The King of Battle?

[reckoning]

My first attempt at Fanfiction or really just writing a story in general. C+C welcome.

 

                                                                                                                                                     

 

A thick, lingering haze had descended over the battlefield. To his right came the familiar sound of a lasrifle being reloaded. Her drill finished, Ingriidey gave him her usual, toothy grin.

 

"Another wave survived Horty!" Her expression, equal parts excitement and relief, did nothing for her homely appearance.

 

"The bastards should give up already", muttered Hortillion Fance, member of Narsis IV's planetary defense force and until six months ago loyal servant of the Emperor. Nearly three years to the day the planet had fallen under the predations of Dark Eldar slavers. The governor had called for aid, but no aid had come. "Keep faith!" he would say, "The Emperor protects!" But they had fought alone and afraid. Eventually they had triumphed, but to call their success a victory would be a lie.

 

"Had their fun, grabbed their prisoners and left" he mumbled to himself.

 

"What was that?" Ingriidey answered, a questioning look furrowing her heavy brow.

 

Hortillion ignored her as he often did. They had shared many foxholes, she was accustomed to his dark, brooding nature.

 

Those were depressing times he remembered. The recovery had been long, their morale ruined. They were abandoned, their pleas ignored. It was a sentiment shared by many. The seeds of despair blossomed into treason, the roots worming throughout every facet of society. Soon the governor, once the most pious and fervent in his worship of the Emperor, proclaimed Narsis IV free from the shackles of Imperial rule. There had been opposition, citizens still loyal to the corpse god. But the PDF, led by the governors elite guard, the 75th Hussars, had annihilated the rebels.

 

And for a few months we had known peace, reminisced Hortillion. That peace was abruptly shattered with the arrival of the Imperial Guard, hammer of the Emperor. They had advanced slowly but steadily, inflicting heavy losses among the traitors. But now they were locked in a standstill at the outskirts of the planetary capital. Here the defenders of a free Narsis IV had fought their hardest and the Imperial Guard broke upon their defenses like waves upon rock. Trenches and fighting positions had been dug. Artillery exchanges had been the norm at first, but the Guard had underestimated their foes capabilities. For every volley they launched a much greater volley was sent towards them. They had precious few guns left and had stopped using them for the time being. Infantry assaults had become the order of the attack. Suicidal and quickly becoming unsustainable. The Guard were weakening.

 

And now he was sharing a hole with the ugliest woman on the whole damn planet. At least he was alive. He spotted a dying man a hundred paces away. The guardsmen, his legs perforated by shrapnel and lasfire, was trying to crawl back to friendlier lines.

 

"Wretched thing, doesn't he know he's already-" his final word was silenced by the sharp report of Ingriidey's rifle. A single, needle thin shot pierced the wounded man's skull.

 

"He does now" she laughed. Damn woman. She had always been a better shot than him. She had always been a better soldier too. Why couldnt the alien filth kidnap her along with the others? Because they enslave humans he reminded himself. He wasn't entirely sure she wasn't something else, a troll perhaps.

 

"Did you hear the rumors about the 75th?" She always attempted small talk when he was nervous. It was a dumb question. Everyone had heard the rumors. Wiped out to a man they whispered, Chimeras and Sentinals nothing but smoking wrecks. The elite of their world destroyed in a single engagement. The rumors made only one mention of the enemy that sprung the ambush, ejected bolt casings.

 

"You think the rumor's true? Think the Space Marines are really here?" he replied.

 

"It doesn't matter. There's no cover for them to advance behind. We'd see 'em coming a kilometer away." Her confidence seemed forced. But there was truth in her words. The field in front of their defenses were completely barren. Their artillery had every inch of it zeroed in. Heavy weapons teams had their guns trained on every avenue of approach. He doubted even the angels of death could successfully assault their lines. You've never seen one Hortillion, spoke the voice of reason in his head. He started to argue when a shrill cry ended the inner feud.

 

"The guard are charging again!" He spotted their advance. A fraction of their earlier forces began rushing the crater pocked wasteland. He was given the impression of a recon mission, not full frontal attack. But why would they do that he wondered? The PDF answered with everything at their disposal. The deep thud of multiple, long range cannons firing reverberated in his chest. The whine of rockets flying over his head, the rapid discharge of heavy stubbers and autocannons reminded him how thankful he was to be in this hole rather than running towards it. Across the field, the guardsmen died in seconds. Ingriidey let loose a cackling laugh. He allowed himself a brief smile.

 

A few seconds later he heard it, the barely audible crack of something entering their atmosphere. At the same moment he saw dark, lumbering figures moving towards the edge of the killing field, their forms obscured by the most recent smoke but their intent evident. They were going to march on the defenders. He lifted his eyes to ascertain what had breached the air above them. Bursting through the clouds were half a dozen metal objects. Moving at intense speed, they appeared to Hortillion as bullets. Their purpose immediately seemed menacing and his assumption was quickly validated as they landed on top of six of the heaviest artillery pieces possessed by the PDF. Only a few emplacements remained. His eyes were ripped away from the chaotic scene by the tell tale rumble of distant guns firing. The Guard had resumed their shelling. The traitors attempted counter battery fire but their own cannons were now too few. They opened up with crew serve weapons at the shapes approaching from across the ground.

 

"Incoming!" The warning was given moments before the first round landed.

 

He instinctively dropped to the bottom of their foxhole and covered his head. Something heavy landed on top of him. Something heavy with breasts. Ingriidey was lying on him, crushing him underneath her larger frame. At first he was disgusted. As the barrage continued he was thankful for the extra cover. The shelling was constant and seemed to last a lifetime. He felt tears flowing freely down his face. He was crying. Ingriidey would give never let him forget it. To hell with her he though, this was no ordinary barrage. The guard were expending every piece of ammunition they had left.

 

After nearly five minutes of continuous fire the deluge ended. Ingriidey slowly rose to her feet and he was able to breath normally. But he dared not move. He stayed prone, embracing the ground like a long lost friend. He was jerked suddenly to his feet by powerful arms and thrust against a fellow soldiers chest armor.

 

"We're alive!" a female voice was sobbing. Ingriidey was sobbing. Touched by a weakness that he had rarely seen in the woman, he wrapped his arms around her. The smoke from the bombardment, dense and blinding, coiled around their bodies. She pulled away from him at last, streaks of tears etching thin lines through the sweat and grime plastered to her face. They smiled at one another for the first time. He saw her in a new light, no longer as ugly as he had once thought, even with her usual, toothy-.

 

The thunder and crack of a bolter jolted him from his admiration. Ingriidey's head burst apart, covering his face with blood, bone and brain matter. Eyes wide with shock and terror, he slowly turned his head to face this new threat. Before him stood a giant clad in armor the color of ash with a helmet that might have once been white. The warrior carried a weapon in each hand, its right a revving chainsword, its left the object of Ingriidey's demise. Upon its chest was the emblazoned form of a shark surrounded by some sort of intricate, tribal pattern work. Scorch marks and shrapnel wounds covered the warplate. Red streaks of light, lasfire he realized, assailed the heavy ceramite but its bearer seemed unaffected by the trivial attack.

 

He knew without being told what stood before him. This was no man. This was death. And it had come for him. He felt warm liquid running down his leg and incorrectly assumed it to be blood. The harbinger of destruction regarded him for a moment with morbid curiosity, then swung its impossibly huge firearm in his direction.

 

The second to last thing that went through Hortillion Fance's head was the question of how anything, even a Space Marine, could walk through such a withering storm of fire, hell itself made manifest, and survive.

 

"The Emperor protects!" answered the creature, pin pricks of crimson light still hitting its chest and shoulders. Then its weapon discharged and his world turned dark.

[Hyuzanriu]

    This story is really good.  I got pulled in almost instantly and your writing style has the perfect mix of action and description.  I would love to see more of your work.

[reckoning]

Thank you. Unfortunately as I reread it today I noticed a few grammatical errors. Hazards of writing at three in the morning I suppose.

 

Anyway, here is a short addition to an already short story.

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

 

The astartes viewed his troops' movements through the display transmitting from each of their visors. He watched as Brother Marama killed the large human female then regarded the human male for a moment. Then he saw the humans head shatter after a bolt pierced his skull. Marama advanced towards the next hole and the soldiers, realizing their weapons' fire could not damage the approaching warrior, abandoned their position. He witnessed the same scene unfolding in every one of the displays. The traitors were in mass retreat to the city. It would not save them.

 

"Captain Arana, the guard commander approaches," spoke Apothecarion Hahona at his side. Arana readied himself for more tiring oratory with the humans; they had shadowed him since he had landed. He wanted to be done with this liberation and leave the system as quickly as possible. Only the planetary capital remained to be taken. That his company was involved at all had already greatly displeased him. Weakness, he thought. Weakness is why I am here. The guard are weak for not capturing this planet themselves. Its citizens are weak for allowing it to fall in the first place. Weakness, a human concern and yet it affected him and his warriors all the same. Punishment would be meted out soon.

 

"Lord Captain," the voice belonged to the guards commander, Colonel Frailn. "May I introduce you to Major Tornin, leader of the resistance forces." His introduction was pompous and full of undeserved grandeur, as if the man had accomplished something. Hid in a hole while we did our bloody work, scrutinized Arana.

 

The man thrust out his hand to greet the captain, joy and relief painted upon his weary face. The gesture only angered the astartes more.

 

"The loyal subjects of Narsis IV are in your debt my lord." The major waited for the captain's words, his hand eargerly anticipating the grip of an ashen gauntlet. Arana regarded the human and what his next course of action should be. Slowly, he raised his hand to the mans and took hold. He then squeezed his armored fingers into a fist, pulping the smaller limb as if it were fruit. Major Tornin collapsed to his knees, a wailing cry springing from his lungs at the sudden pain shooting up his arm. The humans at his back, resistance fighters and guardsmen alike, stood in abject horror, as motionless as statues. They dared not move lest they be the next subject of the space marines ire.

 

Arana raised his voice to be heard over the pathetic man at his feet, then spoke directly to him. "Weakness. Weakness has brought this pain upon you. It has laid you low just as it has laid low the pitiful people of this pitiful world. You have failed and there is but one punishment for a failure so absolute."

 

The sound of bolters being chambered came from behind the captain as his command squad readied their weapons. The resistance troops, standing apart from the regular army soldiers, became panic stricken. They knew their fate. They fell to their knees and pleaded with the grey warriors, but their cries fell on deaf ears. Arana stared at the major as his marines fired into the human ranks. The slaughter was over nearly as soon as it had begun. Major Tornin, shock consuming his fragile form, began to weep. In the span of a breath he had lost friends and family members. His grief was quickly ended.

 

Arana, hatred for the wretch at his feet consuming him, raised an armored boot and brought it crashing down on the mans skull. He caught Colonel Frailns eye, disbelief depicted on his sullen face.

 

"Weakness must be punished colonel, wherever it is found." For the first time since he had landed on Narsis IV, Captain Arana smiled.