B.O.N.E.

[Memento Of Prospero]

Evening Brothers!

 

I would like to preface that while I aspire to write something that borders on the readable, English is not my native language and I am far from being a professional writer. That being said, I would LOVE any feedback. Positives, Negatives, as long as it is constructives and helps me devellop this further.

 

This is a rough draft of the first part of a short story called B.O.N.E.

 

B.O.N.E.

 

The Emperor’s ways are inscrutable. His divine guidance lights the path for each of us, even if we do not see it.

-Samuel D’Arc, Ecclesiarchy Missionary

 

Talos III is rightfully classified as a Death World. The reasons are plentiful really. The air is overladen with moisture and heat. Overgrown trees the width of chimeras block out the sky on every square inch of its surface, keeping those beneath in perpetual darkness. The undergrowth is choked with snapping constrictor vines, poisonous fly insects the size of an Ogryn’s fist and filled with stagnant water bogs that will suck a man under without a moment’s notice. Most fruits that grow will kill you faster than medicae food rations – in fact, the better it looks, the worse it is. The local fauna makes a quick meal out of a full grown Grox. To the average guardsman, Talos III is a living nightmare. To a Catachan, it’s almost just like home.

 

What started out as a minor skirmish turned out to be an all-out war. Feral orks had taken root over the last decade, the forest density concealing the true scale of the infestation. Recon by air was no use. Half the scouting parties never returned. Army transports broken down faster than they could be repaired. It was time for the High Command to call in specialists. That’s where the newly reassembled Catachan 175th would come in. The Fangs needed a good fight to bond its fresh wave of recruits and diehard veterans.

 

Sergeant Trask was crouched behind a brush, issuing final orders to the rest of the squad in battle sign language. The infantry squad had been split in two combat squads for ambush. Their quarry was heading towards the cross fire position. He and Larg, the heavy weapons specialist handling the squad’s heavy flamer were up front, with 3 greens in tow. Marcus was across the small ravine behind a fallen tree with 4 more greens, one handling a plasmagun. That made it 7 rookies to only 3 veterans. Trask didn’t like so much inexperience on their first patrol out, but he had no choice. The Colonel had been adamant about getting the rookies bloodied ASAP. Nothing like greenskins to see what you were make of he said. Trask knew he’d see what their insides were made of alright. The ork band had almost reached the perfect location when he heard a branch snap to his left. Larg immediately reached out and pinned the leg of the nervous recruit who had squirmed in anxiety with his right arm to prevent him from moving again, but it was too late. The orks had stopped their advance and were on high alert. Cursing under his breath, Trask issued the order to open fire. Markus and his squad broke cover with a hail of las bolts and plasma. What should have been a route turned into light casualties for the ork boyz, as they had been just outside the optimal firing range of the full spread of the lasguns. The greenskins immediately rallied despite three casualties. It would take far more than that to break the mob. Unleashing a terrible warcry, the orks charged forwards towards Marcus’s position. The first wave to reach the crest of the ravine triggered the first set of booby traps. The shredder mine had been placed to do maximum damage according to the original ambush layout, but it still wreaked havoc amongst the charging foe. The mines tore limbs and flesh and caused the assault to stagger for a brief moment. On cue, Trask and his heavy weapon specialist lunged from concealment and drove forward under covering fire from his recruits. Caught in a pincer attack and the aftermath of the shredder mine, the orks milled in confusion trying to decide where to turn their attention. The biggest of the lot, a huge brute with a Massive skull headdress with protruding tusks began barking around and bashing skulls to restore a semblance of order. A crude cleaver flew past Larg’s head and embedded itself in the chest of the rookie behind him. Lucius was his name, and Trask had just need to hear the impact and subsequent thud to know that he was as good as dead. As another warcry left the throats of the beleaguered warband, they began a counter-offensive. Trask heard the plasmagun misfire and screams of pain coming from Marcus’s combat squad. This could not be good. In one fluid motion, he drew his Devil’s Claw, a 3 foot hollow blade filled with mercury for brutal efficiency. His laspistol was already in hand and pumping shots into the incoming counter assault from uphill. He shot an ork through the eye and he still came forward. A further 3 shots were required to put him down. Larg unleash a deadly spread of burning promethium , bathing the bottom of the ravine in burning liquid fire. The ork nob used one of his subordinates to shield himself from the heavy flamer. Two more went down in a burning spasm frenzy. Of the original strength of the ork warband, still 15 remained. Too many had survived the initial onslaught. Trask dodged a muscled arm, it’s owner using the bloody stump it lost to the shredder mine as a club with his remained hand. Before the improvised weapon came back around for another pass, he surged forward and stabbed his blade into his attackers throat. He wrenched the blade sideways, all but decapitating greenskin. His eyes still twitched, not understanding he was dead as he dropped to the floor. Larg took a rusty blade in the thigh as he was dodging two attackers. With a grunt, he drew his long knife high and stabbed it in reverse grip through the jaw of his assailant into his brain. He leveled his heavy flamer in one hand, muscles straining with the effort, and squeezed the trigger. The heavy flamer spewed another spread of torrential flames, burning a hole point blank through the second attacker and taking out a second and third ork beyond in the process.

 

On the other side of the ravine, things were looking grim for Marcus. His plasma gunner was dead and badly burned Fern next to him. He was snapping in a fresh power pack into his lasgun when the first ork reached him with a looping decapitating swing of a crude axe. With a snarl he snapped his lasgun around and smashed the stock into the ork’s face. Again. Again. And again. He lashed out with a kick sending the still standing corpse tumbling down the slope. It did not slow the other greenskins in the slightest. Fern came to his flank somehow still standing despite what he knew would be excruciating pain, lasgun on full-auto. Rookie’s mistake. He overkilled the first ork he slew and ran dry too quickly getting hacked to bits by the next. The last two guardsmen learned from his mistake quickly, using controlled bursts to dispatch another two each before drawing blades on the last 2 in their midst. Guss was the first the fall, stabbing the blade into the ork’s chest, thinking he had a killing blow. He was wrong, and now he was dead. The ork roared past him with the blade still lodged in his chest when he decapitated the shocked figure of Constantine. Marcus favoured the night reaper as is close combat weapon of choice, and he put it to good use. Spinning around after the wounded ork that had just barreled down his last two recruits, he struck with a high overhead strike, gripping it with both hands for maximum damage. He planted the black bladed knife into his shoulder blades and ripped down across the spine, severing it in two. Knowing he had fatally exposed himself to the last greenskin avenging his troopers, Marcus had just enough time to prime his krak grenade before his legs were cut beneath him. The explosion drowned out his scream of pain.

 

Larg was straining to get back to his feet when he heard the Krak grenades go off. As he glanced in the direction of the explosion, the last thing he saw was an oversized chain axe enter his peripheral vision. The ork nob had cleaved him in two from head to groin. Trask was stuck in up close and personal with the last grunt of the warband when he saw Larg get cut down. His opponent was relentless in his attacks and was putting the sergeant on the defensive. Enraged by the death of Larg, troops Delta and Jaxus took it upon themselves to deal with the nob. The monstrous ork leveled a primitive looking pistol, and in a rare feat of ork marksmanship, exploded the head of trooper Delta with a single shot. Jaxus knew then that he would not be able to overcome charging behemoth, and turned and shot the ork entangling Trask. A shot in the back overbalanced the berserk ork and allowed the Sergeant to stab him in the rib and gut him. He shot him point blank in the face for good measure. Then he heard it.

 

The sound was deafening and it was nearby : “Waaaaaaagh!”. The multiple explosions had attracted another band of greenskins. “Trooper, MOVE!” the works had barely left his lips, but Jaxus never got the chance to comply. He managed to deflect a crushing blow from the nob’s chain axe as the charge drove home with his lasgun. The force of the impact knocked him down to a knee, where his face was caved in with a gauntleted fist. The feral ork grinned with a feverish look in his sole red eye and the sergeant wiped the seat from his brow beneath his red bandana and prepared to give him hell.

 

They met in a clash of blades, the sergeant weaving in pistol shots at point blank whenever he could, while the ork ditched his boomstick in favour of a two handed grip. He swung terrible arcs with the massive axe head, forcing the sergeant to dodge and poke with weak thrusts. The ork’s heavy plating gave him the edge in armour, but the flak vest allowed Trask more mobility. After a heated exchange, they backed off and circled each other at the bottom of the ravine before the ork charged onward once more. Trask lunged in to meet him and use the greenskin’s momentum to impale him on his Devil’s Claw. He struck home true beneath a poorly welded sheet of plating and pierced his opponent’s lung through and through. With a growl, the nob smashed his skull headdress into Trask’s skull, gouging his left arm with a tusk and sending his world spinning. The sergeant fell backwards, is vision a blur of green and red. As it turns out, Lucius was mostly dead, but not quite there yet. The youth had recovered from the trauma and summoned up what was left of his vigor to launch himself, knife in hand, at the ork warrior before he could strike the killing blow. Spearing him to the side, he stabbed his knife through a huge green bicep before being crushed by the weight of the armoured ork as they tumbled. The recruit’s sacrifice had given enough time for Trask to recover. He wobbled to his feet as the ork untangled himself from the fall with the positively dead Lucius. He tore Lucius’s knife from the bicep ripping the arm to shreds, ducking under a pained punch. He went for his own Knife next, pulling downwards from the pierced lung, tearing more vitals on the exit. The ork staggered in a crouch and tried to secure is axe from the ravine floor, pinned under the corpse of Lucius with his good arm

 

The alarmed warband of orks broke the tree line, just in time to witness a reply, equally savage and deafening as their own war cry. Trask let out a scream of pure fury as his lungs burned with hatred, and plunged both knives into the exposed ork’s chest through the neck. He wrenched them out in downward arcs causing the chest cavity to explode in a whirlwind of gore. He collapsed on his knees, then on his back, as the ravine filled with more greenskins. As the leader of the pack came to him, he tried to reach for his laspistol just a few centimeters from his ruined arm. “Was dis youz hummie think yours gonna achieve wif dat tiny thing?” asked the warchief asked aloud, prompting a laughter from his gathering warriors. Trask slowly grasped the handle, and struggled to lift it off the ground. Feeling cleaver, the Chief added “Come on! Just a lil’higha and da hummie might scratch da paint off ma new bewtz!” He was rewarded with another round of guttural laughs. Trask grasped, “I’ll see you on Catachan, you green bastard…” and he shot past the warlord. As the heavy flamer’s promethium tanks detonated amidst the greenskins, Trask heard the thunder of iron shod boots. The orks were not the only ones to have heard the commotion.

[deathspectersgt7]

I like it So would like to read more.

[Memento Of Prospero]

Thank you brother! Any feedback, changes or alterations?

[Memento Of Prospero]

Here's another little morsel :

 

The sergeant woke up through glazed eyes and the mother of all headaches. He couldn’t focus on his surroundings, but the blur of white wash walls gave him the vague impression of a medicae unit. He felt completely numb from the neck down. A medic was injecting stims into his bloodstream.

“Vacation’s over soldier.” That voice. Yes, Trask knew that voice all too well.

“Colonel Carver sir?” muttered Trask with a spittle of phlegm stuck in his throat.
 

“You’ve been out for over 6 weeks soldier, and I need you back up and running pronto. Coma won’t get you off the grill that easy, I can guarantee it”, said the Colonel.

“Waaaiii, WHAT? What of my squ…” Trask never finished the sentence. It was returning to him through a fog, and he knew there were no other survivors. “I… I am ready to face court martial colonel, It’s my fault. They died under my command. I am failed them all. I failed the 175th.”, his voice trailing regret and bitterness.

Carver posed serveral seconds for dramatic effect, his face a stern mask, never breaking eye contact. He broke it with a short laugh.
 

“ Do I look like one of those bloody commissars to you Lieutenant?” Lieutenant?  Trask  was forming a confused look. “That’s right, a promotion. If you think for one second I will let those stuck up fuggers execute a local hero and further sap moral within my company, they can kiss my hindquarter neatly as you please for all I care! Your arse belongs to me lieutenant, don’t forget that. Your little display of fireworks took out Ug’ab Gnasha, the local warlord. This means your actions decapitated the greenskin horde in one fell swoop.  An infantry squad is a small price to pay to avoid years of protracted guerrilla warfare.”

After a short pause he added, “Catachans take care of their own lieutenant. Don’t worry, I’ve got something in mind for you, and I am sure you will hate every minute of it.”

The colonel let it sink in, waiting for the soldier to form his thoughts. He was piecing back together the events of the ambush, His last stand against the nob, his trembling shot at the fuel tank and the crashing sounds of heavy plated boots.

“I heard heavy footfall before passing out sir, have astartes arrived to assist? Did they save me?” asked Trask.
 

The remark prompted another short laugh from Carver. “Now that’s just absurd lieutenant! astartes never bother with the backwater operations, they are just glory hogs, you know that. It was the natives that intervened, a foraging party I believe.” Trask didn’t remember the mention of local PDF forces being present in the briefing and frowned in thought. What kind of dim witted, congenital buffoon would want to forage in such a poisonous hell hole? Picking up Queue, Carver added, “Homo Sapiens Gigantus lieutenant, Ogryns.”

[deathspectersgt7]

Didn't see that coming ,Ogryns!! cool.

[Memento Of Prospero]

I should have prefaced that they were going to be the theme of the story, but the title gives it a way a bit ;)

[deathspectersgt7]

The tromp of metal shod feet should have told me but I'am getting old so we'll leave it at that.

[Memento Of Prospero]

''As for being saved lieutenant, I'll let you be the judge of that.'' Carver edged towards Trask and gently knocked on his shin. He was not suprised that he did not feel anything, as the numbness was barely retreating from his chest, the stims were working their way down. It was the sound it made that did caught him off guard. A dull metal ring. Two things became clear to him. He had taken quite the beating, and he had been quite busy during the six weeks he spent passed out.

 

'' Your heroics cost you your legs son. I authorized a comission for bionic replacements.'' Stretching his neck to have a better look at his disposition, Trask noticed a silver gleam coming from the corner of his peripheral sight.

 

'' What about my left arm?'' he ventured. ''Oh that? Collateral damage. Your unexpected savior finished it off in his over enthuisastic rescue. You made an impression of the locals you know.'' As if to signal that the matter was closed, the colonel turned and headed for the door. '' Just one question soldier.'' he said looking over his shoulder. '' Is that your real name?'', pointing at the medicae check up sheet.

 

'' Yes, my mother was always a big fan of the Astartes I'm afraid...''

 

''Do not worry soldier, I shan't tell a living soul'', adding a chuckle as he left.

 

3 days later, Trask was up and about, limping for the most part. He was told that it would take a few days to get used to the replacement, but that he would also reap considerable benefits. Improved stamina. Improved strenght. Unflinching precision. The Colonel had even joked on his second visit: '' If you weren't so damn ulgy, you could be mistaken for the Iron Hand himself!'' He had also learned during why he would loathe is next assignment. Catachan regiments reserve a healthy amount of distrust towards other imperial regiments . The only exception to this are Ogryns. They were tough, loyal unto death and just as savage when things got ugly.The colonel wanted to bank on his newfound fame to secure the Fangs a steady amount of Ogryn recruits from Talos III. This asset would raise the prestige of the 175th a notch towards renown amongst the Catachan. Great, though Trask. Glory to the regiment while I suffer the presence of these bone headed halfwits day and night. He breahted a deep sigh before exiting the compound, entering the mud filled courtyard where his new charges awaited him. He painfully limped his way towards what was a moquery of a proper soldier line up of five ogryns and what looked like an Ecclesiarchy priest. Glancing at the data slate in the iron grip of his new hand, he recalled the name of the man. ''Ecclesiarchy Missionary Samuel D'arc I presume?''

[Hialmar]

This is pretty good so far and appears to be a somewhat original and fresh kind of story.  I look forward to reading more.

[Memento Of Prospero]

I should be able to post my next chapter soon!

 

I need to proof read what I've posted thus far, my phone has no correction for my fat finger typos....

[Sanguine_Knight]

good stuff so far... waiting for more. I am a fan of ogryns, cant wait to see how they figure into the story.

[Memento Of Prospero]

Sorry about the lack of updates, Been rather swamped with other projects, I am halfway done with my next bit however!