all that approached his sphere of influence. By now the rest of Poor-Man had defeated the eastern force and had arrived to assist there commander. Who was displeased to note Iiraz it seemed had been slain momentarily distracted Hartha failed to notice the Thought-Warrior charging at him until...

 

Thwack, the sound of the power-fist impacting on his chest rang out snapping the War-Heart out of his thoughts and back to the battle at hand. He looked down at the enemy who had attacked him and sighed as he saw the man ready himself for another strike.

 

'Idiot' sighed Hartha once more before caving the man's skull in 'try turning it on, next time'...

three more calls of hate from the south and east told Hartha of fresh enemy forces. Perhaps, he wondered, they would provide him with new flesh.

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I shall never forget of that glorious, if one-sided, battle but neither shall I forget those terrible beasts who laid all but myself low. I thank my brothers of Poor-Man Squad for there sacrifice and the advancement to first company it earn't me.

 

A reward I most richly deserved.

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Flesh-Smith is replaced by War-Heart and is now only a squad Sgt/Chaplain.

 

I will returned to full first-person during Part 3 once this is finished.

 

thanks for reading.

[Pasta]

Please don't start a new thread when you've already got one open for the same story. Just a suggestion.

 

Pasta

[Yaj]

I'm trying to make these as seperate but linked stories. I feel I can acheive this best as seperate threads and when finished they can be read in any order and still (fingers crossed) make sense.

 

Sorry, but that is how I'm going to do it unless instructed not to by the mods.

 

I'll be posting the next section of Hartha's story hopefully sometime tonight.

[Yaj]

Ok, next part - sorry for the delay.

 

This next part is quite short.

 

As all ways comments etc are welcome.

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So now I shall briefly tell of how first came to know of Hyda Nival who at the time was a young marine who had recently achieved the rank of codicier. We were attending a banquet held in our honour by Governor-Lord Al'Lavit for defeating the invading Tau. Truth be told I did not want to be there but my squad, along with chosen others, had the misfortune of being the one which the Flesh-Lord selected to show respect to our hosts and there fallen soldiers.

 

Suprisingly the Chapter Master excused himself...

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Hartha couldn't decide whether the music, the weak wine or the overly dressed fat oaf who was happily chating away about his latest conquest in the markets. Yes the man was probably the most irritating mainly for his stupidity. All the other human guests of Al'Lavit had briefly applauded the marines on arrival and then swiftly, very swiftly, got as far a way as possible. For to a normal average man or woman an eight foot tall being whose sole purpose is to bring death to his enemies is something to be feared but not apparently to the fat so-n-so talking to Hartha.

 

'And so you see by increasing pay of my dock workers I was able to secure there loyalty withou...' Hartha stopped listening instead he was trying to work out if it would be possible to kill the man without anyone noticing until the Hounds of Night were a long, long gone. He knew shouting at the man wouldn't work as he had already yelled at a servant boy who had touched his helmet with greasy fingers and the merchant had still come over and started talking.

 

'Perhaps', Hartha thought, 'I should just rip his head off...' ah no that would never do not because he was an imperial citizen but because if Hartha were to carry out such an action then no doubt the other guests would thank him for getting rid of such annoying person and he, Hartha, would have to attend another dam banquet. Then a large shadow came over the man who ceased talking, got up and left as fast as his podgy legs would carry him.

 

'I gave him the impression that he was completly naked, if you were wondering' said the librarian who was now standing before Hartha's table grinning like a mad-man.

 

'I was not but I thank you none the less' Hartha replied then continued 'Can you not do that to all of them?'

 

'Alas, no I am still learning to control my ablities' Hartha took another sip of his wine which had started to measurably cool down as the codicier sat down opposite him.

 

'Shame, brother Nival, I would very much have enjoyed such a sight' taking another sip of his wine which was now nearly ice cold then quietly addng 'and it would mean leaving this bloody banquet...accursed Flesh-Lor' Hartha stopped himself from speaking further. He couldn't stand the Flesh-Lord but his words were boarding on treasonous.

 

'Yes it would be' Nival removed his white helmet and looked Hartha straight in the eye 'We should talk more, friend, about our mutual interest...'

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So began our long friendship and alliance against the Flesh-Lord, it has lasted for two hundred and seventy-nine years. One thing has always puzzled me though was how the weak and near tastless hot wine I was drinking became so rapidly cold.

 

I shall ask Nival next time I see him...

 

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Sorry its short but I ran the risk of revealing to much to quickly.

 

Will post the next part sometime during the few days and will also be starting a new story called 'Milenas'