Survival

[Lysimachus]

Hello all. Have just been reminded, I wrote this up as a submission for the BL window last year. Never heard anything back so figured I might as well put it up here for my fellow B+Cers! C+C always welcome and wanted!

 

Survival

Chapter 1

Brother Ardias wrenched the control stick of his vehicle back, sending the Typhoon-pattern Land Speeder corkscrewing wildly out of the manmade canyon formed by the buildings on either side of the narrow street. It hurtled out into the night sky, gravimetric motors whining in protest. Torrential rain poured down in the darkness all around the light craft, drumming against the Speeder’s blast shield and Ardias’ helm. Each falling droplet reflected and refracted the pure white beams of light that tore through the air around the Astartes craft.

Almost perpendicular to the Land Speeder’s near vertical course, spearing along the city street at a height of perhaps two metres above pavement level, were a pair of sleek Wyvern-IV-pattern high explosive missiles. Muffled by the downpour, the projectiles made no audible sound as they raced towards the source of the energy beams. Their target was a crude barricade formed of several hastily positioned trucks and cars. The missiles struck the centre of the automotive wall, catching the fuel tank of a heavy loader. The resulting explosion hurled the loader into the air and for a moment lit the stormy night as brightly as if it were midday. Several spindly figures were both illuminated and immolated in the blast, their seared forms cart wheeling away from what remained of the barricade.

Even as the missiles hit, a half dozen hulking figures moved forwards from cover at the opposite end of the street. With a speed that belied their bulky frames, the figures rushed the ruined defence. In the flickering light from the burning loader, the attackers could be identified. They were titans, warriors of the Adeptus Astartes, clad in power armour quartered black and deep blue and decorated with stylized slashes of white lightning. Brother-Captain Lysimachus, commander of the 4th Strike Company of the Stormbringers Chapter, was first into the breach. A cruel-looking hooked axe hung from his belt, but Lysimachus did not draw the weapon. Instead, he carried a standard issue bolt pistol and a short bladed power sword which spat and hissed as the cascading rain evaporated from its very touch. The fight here would be brief, ugly and close, with no room to use the long-handled axe to full effect.

As the Astartes crossed the line of vehicles, they were met by a mass of defenders, perhaps two dozen in number. The enemy were entirely alien, images out of a mortal man’s nightmare; graceful, wraith-like shapes clad in elegant bladed armour the colour of freshly spilled blood. They were Eldar. However, many of them appeared to be still shaken from the blast and less than half of their number made to raise the long, spiked rifles they all carried.

Lysimachus was not about to allow any of them the opportunity the fire. The Captain led his men in a charge against the xenos, crashing into several of them with the full weight of his armoured form, bodily smashing them to the ground. They fell together, a frenzied tangle of flesh and armour that sent a spray of pooled rainwater splashing up all around. With a wordless cry of hate, he rose from the melee, lashing out with his weapons. Before the Eldar could drop their unwieldy rifles and draw the wicked knives at their belts, two of their number had fallen, bolt pistol shells blasting apart their stomach and right knee cap respectively. Another warrior lost the faceplate of his tall helm, along with most of his face, to a vicious swing of Lysimachus’ short sword; and a fourth choked in the shallow water after having receiving a brutal kick to the throat as it tried to rise.

Despite this brutality, there was sophistication in the Astartes’ movements, a simple elegance in their very economy and purity of purpose. The Captain’s fighting style was the epitome of the Stormbringers combat doctrine: merciless, cruel and murderously efficient. There was no sense of honour or the promise of a clean death for the Chapter’s enemies, but rather only the prospect of being disabled and then dispatched as quickly and effectively as possible.

The majority of the crimson coloured defenders, however, were now reacting; moving to surround their attackers with a speed that was dazzling even to one with a Space Marine’s enhanced reflexes. They darted in and out of combat, shadows in the flickering firelight, their slender knives seeking the softer ribbing that protected the joints of the powered armour the marines wore. One penetrated the link at Lysimachus’ elbow and he roared in momentary pain and fury as it cut into the meat of his bicep. Angrily he backhanded the wielder away and coldly shot it in the face, but more blades were flashing in the rain-filled night. One of Lysimachus’ men fell, a jagged slash ripped across the ribbing between his helm and chest plate.

For a moment it seemed that the Imperial elite would be driven back or killed, but suddenly a staccato chattering filled the air, a drum-beat even louder than the pouring rain. A stream of bolt shells scythed into the shifting ranks of the Eldar, announcing the arrival of the second half of Squad Balthus. Led by the wily veteran Sergeant, they had taken up commanding positions atop the vehicle barricade and were now directing a torrent of bolt shells and bright plasma fire scant inches above the heads of Lysimachus and his combat squad.

Several more of the nightmare warriors fell to the onslaught, but suddenly the rest were gone, abandoning the barricade and slipping effortlessly away, retreating towards the next line of defence somewhere further up the city street. Lysimachus slashed at one of the fleeing xenos with his blade, but it dodged with innate grace and continued its flight into the rainy darkness.

In a matter of seconds the Eldar were gone from sight. Sergeant Balthus looked questioningly at Lysimachus, eager to pursue, but the captain shook his head.

“Regroup at the barricade. Be ready in case they attempt a counter-attack.”

Balthus nodded and turned to assist his men in finishing off the injured defenders, but Lysimachus frowned beneath his helm. As he knew the Sergeant did, he wished they had their bikes. As scions of the White Scars Legion via the mighty Storm Lords Chapter, the Stormbringers were masters of the mounted assault; and had they been so equipped, the hated Eldar would not have been able to escape their attack. Without the powerful vehicles, the enemy were simply too quick to catch.

The situation was much the same on a vastly larger scale. The vile xenos had been raiding frontier worlds all along the Imperium’s northernmost borders, flitting in and then disappearing as if they were nothing more than ghosts. The effects of their raids were nevertheless horrifyingly real. Whole colonies had been destroyed, burned to the ground and many thousands of men, women and children had vanished in the attacks, never to be seen again.

However, he consoled himself thoughtfully; the Eldar would soon run out of places to flee to. Here on the frontier world named Torros IX, everything had changed. Although the world was less than nothing to the greater Imperium, of no tactical significance and with a population of less than five thousand, it was here that the Stormbringers 4th had finally been able to interrupt their enemy midway through a raid. Their fragile ships had been quickly destroyed or driven from orbit; and even as the now stranded but still unknowing pirates continued to pillage Torros’ capital and only city, Astartes Drop Pods had begun to fall. Though it had meant they must leave their beloved mechanical mounts behind, Lysimachus and his men had surrounded the capital, cutting off all hope of escape.

Now, as the deluge of rain washed the bloody evidence of battle away into the narrow gutters, he calmly reviewed his force’s progress. Reports were coming in across the Company comm.net; from all sides the enemy were being driven further and further back into the heart of the city and the Stormbringers were achieving their objectives with customary efficiency and skill. He smiled coldly. The Eldar were raiders, masters of skirmishing tactics, but they made poor defenders; and the noose around their pale, thin necks was drawing tighter and tighter.

*****

[Dosjetka]

One (stupid) reason I can think of as to why they didn't get back to you is that you used a DIY Chapter (I think) (?). Maybe they prefer already established Chapters (there's so many to flesh out).

 

I read the first part (before I had the thought above), so I'll just finish reading the rest <_<

 

Ludovic

Edit: Typos ;)

[Corsair]

Nice piece, has a very good, authentic "Space Marine-iness" to the action, a weight that a lot of people miss when trying to write about the Adeptus Astartes.

 

To echo the above though, the use of custom chapters is apparently frowned upon (I did the same for one of my two pieces I submitted last year, as their name was central to the theme).

[Lysimachus]

Thanks guys. Mmm, you have a point about the choice of Chapter... I guess I'm just a hardcore DIYer at heart!

[Lysimachus]

Chapter 2

 

Goodman Thom Breayan fell heavily to his knees, collapsing against the man in front of him. He was exhausted. The weight of the thin but well crafted chains around his wrists and ankles sapped his strength, as did the ice cold rain that continued to pour from the dark skies down over his face and body. The torrent soaked through every piece of clothing he wore, ruining the fine shirt that had been an Ascension Day gift from his eldest son.

 

Strong hands lifted him from behind, helping him back to his feet. Thom turned slightly to see that young Piotr was still grinning his idiot grin. Too stupid even to use a lasgun, he had taken no part in the brief defence against the raiders and, like Thom, had been captured shortly afterwards. He gently patted the older man’s shoulder, obviously worried in his simple way. Thom smiled tiredly back and they trudged on through the wet mud.

 

As links in a chain of more than thirty prisoners, they were crossing a rain soaked battlefield broken by craters and littered with lifeless bodies. A dozen more chains, some longer, some shorter, followed a similar course; each one watched by several of the hated xenos. They stood impassively in the pouring rain and darkness, seemingly untroubled by the cold, their slanted yellow eye lenses glowing evilly. The raiders stayed as still as statues for the most part, rousing themselves only to goad their captives along with the cruel whips they carried. When they did move, their actions were somehow odd; bird-like, almost too graceful.

 

Thom realized he was staring and hastily lowered his eyes. These Eldar bastards had proved quick to make examples of those who showed any spirit of defiance. Instead he looked down sadly at the grass beneath his bare feet. He was thankful that he could not see far into the night. The battlefield that they were crossing had only hours ago been beautiful ornamental gardens, planted more than one hundred and fifty years earlier to commemorate the Imperium’s victory over Torros’ Chaos-worshipping revolutionary government. At their heart, one hundred yards from the gates of the Planetary Governor’s palace, stood a statue carved in bronze. Now scorched and twisted, it had once depicted the hero of the Torros Liberation, Colonel Lukas Kophner. The last few companies of the Colonel’s regiment, the Argrad 38th, which had been decimated during the nearby Mandnix Campaign, were assigned a final mission to retake control of Torros. If successful, they would be allowed the honour and privilege of remaining on the world to rule it in the name of the Emperor. Kophner and his men had triumphed, winning Torros for themselves and their children. Ever since, the people of the frontier world had maintained a strong tie to their past and to the military traditions of their forebears. Even though he was but a humble merchant, Thom was proud to say that his great-grandfather had been Lieutenant Breayan, an Argrad officer and friend of Kophner himself. It had always been assumed by all the people that one day Torros would follow the example of their Argradian ancestors in raising brave regiments to serve the Emperor as part of his Imperial Guard. Looking at the devastation around him, Thom was beginning to doubt that such a noble dream could ever come to pass.

 

And yet… and yet… perhaps there was still some hope. The invaders had defeated the brave men and boys of the Planetary Defence Force, true. They now drove their prisoners towards the holding pens set up in the courtyard of Kophner’s great palace, within the protection of its walls and gate. But nevertheless, the raiders still seemed somehow ill at ease. As a skilled trader Thom knew how to read people, and however strange and alien the xenos were, some things did not change. He had seen how they hurried their captives, heard the tension in their voices as they spoke to one another in their intricate language, and noticed how they turned sharply to look out across the city whenever thunder rumbled or lightning lit the sky. The Eldar were nervous… and that meant there was a chance.

 

***

 

Kalinath Slaughterspear, first Drachon of the Shattered Heart Kabal, paced angrily across the wide room that had been the audience chamber of the former ruler of this pathetic little mudball. Rage twisted his beautiful countenance and the long, elegantly carved lances that crisscrossed his back bounced against his blood red armour. Tall and powerful, swift and cunning, all the things that a lord of Commorragh should be; it could not be the fate of a warrior such as him to die in such ignominious circumstances!

 

“We are penned in, Lord Archon!” he spat furiously.

 

The other warriors in the chamber looked round at this outburst, staring with narrowed eyes first at Kalinath and then at another figure, reclining lazily in a high-backed chair atop a central dais. This warrior was older and his crimson armour was beautifully engraved, marked with countless honours as well as icons of protection. His face was calm, noble in aspect, but his eyes were ancient and inhumanly cruel.

 

“Do you blame me, Drachon?” the figure asked coldly. “What would you have me do?”

 

“I would have had you listen to my counsel earlier! If we had abandoned the slaves hours ago when the Mon keigh warriors first arrived, we could have massed our forces, broken through their net and escaped to the hills south of this city. Our ships could have slipped into orbit and extracted us with ease. Instead, we have wasted time and the lives of dozens of our Kabal fighting a losing battle in order to gather together a paltry few hundred slaves to a fortification that we have no hope of defending! I have no desire to see death on this miserable rock!”

 

“The remainder of your life and mine would be very short if we were to return to Commorragh without these slaves – or worse, it would be long and agonizing. Lord Vect’s displeasure would be far worse than anything these Mon keigh could do to you, Kalinath.”

 

The Archon’s tone was condescending, with subtle nuances that insinuated his subordinate’s cowardice. Subtle that is, except to an Eldar. The Drachon sneered back at his commander. The old fool was a relic, gaudy and fat. It was he that was fearful, so afraid of the dark ruler of Commorragh that it had made him take risks here that he should not.

 

“I do not cower before anything, and certainly not before Vect. In any case, there are other worlds to plunder, if only we can escape the trap that this one has become.”

 

Several of the Eldar warriors around the room nodded at this and the Lord of the Kabal of the Shattered Heart frowned coldly.

 

“Are you challenging me, Drachon?”

 

His words froze all movement in the room, except for among the members of his Incubi bodyguard. The tall warriors stood ready, their grips on their double handed blades tightening. Yrochearl, their leader, glared balefully at Kalinath.

 

“No, Lord Archon.” Kalinath acquiesced softly, and it seemed that an inaudible sigh passed through the room. Now was not the right time.

 

“Good. Now, go find out how much of our strength we have been able to bring back together. Then see to the prisoners, get them ready to move. You were right about breaking out of this Mon keigh hovel, but we are taking our prize with us.”

 

*****

[Andrew J]

I like where you are going with this. Even though nothing came of it at the BL, I am sure many of us here would like to read about the Stormbringers! Keep it coming!

[Dorns Padawan]

I really like your story mate & it is certainly very entertaining but there are a few points that I have picked up on to help you in future submissions.

At times your wording does not always run smooth & the use of punctuation is not always correct. The flow of the story does not always flow as it should. As an example:

Almost perpendicular to the Land Speeder’s near vertical course, spearing along the city street at a height of perhaps two metres above pavement level, were a pair of sleek Wyvern-IV-pattern high explosive missiles.

The sentence is a tad too long & does not really read too well. The two words in bold have the same meaning (upwards) & are within five words of each other. The word you need here is parallel.

 

Muffled by the downpour, the projectiles made no audible sound as they raced towards the source of the energy beams. Their target was a crude barricade formed of several hastily positioned trucks and cars. The missiles struck the centre of the automotive wall, catching the fuel tank of a heavy loader. The resulting explosion hurled the loader into the air and for a moment lit the stormy night as brightly as if it were midday. Several spindly figures were both illuminated and immolated in the blast, their seared forms cart wheeling away from what remained of the barricade.

This is an example regarding the flow of your story. The projectiles are heading towards their target (there was no mention prior to this that the Land Speeder was being shot at by energy beams). Next the reader finds out that the target is not the energy beams but a crude barricade.

 

Those are just two examples. Are you a member of the BL Bolthole by any chance?

 

Having been to the last two Black Library Live events, one thing that the editors mentioned was that when reading through submissions they go through so many that they tend to skim them. If the stories do not flow properly or read right, they tend to not read the rest. Yes DIY Chapters were a no go area for potential new author’s as far as the BL is concerned as they feel there are enough Chapters out there that have not had anything written about. Kind of a ‘play with the toys you have been given’ thing.

 

Most of the parts I am referring to just need rewording more than anything. Out of interest, how many drafts did you write before you submitted? I hope you don’t take what I have said to heart, I am just trying to help out. Like yourself, I have also written a submission for the BL – only difference is I have not actually submitted. I certainly intend to submit during this year’s window. What about you?

 

As previously mentioned, I really like your story. If you intend on submitting again just PM me & I will happily proof read for you mate if you like :).

 

Matt

[Lysimachus]

@Andrew J: Thanks! I really must continue this, it’s written in my head but just haven’t had time to put fingers to keyboard!

 

@Dorns Padawan: Thanks for the comments. In general I think you’ve got a point. I do tend to use 10 words when 1 would probably do! :P However, in terms of the specific examples you’ve raised I think I’d have to respectfully disagree.

 

Almost perpendicular to the Land Speeder’s near vertical course, spearing along the city street at a height of perhaps two metres above pavement level, were a pair of sleek Wyvern-IV-pattern high explosive missiles.

 

The sentence is a tad too long & does not really read too well. The two words in bold have the same meaning (upwards) & are within five words of each other. The word you need here is parallel.

 

Actually it’s not. While perpendicular can mean ‘vertical’, the first definition in my dictionary is ‘at a right angle to a line or plane’. It should be fairly obvious from the context – I.e. the missiles are ‘spearing along the city street at a height of perhaps two metres above pavement level’ (horizontal) and the Speeder is ‘near vertical’ (90 degrees from the ground) – which definition of the word applies. So as the story starts, the missiles have just been fired and the Speeder is pulling up to avoid the enemy's return fire.

 

As to your point regarding the flow:

 

Muffled by the downpour, the projectiles made no audible sound as they raced towards the source of the energy beams. Their target was a crude barricade formed of several hastily positioned trucks and cars. The missiles struck the centre of the automotive wall, catching the fuel tank of a heavy loader. The resulting explosion hurled the loader into the air and for a moment lit the stormy night as brightly as if it were midday. Several spindly figures were both illuminated and immolated in the blast, their seared forms cart wheeling away from what remained of the barricade.

 

This is an example regarding the flow of your story. The projectiles are heading towards their target (there was no mention prior to this that the Land Speeder was being shot at by energy beams). Next the reader finds out that the target is not the energy beams but a crude barricade.

 

Again, I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree. As to it being the first time the Speeder being shot at by energy beams, re-read the end of the first paragraph:

 

'Each falling droplet reflected and refracted the pure white beams of light that tore through the air around the Astartes craft.'

 

So the beams are mentioned. Then in the paragraph you quoted the missiles are described as racing towards the source of the beams. The next sentence then tells the reader what that source is! Not sure why that doesn’t flow?

 

Those are just two examples.

 

If there are any more, please feel free to point them out, I’m always happy to change stuff if it doesn’t work! You also mentioned some incorrect punctuation?

 

Are you a member of the BL Bolthole by any chance?

 

I’m not, is that a good or a bad thing? ;)

 

You definitely have a point about DIY’s. Unfortunately, I just don’t feel inspired by any of the GW Chapters, I guess I’m just a B+C Liberite at heart! ;)

 

If I was to resubmit it, it probably would need redrafting, as I said I know I tend to use too many words!

 

Thanks again for the thorough critique, I’m really happy to hear any other points you found!

 

Cheers

 

Lysimachus

[Octavulg]

The last BL contest I read the rules for specifically FORBID using GW chapters.

 

So...yeah.