Breaking the Siege of Ocaton Prime

[That Guy Matt]

Hi, so I used to write a bit, though I haven't for a couple of years so this is me just trying to get back into a little. It's also the first full piece of 40k fiction I've written.

I meant to post this is full but it's ended up a little longer than I originally thought so I'm going to post it in two parts. Hope you enjoy.

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Out on the farthest reaches of the Imperium of Man, a solitary world sits solemnly, alone in the great vastness of space. A sole inhabited planet of the Ocaton System, Ocaton Prime is over two weeks warp travel from the nearest friendly outpost and sees little in the way of visitors aside from the monthly shipments of food and supplies that sustain the ever bulging population. Ocaton Prime is a mining world and bears no use for any other purpose. The ground is poor and lacking in nutrients. The few small farm holds that do exist barely produce enough food to feed twenty percent of the population. The atmosphere was only narrowly on the right side of breathable when the world was first inhabited and with the additional pollution of the planets dozens of colossal refineries, the air is almost toxic to human life. The rich utilise filtration masks but still this provides them scant few extra years over the workers with a average life expectancy of forty seven. What Ocaton does have is a incredible abundance of precious ores that once refined can become adamantium. The discovery of these supplies led to the worlds colonisation in late M37 and the descendants of those original colonists still mine it's precious bounty, little by little, year upon year, and though it has stood resolute for three thousand years, when the Orks came, it fell in a matter of days.

In their isolation, the world of Ocaton Prime and the space around it was heavily fortified, so exposed it was so far away from reinforcements. It was exempt from providing regiments to the Imperial Guard, all of it's military strength being focussed inwards to it's own defence. Usually such far reaching colonies are forever subjected to the predations of all manner of pirates and raiders, heretic and xenos alike. But Ocaton Prime was not. One of the Galaxy's best kept secrets, Ocaton Prime was far away from human rebel groups, sat distant from common lines of invasion from the insidious Tyranids and it's bounties of metal held little interest to the enigmatic Eldar and it's sickly wretched populous would make poor slaves for their darker kin. In their isolation, the people of Ocaton Prime had grown complacent.

Indeed when the vanguard of Waaagh! Gitstikka had arrived on the outskirts of the system and been detected by early warning systems, the first response had been for repair teams to be assigned to the offending cogitator banks. When those had been confirmed to be functioning correctly, further teams had been sent to repair the buoys instead. The only time Governor Boorness, a fat and unpleasant man, had conceived that his world was under threat was upon receipt of a desperate distress call from the repair teams as their unescorted transports were boarded, their crews slaughtered. By that time it was far too late.

The Ork fleet took heavy losses as it crashed through the systems automated defences like a Grox in an antique shop but it did nothing to slow their headlong charge and the system defences were left devastated in it's wake. Ocaton Primes fleet put up little more resistance before they too were scattered, those few ships that avoided destruction, fleeing to the warp, leaving their home and it's people to their fate. The Orks immediately made planet fall. Squads of Ork Kommandos sabotaged the planets anti-air defences, leaving it open for the full might of the invasion force to land. From there it was simple for them to run riot across the planet's surface. Hundreds of thousands died in the opening hours. PDF forces were overwhelmed from the start and fearing for his own life Governor Boorness had all available military force withdrawn and redeployed within the planets Capitol, Oca. By the end of the day Ocaton had lost twenty four refineries and millions of workers and Guardsmen and only Oca stood. The great hive city had formed around the worlds two mightiest refineries and was visible from hundreds of miles around. Packed with PDF troops the city held against the opening assaults long enough for heavy defence batteries to be repaired and Ork infiltrators to be purged. With it's heavy weapons online the city held the next day, and the next after that against successive waves of Ork hostility. But their supplies would soon dwindle. The city could not cope with it's standard population for over a month and with the greater pressures of Guardsmen and refugees food did not last. The people began to starve and full blown rioting was only prevented by the iron fist of the Adeptus Arbites and the greater threat of the monsters on their doorstep. Today Oca has held for three and a half weeks. It's defenders are tired and hungry. Their ammunition runs low. The great cannons that support them grow tired from lack of proper maintenance. It is unlikely they will survive another attack and the Orks are mustering.

From his position upon the walls, Lieutenant Gardau could see them, even without the mag-lenses that hung around his neck. A deep green shadow that threatened to envelop them even when the sun went down. Gardau was a young man, only in his early twenties by Terran standard years but the poor air he had breathed his entire life gave his skin the texture of a much older man. Though tall and broad across the shoulders, he stood with a slight hunch and bore the deep hacking cough of the native Ocaton. He had been a mere trooper two weeks ago and a sergeant a week after that and still wore the simple red tunic of his position under his battered flak armour. He was not an officer. He was never meant to be and had never wanted to be, but the Orks did not discriminate line trooper from officer and as those above him had been cut down he had been forced to fill their shoes. He was a capable soldier but never a leader. He looked back, the Ocaton PDF 31st Regiment, 2nd Company, 5th Platoon were spread around him, stretching each way along the vast walls and teams down behind him stood ready with mortars. The Orks scared him, but leading these men to their inevitable death scared him more. 

An inhuman roar rumbled from the shadow across the barren plains. It was faint but at this distance that only served to exaggerate how loud it must truly have been. Lieutenant Gardau's head spun around to locate it's source. The shadow was encroaching. 'At least', the Lieutenant thought, 'I shall not have to lead them long.'

“WAAAAAAAAGH!!!” came the deep guttural roar of the gathered Ork host, followed by the sharp snap of crude Ork weapons being discharged into the air, the metallic clang of choppas being banged against armour and the low rumble of engines firing up. 

“Naa! Les' git da bastards!” Warboss Gitstikka cried from the top of his Battlewagon at the head of the Ork horde as it advanced.

[That Guy Matt]

 It was the ordnance that responded first. Battery's of Basilisk
tanks fortified hundreds of metres behind the walls barked fury and
giant shells passed ominously over the heads of the soldiers they
were there to support. They fell upon the Orks hundreds of metres
still further from the walls throwing dirt and bodies into the air,
but the horde did not falter. The laser defence batteries came next.
They charged their capacitors until they produced an audible hum and
a deep vibration they thrummed through the bodies of those troopers
positioned nearby, before discharging it into burning ribbons of
scarlet energy that blistered the skin of any within fifty metres.
The lasers targeted the Orks heaviest vehicles, out-riding wartrukks
were destroyed first as the bright beams cut through them like paper.
Still the horde did not falter.

 

“Your orders Sir?”

 

It was Corporal LeRou, stood to Gardau's right. The young Lieutenant

looked down his shoulder at him. “You know the drill by now
Corporal.” he said with a forced calmness then turned to the rest
of his men. “Riflemen to the walls! Take your time. Aim sharp and
conserve your ammunition. Make every shot count. Mortars, target
for one hundred metres and await my mark!” He was going to add
something rousing, or encouraging, maybe just a simple, 'The Emperor
Protects.' but the excursion of his shouting had aggravated his lungs
and he doubled over coughing and spat out a thick wad of phlegm the
same colour as the Orks outside. Once it was cleared he straightened
up and shouldered his own lasgun.

 

“Incoming!” another voice bellowed from down the line.

“Fighter-Bombers at one o'clock!”

 

In the early days of the siege the Ork aircraft had reaped a vicious

toll on the defenders, but if there had been one area the Guardsmen
had succeeded it was in the air. The sleek Imperial Lightning
fighters had swiftly outmanoeuvred the larger Ork planes. Though the
humans were distinctly outnumbered, each fallen pilot had accounted
for several of the enemy. The Orks now resorted to making quick
strafing lines of the walls and retreating before the Imperial
response could scramble.

 

“Take cover!” Gardau tried to shout though it got caught in his

throat and came out as a crackling wet rasp that LeRou was swift was
repeat. The men pressed tight to the wall and the mortar teams laid
in close to their sandbag emplacements. The Ork fighter strafed them
with heavy calibre autocannons but his aim was wild. Gardau saw
Trooper Beleau pitched off his feet as a solid slug clipped the top
of his helmet and threw him off the wall, landing with a sickening
wet crack on the ground below. Gardau watched the plane go, already
having the jink wildly to avoid the hail of fire being produced by
the ever moving Hydra tanks stationed within the city. It was
unlikely to bother them again and Gardau turned his attention back to
the plains.

 

“Cover!” LeRou called again and Gardau did so instinctively.

 

“What is it?” Gardau asked. There was a loud boom and the wall

shook. Both men winced.

 

“Battlewagon Sir. The bastards seem to have gotten their hands on

a Leman Russ.”

 

“Damn them.” Gardau hissed. “Trooper Vail!”

 

“Sir, Trooper Vail is dead.” LeRou said sombrely.

 

Gardau looked down at his feet, embarrassed. Trooper Vail had been

the last of the platoon's remaining heavy weapons specialists and had
carried their last remaining missile launcher. Both trooper and
weapon had perished in the last assault though, cloven in twain by an
Ork's axe as the Greenskins had scaled the walls. “Of course.”
Gardau said as the wall was struck again. This time the sounds of
falling masonry were clear as the walls began crumbling around them.
They were truck a third time, then a fourth. After the fifth Gardau
finally summoned the courage to look over them. What he saw chilled
him to his core. The still seemingly endless horde of Orks were less
than a hundred metres from the wall and their Siege towers encroached
ever closer. Gardau realised he had missed the Mortar teams cue and
cried to them desperately. “Mortars! Fire at will!” he shouted
as loud as he could, momentarily unsure if he was still being heard
over the now deafeningly sounds of battle. A series of deep 'whumps'
assured him he had and daring another look over the walls he saw
several plumes of dirt kicked up and Ork bodies blown apart, but they
were far behind the Ork's front line now. “Riflemen, up!” he
ordered and along the wall his men stood, raising their lasguns and
taking aim into the green horde. “Steady!” he called. The
effective range of a lasgun was not great and it's stopping power
barely enough to stop an Ork at the best of times. They would have
to wait for them to get closer if they were going to make their shots
count. “Steady....fire!” he called. A volley of las-fire leapt
from the wall and Gardau could see the same happening all along it's
length. Many Orks were pitched off their feet but Gardau's heart
sank as at least half stood back up, seemingly only angered by the
Guardsmen's retaliation.

 

Gardau was about to call for another volley when he was thrown onto

his face. He blacked out for a second and as he came too his ears
rang and his vision was blurry. All the rest of his unit were the
same, laid flat out as they had fallen. He couldn't tell how many
were still alive. He slowly remembered the force coming from behind
him and rolled onto his back to try to see. Seventy five metres down
the wall a laser defence battery had exploded. Whether the Orks had
destroyed it or it had destroyed itself was impossible to tell, but
where once had been a tower with a powerful cannon, was now a gaping
hole in the wall surrounded by the bodies of burnt guardsmen. Gardau
slowly pushed himself to his feet and once again saw over the wall.
An Ork siege tower rumbled towards him and Gardau knew he was doomed.
He considered fleeing into the city, but decided it was better he
make the Orks kill him now then risk capture later. He had heard
stories of what the Orks did to human captives and he had no
intention of becoming one of them.

 

“To me men!” he thought he shouted though he could not hear

himself if he had. To searched for his lasgun but it was nowhere to
be seen. Instead he drew his laspistol and sword, a simple sabre he
had taken from the body of a Major he didn't know two weeks ago. As
the pillar of crudely constructed metal loomed closer, Gardau closed
his eyes and offered what he believed would be a final prayer to the
Emperor. He prayed from a swift death, and that the Emperor protect
his soul. An eerie calm came over him as he accepted the
inevitability of his imminent death and he opened his eyes.

 

The siege tower was gone. At least, half of it was. It appeared

that it had been sheared roughly in half, diagonally. The top was
gone while the bottom was now a burning wreck, it's inhabitants
scrambling to escape while they too were consumed by fire. Gardau
looked to the sky and watched as bright lights like furious shooting
stars fell from the sky on pillars of smoke and crashed into the Ork
horde, exploding into great bursts of white hot flame that claimed
scores of the Greenskins with every blast. Those directly under the
missiles were lucky as they were turned immediately to ash and dust.
Those further away roared in animalistic rage as their flesh was
burnt and melted from their bones. The stench of burning flesh
invaded Gardau's nose and he buried his face into the sleeve of his
jacket in an attempt to block it out. Everywhere the missiles
struck, great clouds of smoke blossomed, isolated at first, but they
spread and with new ones added every second soon there was nothing
but the smoke to the point that to Gardau the world disappeared. He
could see nothing beyond arms length but the infinite grey. He
hacked and coughed as it closed in around him and he sunk to the
ground trying desperately to breath until once again he blacked out.

 

On the plains, the Ork assault had faltered. Their numbers had been

decimated by the barrage and with their visibility lost they were
started to resort to petty bickering and infighting. Gitstikka
rumbled forward in his Battlewagon as he and his Lieutenants tried to
restore some semblance of order to their lines. The ground shook and
though more impacts could be heard, no-one could locate their source.
For a moment there was quiet. Then all hell erupted. From out of
the gloom the unmistakable barks of bolter fire emerged. All around
Gitstikka, Orks were being blown apart by the heavy explosive bolts.
Many returned fire wildly, how effectively was impossible to tell.
With no better option Gitstikka ordered the charge.

 

Captain Efreet of the Fire Lords 5^th Company disembarked

from his drop-pod and surveyed the scene around him. His helmets
sensors cut through the smoke of their orbital bombardment and he
could see clearly his troops engaging with the foul Orks. His
command squad around him, Efreet hefted his combi-flamer and
advanced. All around him Orks were cut down before they could even
respond, lacking the Astartes auto-senses they fumbled uselessly
through the smoke. It would almost be comical were they not so rage
inducing. Efreet could not contain his roars of righteous fury as he
smote the beasts from the Emperor's land. Already though the smog
was clearing, without further barrage the fires were starting to die
and the smoke rising above their heads. Next to him, Honoured
Brother Djinn, a mighty Dreadnought strode relentlessly beside him,
his multi-melta scanning for worthy targets while his storm bolter
cut down the rest.

 

“My weapon hungers.” Djinn declared in his deep low rumbling

voice.

 

“I do not believe you shall have to wait long.” Efreet replied,

already spying the outline of a large Ork Battlewagon advancing upon
them. “There.” he added, pointing ahead. A low rumbling noise
that Efreet interpreted as a menacing laugh came from the
Dreadnoughts armoured body as it planted it's feet. The Multi-melta
of his right heated up and unleashed two bright blue beams into the
smog. Efreet could see as it cut through the vehicles armoured
frame, turning it's driver to a green bubbling puddle before catching
it's fuel supplies. A great burning mushroom erupted from the back
right corner of the Battlewagon as it skidded to a halt, throwing
Orks clear before it rolled onto it's side, the fire slowly beginning
to spread.

 

“Burn them in the name of the Emperor!” Efreet roared across the

comms and was rewarded with the sounds of his men's fury unleashed.
The Captain switched his weapon to flamer and cooked the first Ork,
thrown the furthest from the wreck, he was struggling to his feet
before he was incinerated. Around him Sergeant Furion, Apothecary
Kua, Brother Surtr, the company Standard Bearer, Company Champion
Kapre and Brother Helstrom were doing the same. Efreet kicked
another to the ground and stood on his chest as he unleashed his
flamer upon the Orks cranium. Another deep roar caught the Captain's
attention and he stepped off his latest victim.

 

“Oi! Which wun uv' you gitz wrecked ma' wagun!?”

 

It was one of the largest Orks Efreet had ever seen, standing a full

head taller then even the mighty Astartes and even broader than the
Captain's power armour. Around him, those Orks that had thus far
survived the destruction of their transports and the Fire Lord
leaders wrath were recovering themselves and gathering around the
giant. Efreet was in no doubt this was the Warboss. Brother Kapre
was immediately by his side.

 

“Allow me to take his head Captain.”

 

Efreet was silent for a moment before he responded. “No, allow me

Brother Champion.” he said with a coolness that belied his ever
raging soul. We mag-locked his bolter to his back and drew his sword
from the scabbard at his left hip. “Deal with the others. The
Warboss is mine.”

 

“As you command.” Kapre replied with a light bow of his head.

 

Efreet command squad formed into a line either side and step back

from their Captain. “I destroyed your vehicle Xenos scum! If you
wish revenge, come and take it!” Efreet roared his challenge and
thumbed the activation rune on his power sword. It whirred to life,
a thin blue shimmer forming around the bright silver blade before
both were obscured as the sword burst into flames. In response the
Warboss drew two weapons slung across his back, in his right hand, a
thick bladed sword more reminiscent of a butchers cleaver, in the
left a heavy double headed axe. Both were battered, dented and crude
but the deep red staining on their blades assured Efreet of their
danger.

 

“Waaaaagh!” The Warboss cried, his retinue picking up the cry as

the Orks charged.

 

“Burn them! For the Emperor!” Efreet cried and the Fire Lords

charged in return. As Efreet closed on the Warboss the rest of the
battlefield fell away. Gitstikka's size belied his speed and Efreet
barely avoided his first strike, a overhead blow with the cleaver
aimed to cut the Space Marine in half down the middle. Efreet dodged
back, then spun low to his right to avoid the follow up horizontal
strike from the axe. Efreet came up and aimed to cut through the
Orks arm but the cleaver swept around and smashed the falling power
sword aside with such force Efreet was sure only his armour held his
shoulder in it's socket. Thrown off balance, Efreet was wide open as
Gitstikka's axe cut a wide arc that ended deep in the Captain's left
pauldron. To his good fortune, the axe blade wedged there and as
Gitstikka tried to yank it free Efreet unleashed a brutal low kick
that crushed something in the Orks knee. With a cry of pain and
final violent pull Gitstikka stepped back and the axe came free. A
spray or Efreet blood came with it before his body immediately
clotted the wound. Despite his injury, Gitstikka was relentless.
The cleaver swung around and scraped up Efreet shoulder leaving a
deep scar across the burning fist of the Fire Lords chapter badge.
The blow glanced off the pauldron but carried through with enough
force to catch the top of Efreet's helm, momentarily dazing him.
Gitstikka's axe fell again and this time Efreet's blade met it. The
two locked in a battle of strength as the Ork tried to force his
weapon down to the Marine's head. Efreet was unyielding and,
frustrated, Gitstikka swung with the cleaver again. What followed
was a rapid barrage of powerful barbarian strikes that forced the
Captain back, his trained swordsmanship barely able to hold the Ork's
experienced brawling at bay. Inevitably an attack got through.
Parrying the axe, Efreet's blade was caught, hooked under the axe
head and the cleaver scored a might fissure across Efreet's helm.
His auto-senses went wild with malfunctions and damage warnings and
he never saw the kick that dropped him to the ground.

 

Efreet rolled to his knees and shook his head, trying to regain his

senses. His helmet was useless and he tore it off, revealing his
true features for the first time. Efreet's head was a bald knot of
burnt scar tissue that he wore proudly. His eyes were dark like coal
and burned with fury. His teeth had long ago been replaced with
sharp flints like primitive arrowheads. Around him the smoke of the
Fire Lords opening bombardment had all but cleared and Efreet took a
moment to observe. All along his warriors lines the Orks had
regrouped and with their superior numbers, were pushing the Fire
Lords back. Defeat to the Warboss was not an option and the Captain
formulated a plan. Behind him Gitstikka was gloating of his
victory. Efreet reached back to where his bolter was locked and
unscrewed the fuel can for the attached flamer. It was still half
full and Efreet raised it to his lips. To most, even without it's
toxicity the taste of promethium would be hard to bear but to a Fire
Lord it was like the finest of wines. Gitstikka kicked him in the
ribs and rolled him onto his back.

 

“Time 'ta die humie.” he said as he stepped over the prone

Captain and raised his axe high over his head.

 

Before it could fall Efreet had spat the full mouthful of promethium

up into Gitstikka's face, then clamped and twisted his jaw. Sparks
flew as his teeth ground against each other ignited the spray of the
fuel. The fire chased Gitstikka through the air and bathed his face
in flame. The Warboss staggered back and dropped his weapons as he
clawed at the bubbling flesh of his face. Efreet leapt to his feet,
sweeping up his blade. In two long strides he was in range. With
the Ork flailing wildly it'd have been easy to cut him down with a
single blow, but to do so would have been a mercy, and Efreet was not
a merciful man. Taking the sword in both hands he drove it clean
through the Ork's thick chest. Gitstikka tried to roar in anguish
but all that came out was a spray of thick green blood that fell over
Efreet's face. The Captain snarled and twisted the blade cruelly
before wrenching it out. The gaping haemorrhaging wound should have
been enough to slay anything, but Efreet knew the universe had
twisted way of showing mercy to the enemies of Mankind, and Efreet
was not a merciful man. Gitstikka dropped to his knees then fell
forward. His head was separated from his body before his chest hit
the ground.

 

His surviving bodyguards saw first and Efreet watched with relish as

Brother Surtr cut another down with his chainsword. Nearby the
Dreadnought Djinn turned another to paste, crushing him into the
ground with his power first. Efreet picked up Gitstikka's head and
bounded to towards the Dreadnought.

 

“With your permission Brother.” he called.

 

“I would be honoured Captain.” Djinn replied.

 

Without breaking stride Efreet leapt, catching a foothold on the

Dreadnought's elbow and pushing himself up to stand atop the hulking
sarcophagus. He raised the severed dripping head into the air and
roared. “Your leader is dead! Flee now is you value your lives!”
The effect was like dominoes. Those nearest broke almost
immediately, their leaders trying desperately to maintain control
before, left isolated, they were cut down. Each unit that fled
exposed the next to be put to the flame until the Orks were in full
rout. Efreet watched as his assault squads led the pursuit, the Orks
unable to outrun them, dozens were cut down.

 

The Orks would not recover from this. The Fire Lords would not let

them.

[Welcheren]

The introduction establishes the timbre of the story well. The lonely and bleak nature of life on the planet creeps into the reader's skin, with the effect that when the Orks are mentioned, the resultant anticipation is an almost visceral experience, especially when with the pronouncement that Ocaton Prime succumbed "in a matter of days". So that works nicely. I think you can drop "solemnly" in the first line. There is no indication of why it's solemn which risks the adjective feeling obsolete, unless you want to work it in with a something to the effect of "a solemn place of hard work and short lives". 

 

In the third paragraph, I think you might have meant "perceived" as opposed to "conceived". There are also a few apostrophes missing for possessing nouns, and other minor grammatical errors. 

 

Gardau's character is well-established and his state of ill-health adds to the grim atmosphere. I particularly liked how the tension built up when the mortars missed their opportunity to knock out the siege towers, as well as the uncertainly as to how the laser defence was put out of action - it helps to make the confusion of war more tangible. 

 

The entry of the Fire Lords was very well accomplished. From Gardau's seeing the burning siege tower, to the action on the ground, it really was a fun read. Brother Djinn is a great character. I have it from the Lexicanum that the warcry of the Fire Lords is not yet recorded (correct me if I am wrong), but I think "Burn them in the name of the Emperor!" or "Burn them! For the Emperor!" are perfectly suitable. The dual between Gitstikka and Efreet is very well written and thoroughly enjoyable. I enjoyed the unique resolution to the combat, and the way it builds the unique character of the Fire Lords (perhaps, though, it is not a good idea to repeat the statement "and Efreet was not a merciful man" - the first time its impact is spectacular, but the second time is redundant).

 

This was a very good read and I look forward to more.