Reunited

[Guest Musketeer12]

Hi, this is my first attempy at a full on fan fiction piece and is hopefully the first of many parts. C+C welcome,

Musketeer

 

Reunited

 

The Space Marine Strike Cruiser's polished marble floors echoed with the sound of the heavy boots of an Adeptus Astarte. Rounding a corner quickly, he walked into his personal compartments with a data slate grasped firmly beneath his arm. Slowing slightly, he activated the slate and began to read. The Astarte smiled inwardly as he began.

 

Introduction

The Thorvorian Campaign had lasted almost three bloody years since the secessionists had seized control of Vacy Hive and its extensive spaceport in M41 887. The Imperial counter strike launched almost six months later had made quick progress, recapturing over half the planet in less than a month, but had been stopped at the Battle of Lhawin which saw desperate rearguard actions as the Imperial force of almost 1,100,000 was pushed back 100 miles. It took another three months of hard fighting to stabilise the front, which had much to do with the onset of the season of frost, and almost 700,000 casualties.

 

Afterwards Imperial Guard reinforcements poured into the Imperial Task Force, codenamed Task Force 501. It's overall strength, which had been reduced by the end of the first campaign to 275,000 in 14 decimated regiments, rose to almost 6,000,000 in 64 Regiments. This allowed the overall commander of the 501^st,Field Marshall Marcus Cornelius, to withdraw the original regiments and to strengthen his offensive operations. By the end of the year the strategic plains of Arat and the height of Galor were in his hands, but at the cost of almost 700,000 casualties at Arat and 900,000 at Galor.

 

Since then, Imperial forces had been bogged down almost ninety miles from the capital in and around the Faladian, Boise and Pronan regions, as well as the Donityn Peninsular. The stalemate was due to several different difficulties facing the 501^st. The terrain in and around the seat of war suited the secessionists, who styled themselves as the Spartacists, and for defence in general. As well, the Spartacists began to model their forces on Imperial formations. This, coupled with improving tactics and equipment as well as the appearance of more suspicious mutations and allies led to far harder engagements for the Guardsmen. The Imperials had dug in and a war of attrition had ensued that had been ongoing for almost a year. It was characterised by a series of localised offensives leading to a general offensive along the whole line, that inevitably led to high casualties and marginal to no gains at all.

 

Act 1

 

M41 991 March 3^rd 12:00 AM

Field Marshall Cornelius planned to change this. As he walked into his Subterranean command bunker almost thirty miles from the front line, he had formulated a plan to finally break the grinding stalemate. As he approached the centre of the room, were his aide Reetus had already stood to attention, and soon the rest of the room had followed his example. After bidding them to stand at ease, he began his speech. The hulking figure had stayed standing at the back of the room for the whole time, and every man in the room recognized his presence but the figure had either made too much of an expression upon them or they would rather speak to those who were more.... normal.

 

“Gentlemen, at this very moment we are stuck in the same position we were in after the Battle of the Yeser Ridge. We have suffered thousands upon thousands of casualties for nothing, but in the next month all that will change.” A roar of approval followed. Every officer was sick and tired of reading endless casualty lists and the minuscule gains that were associated with them. Clearing his throat, Cornelius continued. The giant stood unmoved, his gaze scrutinising Cornelius.

 

“The secessionists are spread thin due to the noble of sacrifice of so many loyal, valiant troops.” Some of the Ferroxian Colonels sneered at Cornelius' words. It was a well known secret that he did not care one bit at the losses his men suffered; he had used 7 of the 13 Ferroxian regiments to 'wear down the enemy reserves' before calling off any more offensive actions and dismissing 5 of the regiments colonel's for improper behavior (otherwise known as objecting to his orders).

 

Uncaring, Cornelius continued “But now, we are stronger than ever before. Our armies have been reinforced by 4 more regiments of the valiant Ferrox Light Infantry, who are ready to follow in the footsteps of their courageous fore bearers” A hint of irony and sarcasm were evident in his voice, but he quickly continued. “We now number almost 7,000,000 men in 71 regiments- the strongest we have ever been. In our motor pools we have almost 4,000 Leman Russ Battle tanks, 2,200 Assault vehicles, 6,000 Armoured Personnel Carriers of all sizes, 700 Valkyries, 270 Vultures, 5,000 mobile artillery pieces and 8 superheavy tanks. Only a fool would stand against us.” Once again, a roar of approval filled the room. As cornlieus reached the pinnacle of his speech, the giant seemed to move forward by the most minuscule of distances.

 

Cornelius began his 'master' plan. “We will attack along the whole front beginning in the Faladian region moving west until we reach the Pronan region, where the general assault will only begin after the capture of the Proxian ridge and the surrounding hills. A general bombardment of two hours will precede the assault, and the assault vehicles and assigned Tank regiments will support the Infantry assault. After the front lines have been breached, a general armoured assault containing all unassigned armoured regiments and the mechanised regiments will begin. The aim will be to encircle the secessionists around Cornaficate Hive and then pound them into oblivion. Any questions?” The room remained silent, the officers knew better than to tempt Cornelius into a pre-battle speech. Undaunted, Cornelius continued.

 

“As I am sure many of you have noticed, we have a guest with us. Lord, if you would like to explain your gracious contribution to our offensive to my officers at your own convenience”

 

The giant strode forward to where Cornelius had stood, light radiating from his shinning silver and red armour. He began to speak, his voice a dull thud echoing throughout the bunker.

 

“I am Captain Orellius of the Knights Aeternum 2^nd Company. Me and my brothers are here to assist you and your men in finishing your compliance campaign. We will be operating in the Pronan region, where I already have my scouts in operation. It would be advised that many of our fire missions from the orbiting “Hand of the Emperor” will be extreme danger close. Our reserve may be available to assist you and your men if required. Our objective is classified but after its completion we will be continue to assist you and your men.” As promptly as he had spoke, the Orellius disappeared in a flash of light, leaving behind the stink of atmosphere.

 

“And one last thing” Cornelius added, regaining his high and mighty attitude after the departure of Orellius, “The operation will begin in 3 days. You will find your orders in your respective headquarters when you return. Dismissed.”

 

M41 991 March 6^th 6:39 AM

The trench rocked violently as the bombardment began. The earth shook and cracked, great plumes of blood soaked earth were thrown up hundreds of feet into the sky only to come crashing back to the ground. The corpses of the last three attempts to storm the ridge where once again blown into many more minuscule pieces, and some of these projectiles even hit the waiting soldiers of the 31^st Kreytanian Heavy Infantry. On both sides of the 13 mile ridge, men on opposing sides huddled into whatever cover was available to them, but in many cases this didn’t not offer any more than a physiological advantage.

 

After almost 20 minutes of earth shattering battery and counter battery fire, the big guns on both sides stopped firing in an uneasy ceasefire. Rifleman Drace of the 31^st Kreytanian Infantry was thankful of the reprieve from shelling. He had already had two close encounters that had saw men on either side of him blasted to pieces, but so far his closest friends Riflemen Trent and Specialist McAngus had both made it through unscathed. He hoped it would stay that way, for it seemed as if the planned assault would not take place any more.

 

They had only been in the line a day, Drace didnt even know where the latrines where. All 43,000 men of the Kreytanian Heavy Infantry were apprehensive at best as to the feasibility of their orders. Many had been part of the fighting at Hill 103 the previous year that had ended in all the gains made my the Iridian 12^th and held by the Kreytanians being abandoned because of the Field Marshall's poor leadership as to the assault on the Yeser Ridge. None the less Drace, Trent and McAngus would all follow Colonel Nguyen to hell and back. All of them had heard the rumours about the Angels of Death attacking in the same region as them, but Drace had learned not to believe rumours in his time in the army.

 

“One minute men!” Company Sergeant Major Spencer was walking along the company's 300 foot stretch of the trench line screaming his lungs of and making sure every guardsman knew of the impending assualt. Drace, Trent and McAngus all checked their gear for a final time. McAngus warmed up his flamer threateningly, while Trent checked the flame tanks. Drace, meanwhile, checked his rifle was clean/

 

“30 Seconds!” The men began to get their footing on the ladders sat out in front of them, some of the newest replacements shaking in fear. The bombardment had once again begun and the screaming of the dying soon followed.

 

“15 seconds!”Everywhere around Drace, Trent and McAngus men prepared for action. Many were cool and composed; veterans of several hard fought encounters over the past five years of the 31st's latest tour of duty. Drace, Trent and McAngus were no exception, all three of the adolescents had seen action at Bridge 51 almost three months earlier, as well as the suppressing of the Iridian 12^th mutiny 10 months ago. The few rookies followed their comrade's example and busied themselves checking their gear yet another time.

 

“5 seconds men, FIX BAYONETS!” Drace's surroundings seemed to stop as everywhere men looked up, preparing themselves for the impending struggle.

 

A whistle blew and suddenly, the 31^st Kreytanian Heavy Infantry threw themselves into the fourth assault on the Proxian Ridge, screaming their lungs off all the while. Drace, Trent, McAngus and all 43,000 men of the Kreytanian Heavy Infantry were determined they were the best regiment in the whole of the 501^st, no matter what the cost.

[deathspectersgt7]

A good one so far continue.

[Guest Musketeer12]

Sorry for the delay, i wasn't able to post for the past week but i've managed to right up a good 7 more pages:

 

Overview of Sub-Op Steel Mace- Assault on the Proxian Ridge and surrounding positions

The 31^st Kreytanian Heavy Infantry (KYH) threw themselves into the fourth assault on the Proxian Ridge. On their left, the 93^rd Ferrox Light Infantry (FII) made their second attack on Hill 101, while on the right the 92^nd Ferrox Light Infantry, one of the new arrivals to the 501^st, pushed on Hill 180. Away from the immediate axis of attack, seven other regiments to the left and right of the 31^st KYH made similar attacks. They were faced by approximately 35,000 Sparticists on the ridge and another 160,000 on the other hills and fortifications.

 

In the Faladian region the 101^st Vernox Legion launched themselves into the attack on Lhawin, while the 103^rd pushed on the Lhawin Plantations to the left of Lhawin and the 102^nd advanced on the marshes to the right. Another 11 regiments were also in involved in the first wave in Falad, but they were faced by almost 400,000 Spartacists and an unknown number of reserves and hidden assets.

 

In the Donityn Peninsula, the 670^th Westfelt led the assault on bridge 66, the only crossing over the Otran River and the wider Donityn plains. Supported by another six regiments with another 10 in the immediate reserve, success would seem almost certain. However, the nature of the terrain and the tenacity of the 370,000 Spartacist defenders could make the assault a costly failure.

 

Boise was the only region that was that had been left relatively untouched by the hard fighting of the previous year, but now Cornellius planned a master-stroke in the region. A mass assault by the 99^th, 100^th, 101^st, 102^nd and 103^rd Haktari Infantry regiments was planned on cracking open the intricate trench system protecting the synari refineries before a sweeping assault led to the Faladian region, specifically Lhawin, being cut off. The marshy terrain, however, may force this manoeuvre to take too long to be successful.

 

Proxian Ridge

M41 991 March 6^th 6:41 AM

 

Drace threw himself into the ditch, closely followed by McAngus and Trent. Everywhere around him, men were falling. His squad had already lost Mcguire, Pente, Lopar and Fad, all killed by the same shell. And by the Emperor the shells were raining down from the heavens. As soon as Drace had pulled himself over the parapet, all he could see was muzzle flashes and earth thrown up into the air. The Spartacist gunners hadn’t let their rate of fire drop either, and the shells were once again landing closer and closer to their position

 

“Right boys we move in 10 seconds, get your gear ready, were about 30 meters from their first line so expect anything” Sergeant Sanchez had always been one for quickness, and today was no exception. Drace checked his demo charges. All in place. Trent once again checked McAngus' fuel tanks, and after a friendly pat on the back from Trent, the Flamer once more breathed threateningly.

 

“Move!” Sanchez was already 5 meters ahead of the squad by the time Drace, Trent and McAngus got moving at a decent pace, his blade a beacon of light in the hellish environment. Around them, the men of Zulu Company made dashes towards the Spartacist position, Kreytanian war cries resonating around the battlefield. As far as Drace could see, the 31^st kept pushing forward. Just 20 meters to his left, a squad was torn to pieces as a heavy stubber opened up. The sergeant fell, his arm torn apart, his heart visible. The only survivor, the specialist, burned out the occupants of the bunker, cutting down the burning men before desperately trying to save the sergeant's life.

 

Drace was quickly turned back to more pressing matters as Sanchez shouted another war cry as he shot a Spartacist at point blank range. His las pistol burned the man's face away. He was efficiently decapitated by Sanchez. Drace, Trent and McAngus were signalled to clear the strong point to their right, while Sanchez, Morrison and Myers took the living quarters on the left.

 

McAngus took point, weaving his way through the cramp confines of the trench surprisingly quickly for a man of his bulk and with so much equipment. Drace didnt even see the first two Spartacists before McAngus gave them a quick spurt of promethium. Both fell to the ground screaming to be dispatched by Trent. They quickly sped up as they heard screams coming from their right as the heavy stubber opened up again, suspecting the worst.

 

Rounding the corner into a far wider section of the trench, Drace had a clear view of their objective. There were six Spartacist gunners operating two heavy stubbers, three bombardiers loading a trench mortar and one officer who seemed to be in charge. Cartridges and spent shell casings were strewn around the ground, almost creating a carpet. Drace signalled McAngus to take the bombardiers and the team of gunners closest to them, while Trent signalled he would watch for any stragglers. Drace quickly scuttled around to the flank of the strong point like a predator, panting in expectancy at his next kill.

 

McAngus began the slaughter. Setting his flamer to the most concentrated burst possible, he roasted the bombardiers first, their remaining ammunition exploding in a spectacular spectacle. The startled stubber teams turned around terrified, hoping it was a simple malfunction. Their hopes were dashed as Drace opened fire. The first stubber team went down in seconds, shot dead before they could reach their side arms. The second team lasted scarcely longer, burned alive by McAngus. The third team, however, managed to reach their side arms, auto pistols and massive machetes, and advanced menacingly towards Drace. Behind them, the officer drew his power sword, his weapon radiating a glow of pure power.

 

The first two Spartacists fell before they were within five meters of Drace, shot down with a precision many marksmen would be proud of. The last man, screaming in rage at his comrades demise, made a clumsy chopping action at Drace, who easily dodged it. Twisting to the side, Drace rammed all 18 inches of his gleaming bayonet into the Spartacist, who fell screaming. Wrenching it free, Drace finished the job with a jab in the man’s temple. The man's blood wetted the already red blood of the Proxian Ridge in a battle that was only 10 minutes old.

 

Turning around, Drace saw the officer charging him. McAngus was no where to be seen. Drace was unprepared for the massive impact of the Auto-pistol shell impacting on his reinforced flak armour, and soon he was on his back. Weaving past the officer's decapitating strike, Drace somehow managed to rise to his feet. Dropping his rifle, he drew his two combat blades and prepared himself for a fight to the death.

 

The officer threw himself at him, and Drace hardly had the time to slash at the man's arm before he was dodging his strike. Looking at his arm, his rage grew. Luckily, Drace now had the upper hand. Barrelling into him, Drace dug his blades into the man's jugular and was instantly covered in blood, but somehow he had survived. Looking up, he saw McAngus holding his las-pistol at the man's head. McAngus almost instantly broke into hysterical laughter.

 

“You fething bastard” Drace said, breathless.

“I'd have helped if you needed it” was McAngus' simple reply, almost too caught in his fits of laughter to speak.

 

“You two, get up here!” Sanchez didn’t sound in a good mood, so the two men hurried themselves, quickly joined by Trent. Reaching the parapet, they found the whole of the 31^st Kreytanian Heavy Infantry staring out into the expanses before them. A massive dust cloud was approaching them. Pulling out his high-viz scope, Drace scanned the dust cloud, trying to figure out what it was caused by.

 

He didn’t have to wait long for his answer. A cry went up along the line, in many cases startled and fearful. Those who called out spoke of the Golden Corps, who were the Spartacist equivalent of storm troopers. They were accompanied by a vast number of regular foot soldiers. The Golden Corps alone numbered 45,000. They would have been a formidable adversary for the fresh Kreytanian Heavy Infantry at full strength, but for the weakened, engaged and disorganized Kreytanian Heavy Infantry, the encounter meant almost certain annihilation.

 

Suddenly, voxes came on in full louder speaker mode all along the line. It was Colonel Nguyen.

“Men, we have successfully taken the Yeser Ridge. Our completion of the primary objective set by High Command marks the furthest and most decisive advance by Imperial Forces to date. However, we are faced by the Spartacist counter offensive. It is headed by the Golden Corps, and another 3 regiment sized formations. I’m sure many of you will be happy to know that our old friends the 12^th Iridian are also part of these bastard's attack. You will all realise the scale of this offensive. But we have to fight it. Behind us, there are 4 regiments preparing to meet them head on. They need time to prepare. We can buy them that time. This is our chance to prove that the 31st Kreytanian Heavy Infantry is the best formation in the 501^st. It may lead to our deaths, but we will prove to all who remember us that we are to be remembered as the best of the best. It has been an honour to serve with every man in this regiment. I know you will prove to me my confidence in you is not miss-found. (in latin) glory no matter the cost)

 

All along the Yeser Ridge, the Kreytanian Heavy Infantry shouted the proverb back at their beloved leader. Their adversaries were almost 600 meters away, and the calls for artillery support went unanswered. Whatever slim hopes the men of the 31^st had of stemming the tide were ludicrous.

 

“This is the end then” observed Trent, seemingly un-phased. All three of the desperate friends had grown up in the fires of war, and had become too accustomed to death for it to have any hold on them.

 

Before anyone could reply, the order came for presentation of weapons. The entire regiment presented arms simultaneously, creating a large clattering of metal. The Spartacists were almost 300 meters away now. Mentally, Drace counted down the distance.

 

275 meters. Looking to his left, in the centre of the Kreytanian line, stood Nguyen. Surrounded by his command squad, he stood resplendent beneath the blessed silk Regimental colours held by Senior Colour Sergeant Frewe. Around him stood the rest of his command squad, the hand-picked elite of the regiment, who almost without exception all came from the elite Blue Back Company, which was comprised of the veterans and highly decorated soldiers of the regiment.

 

225 meters. McAngus was busy filling up his flame tanks to the brim, all the while cursing. He would not have a repeat of the action at Bridge 705, where his flame tanks ran dry in the middle of the action. He had learned his lesson since then, and now his hands were slick in promethium but he was satisfied that there would be no repeat of 705.

 

200 meters. Drace checked his power pack one final time.

 

175 meters. Company Sergeant Major Spencer was once again walking along Zulu Company's line, shouting a whole range of encouragement, threats and promises to the men.

 

150 Meters. Support weapons all along the ridge opened up, ripping massive holes in the Spartacist assault. The holes were quickly filled by the Secessionists, and the tide kept coming.

 

125 Meters. “Take Aim!” Drace chose his target, a specialist in the Golden Corps. Beside him, McAngus began to prepare his flamer for the close range action that was almost certain to occur while Trent followed Drace's lead. Behind them, Rifleman Preaver was shouting down his headpiece at the 3^rd Zeda Artillery for support, but was met by static.

 

110 Meters. “Ready!” Drace began putting pressure on the trigger, preparing for the life or death struggle soon to occur.

 

“You two, look up!” McAngus was hysteric in his observation. Looking up, Drace saw eight balls of fire falling from the sky. The Artillery hadn't opened fire.

[deathspectersgt7]

[Guest Musketeer12]

Thanks deathspectersgt7, any comments or criticism? Here's the next part as well:

 

Proxian Ridge

M41 991 March 6^th 6:58 AM

Brother Tomison was rocked by the impact of the Drop Pod. The briefing aboard “The Hand of the Emperor” had been detailed; describing the capabilities, morale, strength, leadership and many other points about the Spartacists. The briefing had also carried a warning about the possibility of the appearance of the Marred, the company's main objective. If the bastards still held Brother Yelsen, then by the Emperor the Knights Aeternum.

 

Pushing these thoughts from his head, Tomison stormed out of the drop pod and into the maelstrom. Mangled limbs jutted out beneath their transport and around them many of the secessionists had been thrown to their feet by the strength of their impact. Tomison and his brothers in Squad Osterson didn't even bother wasting ammunition on the sprawled foot soldiers, instead they smashed their vitals in with their boots while acquiring targets at the same time.

 

All around them, secessionists fell. Within seconds, Squad Osterson had established a perimeter within the Sparacist assault, though they had not been able to link up with other squads yet. Even now, the slaughter continued. The Spartacist assault had been estimated at 90-98,000 men but more than half would be armed with at most the same armament as regular guardsmen. The closest Imperial formation, the 31^st Kreytanian Heavy Infantry had been estimated at around 39,000 strong after their assault on the Proxian ridge and where expected to offer little resistance and support to the Knights, but Tomison hoped they would prove this assumption wrong.

 

The Spartacist assault had by now realised the threat inside it's own massive shape, and several units had broken off to eliminate, or at least hinder, the Space Marine onslaught. The Spartacist high command had shown themselves in the past as willing to feed isolated elements into the Imperial guns to gain ground elsewhere. It was a tactic they were using yet again, but this time against a far superior adversary.

 

The Spartacist force that appeared to be assigned to engage Squad Osterson was around the size of an Imperial Guard Company, about 400 men. They rushed to secure as much cover as possible before they were under fire, perhaps knowing all to well the fate of their late comrades. A fusillade of small arms fire, bolstered by pot shots taken by the tide of Spartacists heading for the Kreytanian positions, was directed at the squad, leaving only scorch marks against their red and silver power armour. In return, Squad Osterson quickly began to reap another grim harvest. While Tomison and the seven other members of the squad lay down suppressing fire, Brother Adan and Sergeant Osterson moved forward to engage the Spartacists at close range.

 

Slamming in another mag into his Phobos Pattern Bolter, Tomison watched as Adan set alight a whole platoon of Spartacists. Many desperately tried to extinguish the flames with their water packs or otherwise try and escape the engulfing flames. Sergeant Osterson calmly dispatched any of those who were not roasted alive. In under a minute, the marines had eliminated almost a quarter of the force sent to stop them.

 

The battle was, however, starting to show signs of turning against the Knights. The Spartacist company was rallying around the deployment of three auto-cannons. They would seriously improve the chances of the marines being stopped.

 

Seeing this, Sergeant Osterson ordered the squad onto the assault. Moving forward in a V formation  behind Brother Adan, the Knights Aeternum pushed on the rapidly deploying Auto-cannon teams. Advancing across the broken, slopped, corpse strewn terrain, the marines unleashed a fearsome volume of fire power into the Spartacist ranks. Brother Rentar, slowed by the added burden of his Missile Launcher, fired a frag missile into the middle of the Spartacist formation. Seconds later, a red mist surrounded the Spartacists.

 

An instant later Brothers Adan, Fex, Amdar and Sergeant Osterson smashed into the Spartacist formation. While they occupied the majority of the remaining three platoons, Brother Tomison dealt with the Auto-cannon teams. They looked up in horror from assembling the tripod stands of their weapons to see a hulking figure standing above them. One mag of ammo later and the threat they dealt was gone. Turning around, Tomison saw that the meagre remnants of the Spartacist company sent to stop them had been broken and where streaming back to their original positions almost a mile away. It had taken just over ninety seconds to break their aggressors. Sergeant Osterson motioned the squad up the ridge towards the raging battle on the plateau. Almost immediately, the marines broke into a run.

[deathspectersgt7]

The Best yet .

[Guest Musketeer12]

Thanks mate, i will try finish the next part tonight so you can have a look. I hope you'll like the developments for Drace and Tomison over the next few updates.

 

Regards,

Musket

[Guest Musketeer12]

C and C is very welcome:

 

Proxian Ridge

M41 991 March 6^th 7:01 AM

Drace slammed another power pack into his rifle. The last few minutes had been brutal. The Spartacist assault had not disintegrated after the flaming stars had smashed into their ranks. If anything, their assault had become more furious and desperate, as if driven by a primeval survival instinct. The slopes of the ridge were slick with blood as well as covered with corpses, and to fall meant almost certain death. The Spartacists had been momentarily stopped; vicious hand to hand combat had erupted in the 3^rd and 5^th platoons positions, and Drace's 1^st platoon were snapping shots off at unengaged Spartacists. The tide was, however, turning predictably against the Kreytanians. To the east of Zulu Company, Foxtrot Company's two forward platoons were hacked apart by a clump of Golden Corps Soldiers. While their murderers were blasted apart by the rest of Foxtrot Company, it was an ominous sign of things to come. To the west of Zulu, things looked slightly better. Bravo Company, with support from a platoon of Blue Backs, were pouring out an infernal rate of fire, and had already obliterated several platoons worth of Spartacists.

 

Discarding his observations, Drace watched as several Golden Corps officers marshalled surrounding Spartacist platoons into an effective assault formation instead of the disorganized mess they had been previously. Added to the two Golden Corps platoons, the Spartacist detachment easily outnumbered Zulu Company by at least a couple of platoons.

 

Finished marshalling the regulars, the Golden Corps led assault began. Bringing all their possible fire power to bear, the 3 unengaged platoons of Zulu Company opened up on their adversaries. The Golden Corps armour was far more resilient than regular Flak armour, and the regular Spartacists fell in droves. The Golden Corps troopers withstood far more punishment before collapsing, but several still fell.

 

Drace calmly levelled his rifle against the oncoming tide. Aiming for the well concealed weak points in a Golden trooper's armour, Drace shot straight through his knee. Surprisingly, the man didn’t fall instantly. Instead, he began to snap shots back at the Kreytanian positions. Drace quickly ended the threat he posed with an expert shot to the neck. Trent, following his lead, shot down another trooper to the right of Drace's victim. Despite the two rifleman's act being repeated several times, the tide of Spartacist soldiers swept past their deceased comrades and closer to the Kreytanian firing line. Soon, they were within twenty meters of their positions.

 

“Specialists to the front!” All along the line, specialists and their assigned supporting rifleman edged in front of the line and prepared to use their unique skills to deadly effect. McAngus, Trent  and Drace were no exception, slamming in new mags before pushing forward with the other specialists. While common practice dictated that there was only one supporting rifleman, both Drace and Trent supported McAngus due to their ages.

 

“Ready!” McAngus' flamer emitted a small, venomous flame which emitted a small amount of intense heat. Trent and Drace were snapping shots off at any Spartacist who dared to show their face.

 

“Fire!” McAngus shot off a massive jet of flame, engulfing all the Spartacists within 20 meters of him. At least a dozen men fell to either side of the team. Drace and Trent finished of those who collapsed to the floor due to the flames with expert shots to the head. Several Golden Corps troopers fell, roasted alive in their armour. However, after almost 30 seconds of a continuous burst of destruction, the flamer spluttered dry and stopped. Before running out of fuel in this pack, McAngus had killed over 50 Spartacists.

.

Diving back into their shallow positions, the 3 comrades stripped off their unneeded kit. Ripping his flame tanks off and putting the flamer beside it, McAngus drew his Auto-pistol and ceremonial sword; a straight 20 inch silver cobalt blade unique to the Kreytanian regiments. Drace and Trent rammed yet another power pack into their lasguns and loosened the holds on their grenade's webbing. Looking up, they saw the Spartacists less than 5 meters away, who had surged up to the top of the ridge.

 

Rising first, Drace snapped two shots off at one man. He fell and was left to bleed out on the ground. Trent and McAngus also added their own weapons to the fusillade, and soon several more Spartacists had fallen. The three comrades had lost contact with the remainder of their squad, who seemed to be almost 30 meters to their right. They were on their own.

 

No matter how much fire power was brought to bear against the Spartacists, it was in the whirlwind of hand to hand combat that the battle would be won or lost. McAngus moved forward to obliterate a Spartacist troopers cranium before shearing another's arm off. Trent somehow managed to snap off three shots into 3 assailants, all of them falling dead. Drace managed to shoot one of his attackers before bayoneting another in the stomach. He watched as his bayonet slid out of his opponent's stomach, closely followed by the man's stomach contents.

 

All along the line, the Spartacists slammed into the Imperial line. In many cases, the Spartacists came off the worse as the efficient bayonet drills and close combat prowess of the Kreytananians showed against the poor training of the Spartacists. However, slowly the sheer number of men the secessionists possessed began to show. To Drace's extreme left, a platoon from Alpha Company was torn apart. To his right, a squad of Blue Backs was dragged down beneath a living tide of fanatics, the light suicide troops of the Spartacists.

 

McAngus almost shared the same fate as the Blue Backs as a wave of fanatics was thrown at his position. Luckily for him, he was able to throw his last demo charge into the midst of them before it explode, leaving the fanatics little more than a red paste on the ground. He was granted little reprieve, however, as three more Spartacist troopers moved to attack him.

 

Trent was locked in a life or death struggle with a Spartacist officer, a lieutenant by the look of his rank insignia. The officer had drew his chainsword, while Trent wielded his ceremonial sword and auto-gun side arm. They circled around the Spartacist's senior sergeant's mangled corpse, eying each other warily. Corpses were strewn around them, furthering reminding them the price that came with loosing the impending duel.

 

Three more Spartacists rushed at Drace, shadowed by a Golden Corps officer. Seconds before the Spartacists reached him, Drace realised that the Golden Corps were mostly letting the regular troops do the fighting, but some of their officers had moved to practice their duellist’s art on a worthy opponent. Dropping his rifle after ripping the bayonet from it's socket, Drace drew his ceremonial sword and prepared to fight.

 

Drace's first opponent's strike was much similar to the man he had killed in the gun pit. Easily dodging the attack, Drace slashed the man's arm before trying to weave past his comrade's jabbing blow. Not weaving quick enough, Drace's arm was penetrated by the man's bayonet. Wrenching it free, the man went to finish the job. Dodging faster than before, Drace quickly ran his sword against the man's neck, rupturing his jugular. The man fell in a bloody mess.

 

Weaving his way throw a flurry of blows launched by the third man, Drace slashed at the back of his calf while simultaneously slashing at his chest. While the man was able to block the blow to his chest his calf was sliced from him, flopping against the blood soaked grass. The man fell to the ground clutching the remnants of his calf. Drace moved forward to him, readying himself to finish the man off.

 

Drace was humbled by a clumsy blow to the back of his helmet, sending him sprawling. Looking up, Drace saw the first man striding towards him. Leaving the man to bleed out, Drace scrambled to his feet, feeling the warm sensation of blood trickle down his back. He parried the first slashing movement, and even managed to make his own slashing attack back at the Spartacist, but Drace could not prevent the second slashing attack making contact with his left arm. Staggering back, Drace checked his arm, and was relieved to discover it was just a flesh wound.

 

The Spartacist, a grin etched across his scarred and pain filled features, edged menacingly towards Drace. Dropping his bayonet, Drace steadied himself and his grip on his ceremonial sword, ready to show his strength. That, would not be needed however. The man's head jerked back and then a blade flew out from his chest. Blood spraying all over him, Trent kicked the corpse to the ground and offered Drace his hand. Looking past his comrade, Drace saw the mutilated, decapitated body of the Spartacist officer lying amidst a pool of blood.

 

Trent was suddenly thrown to the ground. Turning around, Drace watched the Golden Corps officer striding towards him. Drace was unceremoniously launched to the ground beside Trent. A massive, smoking dent had been indented into his Flak Armour. His Flak Armour may have been rendered useless, but Drace was thankful his heart was still in his chest. He needed no reminder as to the consequences of a ruptured artery.

 

They were not out of trouble yet, however. The Golden Corps officer's sword slid effortlessly from it's scabbard, emitting a metalic screech. Drace scrambled to regain his grip on the Ceremonial sword, before he clambered to his feet and attempted to steady himself.

 

The Golden Corps officer made jabbed at Trent's legs. Drace shielded his comrade with his sword, but not before Drace's calf had been sliced open. Drace fell to the ground clutching his wound, at the same time trying to get away from his adversary, who looked triumphant.

 

Drace, by now on his back and still desperately trying to protect Trent, hacked at the man's jet black boots. Feeling the satisfactory feeling of his blade connecting with the man's boot, Drace looked up and was shocked to find the officer laughing in his face. Drace swung again, but this time his sword ricocheted in his hand, sending violent shock waves back up his arm. Grinning, the officer pulled down his boot to reveal metal plating below. Menacingly, he pointed at the two men.

 

“Stupid boy, do you not know your place? This isn't your world, this is the true god's world. You and your pathetic comrade are nothing but filth to be exterminated in the glorious cleansing in the divines name, and you are too blind to see it, unlike your valorous Iridian comrades. I hope you die knowing that your sacrifice was in vain, for you deserve nothing more.” The officer raised his sword. Drace prepared himself for death. Death never came.

[Furious Retreat]

Nice.  I like the fact that your writing makes me like your characters.  I "worry" about them surviving etc, Drace anyway, not so much the space marine.  But then its difficult to like or associate with a brainwashed killer.

[Guest Musketeer12]

thanks man, i think you'll like Tomison better with what i have planned for him further on in the story. Sorry i've not been able to post for a while but i should have the next part up tonight.

 

Musket

[Guest Musketeer12]

C+C welcome, sorry for the very late update:

 

Proxian Ridge

M41 991 March 6^th 7:03 AM

Brother Tomison had finally reached the top of the blood slick ridge. Squad Osterson's advance up the slope had been hard. They had been able to link up with Captain Orellius and his command squad, and together the fifteen marines had carved a bloody path through the Spartacist assault. In some isolated areas of the ridge, weaker offshoots of the Spartacist assault had been driven back relatively easily. The remnants were flying away in the direction of their jump of points, leaving behind them a carpet of bodies and limbs.

 

In the centre of the Spartacist assault, however, had punched through the Kreytanian's line and a desperate melee had developed. The Golden Corps had somehow managed to walk through the fusillade relatively unscathed, though several of their number had fallen. The regular Spartacist units, however, had been torn apart by the fire directed at them and the close combat prowess of the Kreytanians. Now, the ragged remnants were locked in a desperate battle for survival against the equally desperate Imperial troops.

 

Captain Orellius' voice was suddenly ringing in his ears:“Brothers, hunting pattern Demetrius, good hunting my friends”. The marines rushed to join with their hunting partner, or Parabatai, and Tomison had soon found Brother Fex who recognized him with a slight nod of his head. The eight teams of two men spread out with an efficiency that was born from years of rigorous training and an unshakable loyalty in their comrades.

 

Tomison and Fex quickly began moving towards the clump of clump of Golden Corps soldiers and Spartacist regulars in the center of the Kreytanian line. To his right, Tomison could make out the form of Captain Orellius scything his way through the teeming ranks of terrified Spartacists, shadowed by Brother Goodwind, who strode forward under the gleaming company banner. To his left, Champion Hirsch and Apothecary Bohannon were leading three other hunter teams into the side of a Golden Corps Company. They were making good progress, and Brother Adan was showing his proficiency with his weapon once again.

 

His wandering mind was swiftly re concentrated on the task at hand as Tomison and Fex slammed into the Secessionist ranks. To save ammunition in case of emergency, the two parabatai had charged forward at the Secessionists with their right shoulder angled to cover their vitals in an attempt to crush those foolish enough to stand in their way. Predictably, it worked, as the stunned and terrified Spartacists either shot hurriedly in an attempt to bring the two marines down or dived for whatever cover was left on the barren, mud chocked ground.

 

The impact of the two parabatai into the enemy ranks was predictable as those first hit by the two Astartes were thrown aside, their bones ground to a pulp. By the time the two Astartes had finally began using their melee weapons, almost fifteen seconds after their initial impact with their adversaries formation, they had carved a bloody pathway through the sea of Secessionist, leaving broken bodies as markers of their skill. Those Spartacists that had thrown themselves into cover, however, were beginning to emerge and were warily firing shots at Tomison and Fex while their comrades in the path of the Astartes moved back warily, gradually forming a ring.

 

Tomison quickly threw himself at a group of Golden Corps soldiers closest to the Kreytanians, while Fex was advancing behind him, spraying the Spartacists with bolter shells and frag grenades all the while. The first Golden Corps trooper quickly fell, his abdomen blown apart by a precision shot. The other four quickly spread out and began circling Tomison, looking for any weakness or opening to exploit. Tomison gave them no chance to find one. He threw himself at the nearest Secessionist, quickly slicing his throat open with his combat blade. Even as Tomison turned to face the remaining three Golden Corps soldiers, blood erupted from the slain man's jugular, showering the Astarte's heraldry.

 

The other three men, perhaps more than a little shocked at the speed the blood stained giant could move at, lunged forward at Tomison, somehow confident in the belief that one of the Emperor's own could be overwhelmed by numbers. They were quickly proven wrong.

 

Tomison allowed the first man's bayonet to become stuck in the thick ceramite armour encasing his left arm. As the man desperately tried to yank it free and his comrades scuttled around Tomison's free left arm, Tomison cracked the man's skull open with a jab from his left arm. The man fell to the ground, writhing in pain, only for his chest to be ground to a bloody paste by the full force of a ceramite boot. His two comrades, understandably stunned and terrified, lasted scarcely longer. The first was neatly decapitated by a chop from Tomison's right hand, his body moving a few more feet before landing in the gripping mud. The last man turned to ran, but his attempt was pitiful in the thick quagmire that was the seat of war, and Tomison quickly scythed him down with a single shot from his bolter.

 

Turning to help on Fex, Tomison quickly saw that his brother needed no assistance. The remains of many secessionists were scattered in a wide area, and limbs intermixed in a sizeable crater created by Fex's frag grenades. The two parabatai started advancing warily. Though the heart and soul had died with the majority of the centre thrust on the middle of the ridge, many large coherent units of Spartacists still remained. While most of these were embroiled in a desperate battle for survival against the demi-god Astartes, the rain of artillery shells and the buzzing swarms of furious Kreytanians who saw victory was within their grasp.

 

Fex and Tomison were far to concentrated to realise that the clump of Golden Corps troopers and Spartacists were the last Secessionist formation that was still advancing on the Kreytanian lines and making progress at the same time. But this came at a cost, around the dozen or so surviving Golden Corps troopers and another dozen regular Spartacists were surrounded by the corpses and writhing bodies of their comrades. A few feet away, their officer was duelling with a private, who was desperately trying to protect his comrade who was lying a few feet away.

 

The Golden Corps troopers were efficiently blasted to pieces by a methodical volley from the two parabatai that left very the minuscule remains scattered along the blood soaked ground. The regular Spartacist soldiers, who had obviously seen enough, scampered away as fast as they could, and several of them threw away their weapons in a desperate attempt to flee from the astartes.

 

As Fex gunned down the few remaining Spartacists, Tomison quickly moved to the officer. His duel with the Kreytanian was over, and he was lecturing the Imperial Guardsman on the righteousness of his cause. Even know, as he was preparing to execute the man and his comrade, Tominson stalked behind him, creating a shadow that loomed ominously over the Spartacist. Tomison pushed his combat blade through the man's chest, who quickly fell to the ground gurgling. The two Kreytanians looked terrified and in awe at the sight of the blood covered giant who had just saved their life. Tomison, surveying the scene of bloody slaughter around the two of them could only speak a few shocked words before carrying them back down the ridge, quikcly joined by their walking comrade, who seemed just as shocked as the other two.

 

“It seems you three have been quite busy, quite busy indeed”

 

 

[deathspectersgt7]

[Guest Musketeer12]

Any criticism Deathspectre?

 

 Musket

[deathspectersgt7]

NO not really just a couple misspelled words other than that it is Good in my eyes . If I can read the whole thing then it is good to me there have been some stories here that I read that I stopped reading after a couple of lines.

[Welcheren]

Not quite done yet. I just reached the spot where the Knights appear. 

 

I enjoyed the World War I feel of the Guard action. Along with the use of map co-ordinates and landmarks, it enhances the gritty, desperate feel of the action. 

 

I think there's an incomplete sentence in the first paragraph of the SM section: "by the Emperor, the Knight Aeternum..."

Will read the rest soon and see if I can suggestion for improvement, but it's quite enjoyable so far. Minor spelling errors, repeated words here and there.