Tyranid Terror

[Angelwinged]

Sergeant Girard hurried between the fighting positions his platoon was erecting from loading equipment, freight, and abbandoned vehicles. He directed the placement of heavy weapons and made sure that they had overlapping fields of fire and plenty of ammunition. He looked all around with anxiety causing his heart to feel heavy in his chest. Panicked civilians wailed and cryed as they hurried towards the barricade, which bristled with lasguns, missile launchers, and beltfed autocannons. Their emotions did not escape Sgt. Girard. In fact, he was no stranger to the monsters known as Tyranids.

 

Sgt Girard had the misfortune of having to fight Tyranids once before when he was a young private. Not many of his comrades had survived the encounter. He could still see the faces of his friends when he closed his eyes at night sometimes. Their flesh melting off from bio-acid right down to the bone, and the total horror in their eyes as they screamed and dissolved. Such a horrific way to die. Others died more mercifully, decapitated or impaled by razor edged claws. Sgt. Girard had been tempered in the heat of many battles since then, and though his fear was still strong, he knew how to handle it. He wasnt another greener anymore, he was a Veteran. He focused on the task at hand and remembered the promise of the Emperor, to raise his warriors up once again in eternal glory, so long as they stood fast to the end. He walked along the barricade and talked up his men, reminding them to stay focused on the mission and pray for the intercession of the Emperor. Brave troops are blessed in the eyes of the Emperor.

 

Their mission was to secure the entrance of the monorail terminal and facilitate the safe evacuation of civilians and science personnel from the colony. Every few minutes a rail train would arrive at the terminal and ferry human cargo the three kilometers to the launch pads. All available starships in range of the colony, commercial, military, and privately owned ships, were ordered under authority of emergency Imperial order to assist in evacuation. The Tyranid scouting force, which numbered in the tens of thousands, was sure to arrive at the terminal, the only question is if the evacuation would be completed before then.

 

It had all started only a day ago when they had come from the sky during the night. By morning contact was lost with many towns. Survivors eventually told the story of the Tyranid presence. It had been a fighting withdrawal from that point on as militias of colonists and colonial Guard forces faught to buy civilians time to evacuate. Sgt. Girard counted himself blessed to have been posted at the terminal. It meant that he and his men just might survive long enough to be evacuated on the last ship.

 

Corporal Whitman was busy directing civilians to remain calm and stay proceed in an orderly fashion to the rail terminal as they streamed in the starport front gate. The civilians were carrying only what they could carry with them on their hurried retreat from the city. Many of them were silent and in shock, others injured and covered in blood, and still others bore horrible burn wounds. Silently, Corporal Whitman called on the Emperor to have mercy on them all.

 

Sgt. Girard put a hand on Corporal Whitman's shoulder, and startled him. The 25 year old man jumped and turned around. "Sergeant, Emperor's name you nearly gave me a heart attack."

 

"Easy Corporal, if you think I am scary, just wait until you see these uglies that are headed our way." Sgt. Girard smiled.

 

Corporal Whitman took a deep breath, "I am hoping we are out of here before any show up. I have no problem shooting some Xenos, but I would like to live to tell about it. Any word on how much longer this will take?" His face showed his great concern and anxiety.

 

"Its going as fast as it can be done. Keep up the good work and-"

Before he could finish, horrible screams of terror sounded in the distance. Sgt. Girard's blood turned ice cold instantly. He heard those screams before and knew what they meant. He yelled to his platoon, "Tyranids! Make ready!"

 

Sgt. Girard took position behind the barricade and looked out with his binoculars. By now the civilians were rushing towards the terminal as fast as they could manage. He looked past them and felt his skin crawling, his spine tingling, his body going cold... he saw the four meter tall alien warriors striding towards them. They were so repugnant to human eyes. With long segmented arms of armored chitin, they fired acid shells out of living weapons. Vile evil creations of Xeno evolution. For a moment he could do nothing except watch as they discharged their weapons, spattering civilians with acid. It dissolved limbs in seconds.

 

"Sgt! Sgt!" Corporal Whitman yelled. Sgt. Girard finally regained his composure. He began issuing orders through his comm-bead.

 

"I want heavy weapons targeting the big ones, bring them down as fast as you can. Everyone else keep the little ones from getting close. Aim for the shoulders, youll slow them down and hit the lungs. Glory to the Emperor!" He bellowed loudly. His men gave out a war cry, half to release their anxiety, and half from fighting spirit.

 

Missile contrails arced outward and over the civilians heads. Some missed, but some found their mark and alien bodies exploded. Autocannon tracers arced out and impacted on their targets. As the surviving civilians made it to the terminal, the troops could see a wave of the small alien beasts scurrying towards them in an almost solid mass of chitin, teeth, and claws.

 

"Traversing fire, execute!" Sgt. Girard yelled. His men obeyed and began traversing their lasguns left to right, whittling down the swarm of xenos as hundreds of las bolts impacted. Missiles exploded and sent chunks of xeno flesh into the air. Autocannon rounds cut through multiple xenos with every shot. A wall of dead corpses began to form, and grow, and grow. It was incredible, it looked like they might be able to stop them. Sgt. Girard cheered his men on, "Lay it on boys, Lay it on those godless xenos, for the Emperor!"

 

Corporal Whitman's heart pounded heavy in his chest. His hands trembled as adrenaline courses through his body. The guard training had paid off, despite being more pumped up than he had ever been in his life, he was working the power cells in and out of his las-gun like an expert. His fire was almost constant, and his barrel was glowing orange. The handguard was hot to the touch, even through his gloves, so he rested it against the barricade and continued blasting and yelling curses upon the xeno abominations. The wall of corpses was growing and growing, he could hardly believe it. How many more could there be?

 

The train arrived once more and panicked civilians poured into the doors as soon as they opened. When that train left, there were not many civilians left. One more train would be able to take the rest of the civilians and Sgt. Girards platoon. Praise to the Emperor. It looked like they were going to make it.

 

Sgt. Girard slapped a power cell firmly into position in the magazine well of his lasgun. It clicked firmly into position. His barrel was red hot by now, and would probably never be accurate again, but the rifle still functioned. He fired and fired. A thump-thump noise drew his attention from his lasgun sights and he looked up. He could see them... the spores. They came in fast and they were soon going to pass right over them. He ordered his men to take cover, but many of them were so focused on shooting, they just kept on firing. Sgt. Girard rolled under a forklift just as the first spore exploded overhead. The loud thump was followed by big globs of acid dropping all around. He heard the screams that followed and his heart began pounding ice cold blood through his body. He was back in the trenches again, the first time he had met the Tyranids. The same terror was beginning to take hold and he felt his legs freezing, unable to move. His hand searched and found the religious pendant around his neck. He asked the Emperor to shield him, crying out for His blessings. Then he rolled back out from under the forklift and lay prone, firing away once more.

 

Corporal Whitman screamed as a glob of acid dissolved his right boot. The pain was almost incapacitating, but not quite. He could still squeeze a trigger, and so he did, for the glory of the Emperor and for the sanctity of the human life he was protecting. The mountain of corpses had grown steadily, but the damn xenos simply ran over it and kept on coming. The mountain of dead bodies was simply moving closer and closer, and because the troopers had lost men to the acid spores, there were plenty of little ones that were getting through and closing the distance. It wouldnt be long now. Their rifles were not red hot, but white hot, from prolonged automatic fire, and men were being picked off from alien weapons. The aliens seemed to have no end to their reserves. He prayed to the Emperor for salvation from this hell.

 

Sgt. Girard heard something on the comm-bead mounted inside his helmet. A voice from the star port.

 

"Sgt, the train is nearly back. Get your men into the terminal if youre still alive!"

 

He immediately ordered his men to make a fighting withdrawal to the terminal only a hundred meters away. He ordered Corporal Whitman to get on the autocannon and lay down covering fire while he loaded some wounded onto the recon truck. Whitman complied and crawled over to the autocannon position, discarding his white hot lasgun to the side. The two men who had been manning the gun had been hit by something, but he wasnt sure what. There chest cavities seem to have been eaten by a monster. He pushed them off the gun and began sending 20mm rounds downrange, swinging the gun side to side, chopping those xenos down.

 

Sgt. Girard chanted the Emperor's grace prayer again and again as he helped wounded men into the recon truck. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the aliens coming dangerously close. It would not be long now, but he also heard the train pulling into the terminal. By the Divinity! He drove the truck up to Whitman's position and urged him to get in, pushing the passenger door open for him to enter. Whitman hopped up onto one foot and began hopping his way over to the truck. He reached the door and then gasped for air, in shock. Sgt. Girard watched his eyes roll back in his head and then a disgusting little monster burst out of his throat, red blood spurting everywhere. Whitman collapsed backward, dead.

 

A large glob of acid smashed into the front of the truck, the engine burst into flames a moment after. Sgt. Girard slammed his foot into the accelerator, but nothing happened. He cried out in desperation. The swarm of monsters was only a few dozen meters away now. It was over. He pulled out a frag grenade from his tactical vest and held it in one hand, his other hand gripped the pin and as he said his final prayer to commend his soul to the Emperor, he witnessed a miracle.

 

The living wave of aliens seemed to just explode. Their bodies blew apart like fruit being shot with a sniper rifle. He recognized the sound, it was the sound of the weapon of the Space Marines, the Bolter. Hundreds of them just seemed to vanish to the wall of fragmentation bolter rounds that exploded in their ranks. He still didnt see where it was coming from, but was stunned as his door opened..no..it wasnt opened, it was ripped clean off its hinges and tossed to the side. A 200 pound door, thrown like a piece of cardboard by a massive armored gauntlet.

 

A towering massive figured filled the doorway. A helmeted head leaned down and peered in at him with huge glowing white eyes. "I am Brother Sergeant Constance the Sixth,Son of the Living Emperor. Today is not the day you or your men will return to the Emperor."

 

The space marine extended a hand and beckoned him to come, "Arise I say! The glorious work is not yet done!"

 

Sgt. Girard came out of the recon truck drew his las pistol. He looked out toward the barricade and beyond, and what he saw was the most inspiring thing he had ever seen. The Sons of the Emperor were literally running directly into the mealstrom, and killing every alien thing that stood in their way. The ocean of Tyranids was being parted by ten men! Only ten!

 

The space marine gave what must have been a laugh, though it was so powerful and deep, it scared Sgt. Girard.

 

"These filth stand no chance." the space marine said, then he charged off towards the Tyranids to join his squad. A Thunderhawk gunship roared overheard in the same direction, spraying death as it went.

 

Sgt. Girard was overcome with relif, he fell to his knees and threw his hands into the air, and gave glory to the Emperor and His holy warriors, His Divine children, the Space Marines.

[Dark Apostle Thirst]

You might want to fix the 'only ten' at the end to nine. Other than that, not bad :rolleyes:

[Angelwinged]

I thought it wasnt a big deal to have an extra space marine, it could be a chaplain or something. But I mainly wanted to give the feeling of awe that a human soldier would feel when these super human killing machines show up and just start blowing everything to hell and charging right into it.

[Darkchild130]

this reads pretty well and I can't see any jarring errors in it.

 

just minor things:

"Traversing fire, execute." The line doesn't feel natural. In thee case of Imperial guard vs Tyranids, I think something like "Kill them all!" would be more appropriate, then you go on te explain the traversing fire anyway.

 

The use of "tactical vest" seems too modern day military to me. You could describe webbing pouches mounted on their flak armour, but tactical vest just doesn't seem 40k enough.

 

Darkchild

[Angelwinged]

I am just more familiar with that term from my experience, but youre right, flak vest would seem more 40k'ish. Traversing fire is a military term for shooting left to right and back again, so I thought it fit for what they were doing. I mainly wanted to write this short story just to show how the space marines are vastly superior to imperial guard. They basically can show up and begin blowing the :verymad: out of everything. Also something many writers ignore is the fact that space marines are highly devout warriors. They drop phrases like "His holy will, praise be to th Throne, We are the sons of The Emperor, May His Divine will be done" etc etc. I think more authors need to recognize they take their work and faith in the emperor as the most important thing, period. Without their faith in the Emperor, they would not be space marines, they would just be really good fighters.

[Darkchild130]

I've been an infantryman for 11 years mate I know what traversing means, I was simply stating it doesn't fit right in that particular paragraph.

 

Darkchild

[Angelwinged]

Point Taken <_< How about "SMOKE THE MOTHERFU*****"

[Darkchild130]

lol.

[Angelwinged]

I dont know if you have ever seen the movie Rules of Engagement, but it has an awesome scene you can find on youtube.

 

Colonel Childers when you ordered your men to fire into the crowd, what words did you say?

 

I dont know...

 

Did you say WASTE THE MOTHER:cussERS?!?!?!

 

I DONT KNOW

 

I have the tapes of all communications recorded --

 

IF YOU GOT IT ON TAPE, YES, I SAID IT, WASTE THE MOTHER:cussERS!