Tyranid Hunters [Supernovas DIY Chapter]

[Wargamer]

Part One:

Three squads of the Fifth Company - almost all that remained of their fighting strength - wound through the eastern hills in column formation. They rode on bikes, two abreast, with an attack bike bringing up the rear of each unit.

 

Sergeant Oxor was the oldest sergeant of the Fifth and thus acting-Captain. He rode at the head of the column, scowling out at the rolling hills through his Maximus pattern helm. The past few years had been testing for him, and the entire Supernovas Chapter; first the loss of Master Ximo, then the entire Fourth Company forsaking Cylaros, the successor, and running off into the stars; and the Eighth sealing themselves in their bastion and refusing to heed the call to crusade. All of that at the head of a quest of faith, to prove to the Imperium the purity and loyalty of the Supernovas.

 

And then the Tyranids. By the time Master Cylaros brought the Chapter home, a quarter of the population was dead. If it hadn't been for the legions of Imperial Guard, the Ordo Xenos and their fellow Astartes of the Bright Lords, Tasal would likely have been lost altogether.

 

These thoughts flashed through his mind over and over again. Now the Fourth was back, and Captain Dyus of the Eighth was likely to become Chapter Master. To think about it made Oxor uneasy, and so he desperately hoped to find a distraction. Battle, pure and simple, kept his anxieties at bay.

 

Over the next hill the dirt track gained some reinforcement, and ahead Oxor saw the hulking, ancient engine of a land train. Men surrounded it, sweating in the summer heat while soldiers in orange tunics stood guard. The soldiers began to cheer and raise their autolocks in salute to the Astartes as they drew near.

 

The thirty bikes drew to a halt and dismounted. Oxor sought out the train master. "What happened here?"

"Blown seals," the man replied. He was in his late forties, old for a man of Tasal. His left sleeve was empty, and the flesh on his chin and neck sported a fierce acid burn. "We've been running north for a fortnight, but every bastion city is either abandoned or under siege, and the machinesmiths of the Guard won't give us a second glance."

 

The revelation lit a fire in Oxor's gut. He was a child of the land trains. Where it not for the convoys of these engines hauling goods across the Tasalian wilderness many of the cities would quickly starve, or freeze, or be overwhelmed by the world's predators. There was a reason no civilised man fired on a land train. Yet the Imperial Guard had abandoned them in their time of need.

"Sit tight, you'll get your assistance. Cyda! Vox high command and tell them I want a Techmarine detachment here to get these people moving again."

"There's another matter," the train master added with a nod to the west. "The devourers came at us last night. We counted three dozen of the smaller creatures, the fast buggers with blades for hands. We saw them off with the howitzers and autolocks, but where little ones are found, big ones follow."

 

It was the news he'd hoped for. The main Tyranid invasion was broken, but pockets of the invaders remained. Some had gone feral, but some retained a semblance of intelligence. They fled to caves, ruins, deep forests or below the waves, where the Supernovas rooted them out with bolt and flame. Another pocket to be crushed, another few blessed hours of clarity from the anarchy and discord of Chapter politics.

 

 

They rode west for an hour, snaking ever higher. Hills became the beginnings of a mountain range, but where Oxor expected little but tough grass and bushes, the Supernovas found the way ahead thick with green fields, waist high in places. Berry bushes had overtaken the road, and on the gentler slopes a surge of new tree growths was taking root.

He punched the air and cried, "column, halt!" Cyda and Sigir broke off from their squads and rode up alongside Oxor. They were in a horseshoe between two arms of mountain. The valley below teemed with life; native and xenos. A small pack of termagants were competing with a pack of silvermane wolves for the right to devour a mammoth corpse. By sheer numbers, the wolves were winning.

"The natives did our job for us I think," Sigir noted.

Cyda shook her head. "Unlikely. The caravan attack sounded more like hormagaunts. Besides, there's strategy in their hunting pattern. I think this is a forward unit, sent to gather food for a nest."

"It must be a weak nest then, at least for now. We need to strike quickly!"

"Then we should wait," Cyda replied. "If the Tyranids remain unaware of us, then they'll likely head straight back to then nest after the hunt. If they spot us, they may instead try to lure us into an ambush."

"I would rather not wait. I prefer a direct assault."

"So do I," Sigir agreed, "but Captain Vikyl would have waited."

 

Oxor bared his teeth at the mention of the lost captain. It felt like a slight against his command ability. He had been a sergeant back when Sigir was still a novitae learning to shoot a bolter. Throne! Cyda hadn't even begun the Trials when he first received a squad command! But that was the problem, wasn't it? Oxor knew he could throw Sigir into any fight and the boy would win; hand Cyda any problem and she'd crack it. Oxor himself? Old Oxor, plodding Oxor, capable in all areas, exceptional at none. And, if he was honest with himself, no ambition to be anything other than a sergeant.

 

"Cyda, I want you on point. You are to get us to the nest however you can, alright?"

"Aye sir," she responded, giving a sharp nod for extra emphasis.

"Sigir? Once we've found them, we'll go in hard. Your squad and mine, full frontal assault. Cyda, you'll stay mounted and run support. Anything tries to break out, ride it down. Anything tries to take us from behind, you intercept."

"Nearest reinforcements are Ninth Company, but it's close support only. If we want anything more substantial than a Land Speeder squadron, we need to call it in now."

Another dig at his command ability? No. Oxor shook the thought away. Cyda was just being prudent - overwhelming force was always advised where possible. "Chapter is stretched thin as it is. I don't want to pull troops away from more urgent fights."

"Understood. Permission to deploy?"

"Granted. Let's hope the Tyranids soon tire of hunting."

[Wargamer]

Part Two:

 

Cyda called in the attack just before midnight. With care and patience, her squad had not only tracked the beasts to their lair, but located additional hunting parties and managed to avoid them. The sergeant was confident that the entire brood had now returned to their spawning grounds.

 

The Fifth Company regrouped on the edge of a grove of splinterwood trees overlooking a long hollow in the mountains. Sheer cliffs to the north gave them a secure flank for the battle, while the woodland, sweeping south and west, would provide excellent cover for their advance. Squad Oxor and Sigir dismounted, retrieving bolters and spare magazines from the backs of their bikes. The five Novitae - the youngbloods still learning the Astartes ways of war - were armed with shotguns instead. They were instructed to load solid slugs for range, with a few magazines of buckshot for close quarter fighting. The two attack bikes carried heavy weapons on their rear mounts; a heavy bolter and missile launcher. The gunners took the weapons, while the drivers carried additional ammunition.

 

Oxor removed his helmet, and Cyda and Sigir did likewise. The smell of wildflowers and tree sap flooded his senses. He knew better than to be taken in by the pleasant aromas; the flowers here were thorned, and a slight prick would leave a grown man delirious with fever. He didn't know what the toxins would do to an Astartes, but there was no sense in finding out.

"Alright, strike team will head west, keeping to the trees for cover. Cyda, the open ground should be perfect for a bike assault - we lure them out of cover, you smash them. Quick and easy."

Cyda's eyes glinted in the dark as she took in the terrain. "With respect, I'd rather not. The last thing I want is to be penned in, and if things go wrong that's exactly what will happen. I'd rather take my squad out to the extreme west flank can hit them from the trunks. We can puncture the line and ride clear through open ground."

"Which means one of us has to advance across open ground, which spoils the element of surprise," Oxor countered.
"An element you didn't want in the first place," Sigir answered with a boyish wink. He had the face for it. Sigir looked as if he were still in his mid to late teens, and would probably look that way until death claimed him. Even Cyda looked a little haggard, and Oxor wore his life of service clearly on his pale face.
 

Oxor took in the field of battle once more, trying to ignore that lingering doubt. "My main concern is still breakout or surprise attack. Spread along the woods, we'll cover the former either way, but the sound of advancing bikes might alert the enemy too soon."

"It won't," Cyda cut in quickly. "We'll wheel the bikes in unpowered and mount up on your signal."

A hand clasped against Oxor's shoulder. "I'll take the open ground. When the Tyranids come, your flank will hold."

"Alright, gather your squads and be ready to move on my order," Oxor donned his helmet once more, then turned toward Cyda. "Wait, do you have the Captain's pistol?"

Cyda nodded, tapping the holster at her side. "May I?" Oxor asked.

With some slight reluctance, Cyda offered over the pistol. It was a plasma weapon, built on Mars at the dawn of the Imperium and lovingly maintained by the Chapter for millennia. It had been Vikyl's pistol, earned while serving as an assault marine in some heroic boarding action.

"Thank you," Oxor said. "I feel more like a captain now."

The young sergeant smiled for a moment, but it was quickly lost behind her Corvus helm. Oxor turned back to his bike and recovered Vikyl's other weapon, the lightning claw. It was large and unfamiliar, but Oxor had trained with their use. Though he wouldn't say so aloud, he hadn't worn it on the ride for fear of breaking it.

 

"No matter how much it itches, don't scratch your nose," Sigir chuckled as he prepared his own melee weapon. Squads that expected close quarter action against large Tyranids were expected to arm themselves accordingly, and Sigir had obtained a power fist. The weapon was so new it still had the vellum strips marking it as the creation of Triplex Phall. Most Marines would have taken issue with that; the Chapter firmly held that the more ancient the weapon, the better, but Sigir didn't seem the least concerned.

"Sigir, you probably don't need me to tell you this, but if there's anything big here, Dreadnought and up, your squad is the one who has to deal with it."

Sigir raised his fist and flexed the thick fingers, "can I kill them with this?"

"However you like," Oxor replied, "just keep your men alive, especially the boys. The Fifth can't afford more deaths."

To Oxor's great surprise, Sigir's face became serious, "not one fallen Brother today, that I swear."

 

And with that, Sigir broke his squad off north and moved into position. Oxor returned to his men, all waiting in silent expectation, and issued the advance order with a slow wave of his claw.

[Wargamer]

Part Three:

Squad Oxor moved into position quickly and quietly, each man taking up a firing position without need of instruction. The two Novitae were directed to the heaviest cover by their mentors, while others took the time to perform last minute weapon checks and other pre-battle rituals. Hilts of swords were touched for luck, or perhaps in the hope they'd soon be drawn in anger. Oxor knew he could trust his men to follow his orders, but he also knew many of them would rather fight with blades than bolt guns.

 

Blink-clicking the runes on his HUD brought up a visual link with Cyda, who was remounting her bike. Another blink showed Sigir walking in a low crouch through the grass. The men were almost in position. Oxor turned his gaze back to the cave mouth and paused, eyes drawn to a flicker of movement up above. He cycled through auto-sense settings to thermal and caught two plumes of orange in the vague shape of large apes. He'd seen things like them before; bio-artillery.

 

"Cyda to Oxor, I see movement," the vox hissed.

He linked to Cyda's feed. The squad had caught a fleeting glimpse of Termagants moving out of the cave, keeping low and close to the cliff. They were completely hidden from his men by a dip in the earth.

"I have a plan, sir," Cyda continued. "Let Sigir engage these ones. My guess is they'll try to bait him forward into an ambush. When they spring, we spring back."

"It's a risk to Sigir," Oxor noted.

"Sigir is a risk to Sigir. Besides, do you really want to fight them in a cave system?"

He didn't. Nobody in their right mind did. That kind of action was for Terminators, or the Ironbreakers, or the boarding specialists of the Bright Lords. Close combat was one thing, but tunnel fighting was another matter entirely.

 

The distinctive double retort of bolt fire filled the night air as Sigir and his men engaged. The Termagants were hit as they broke cover, losing half a dozen in the first salvo. A few pushed onward, trying desperately to engage, but most began to scatter. Oxor noted how they didn't keep to cover, instead choosing move open paths that made it clear where they were headed. Cyda had been right; they wanted to be followed. Squad Sigir happily obliged.

 

As the Marines drew near to the cave mouth fresh volleys of Tyranid fire greeted them. A great surge of Termagants burst forth, while up above the bio-artillery stirred, their body heat suddenly spiking as they prepared to unleash their foul weapons. Oxor roared the order to fire, and the battle was truly joined. The first beast exploded as heavy bolter fire found the soft tissues of its flank. The second, hit by several Marines at once, lost its front legs and tumbled down the cliff. Bolt rounds hammered it as it fell, until it finally struck the ground amidst the Termagants and exploded in a spray of biofuel that cremated everything in a ten foot radius. The Tyranids faltered, caught off-guard, and Oxor ordered his men to re-aim their weapons and add to Sigir's weight of fire.

 

This time, rather than retreat, the Tyranids redoubled their attack. The trunks around Squad Oxor exploded as a sudden storm of weapons fire was hurled toward the squad. Hundreds of projectiles smashed against wood, stone and armour, forcing the Marines down. One of the Novitae, a Bastion-born named Loxa, cried out in pain as enemy fire ripped through his right bicep, almost stripping the limb to the bone. His mentor, Varan, sprinted through a salvo of bone-darts to provide triage for the young lad.

"Cyda! Now would be a good time!"

"Hold on a moment longer! I have a hunch the worst is yet to come!"

Oxor intended to reply, but was cut off by a fleshborer beetle hurled at his face. He stumbled backward and frantically tore his helmet off just in time to see the squirming creature burrow through his eyepiece. He shook it onto the woodland floor and crushed it under foot. When he glanced back up he saw squad Sigir engaged in violent hand to hand fighting, and numerous bladed Tyranids eager to do the same to his own men.

 

There was a sudden belch of flame as the creatures drew close. The squad's flamer washed left and right, killing or incapacitating most of them, but the rest came on regardless. Someone drew a blade and gave the cry of "Taekar!", the unofficial battlecry of the Chapter; a vow to drench their sword in blood.

 

Blades were drawn as other Marines took up the cry. Sword met claw as more and more Tyranids charged into the melee, despite the best efforts of the flame trooper. Oxor ran forward and slashed at the first beast he saw. It was dead by the time he struck it, head blown off by a shotgun blast, but the broken body was hurled sideways and took the feet out of two other Hormagaunts, who were promptly stabbed by their would-be victim. He swung again, breaking a second Tyranid into three pieces. The energy blades of the lightning claw made a mockery of flesh and chitin, and every blow he landed dealt a mortal wound.

 

At last, the din of battle took on a new urgency. The thunder of bike-mounted bolters and the roar of a multi-melta rose over the sounds of close combat, and Oxon spared a quick glance toward Cyda as she led the charge. Behind the mob of lesser beasts were a trio of Warriors, clearly the target of her wrath. They turned to return fire, but powerful as they were they couldn't stand before the sheer power of the attack bike's melta. The first creature was reduced to ash in seconds; another broke apart under concentrated fire from the bikes. The last was hit in the back with a krak missile and blown apart; the heavy weapon trooper of squad Sigir was stood atop a raised rock, with the entire squad formed in a defensive ring around him to buy time for the shot.

 

"Push forward! For Tasal! For the Chapter!"

Oxor's squad broke the back of the Tyranid brood assaulting them, but as they advanced into open ground he felt a pang of unease. The Warriors were dead, yet the Tyranids seemed to retain their focus and drive. This was not how it was supposed to go.

 

As if sensing Oxor's fear, the second wave of Tyranids began their attack. The ground beneath squad Sigir erupted as Raveners burst forth, slashing and firing with wild abandon. Dozens more smaller Tyranids surged from the cave into the flank of squad Cyda as they tried to divert around the subterranean ambush, and at their heels came the largest enemy yet; a Hive Tyrant.

 

Its carapace bore a hundred war wounds. A broken hunting lance was stuck into its left side, while its right leg was blistered and burned, causing it to walk with a pronounced limp. Dried blood and scar tissue covered its flesh, but for all its war-wounds it was no less fierce. Sensing the threat of the attack bike, it turned its heavy weapon toward the vehicle and fired, blowing apart the engine housing and hurling the bike over end. Its second shot struck the gunner as he tried to recover his weapon and blew his chest wide open.

 

Cyda was frantically trying to organise a retreat. Sigir's vox-link was nothing but roars of anger and bestial snarling. Oxor had three of his squad out of action, and only a precious few seconds before they'd bear the full brunt of the Tyranid swarm.

"Kill the Tyrant!" he bellowed. "The monster must die, no matter the cost! For Tasal! For the Chapter!"

 

Bolt rounds burst against the Tyrant's carapace, adding to its many impact wounds. Oxor's plasma pistol found a gap between its chitin and was rewarded with a spray of boiling blood. The impact knocked the beast's aim off as its gun fired, and a hard round that should have taken Oxor's head off instead struck his shoulder. The blow slammed him to the ground, destroying his pauldron and breaking his left shoulder. Teeth grit against the pain, Oxor rose and fired again and again. His squad had redirect their fire or switched to melee weapons as the Tyranids reached them; only Oxor now traded fire with the Tyrant. Time and again the plasma bolts hit home, tearing deep wounds into the creature, but the Tyrant kept attacking regardless, picking off straggling Bikers with its claws and hurling fire back at Oxor. The sergeant ducked as a volley ripped a tree behind him in half and tried to fire again. Nothing happened; his pistol was overheating and had begun an emergency vent.

 

He had no weapons, his squad was being overrun, and the Tyrant's eyes were locked on him. Oxor felt his death draw near, and swore under his breath that he would sell himself dearly.

[Beta galactosidase]

Yes! Keep going!

[Wargamer]

Part Four:

 

Sigir came out of nowhere, riding atop a bike recovered from Cyda's squad. He threw the back end of the bike out, throwing himself clear as the vehicle slammed into the Tyrant side on, taking its good leg out from under it. As the beast fell, Sigir's power fist rose to greet it, connecting with its head in a blast of energy that sent chitin shards and teeth flying. Reeling from the blow the Tyrant lashed out, but Sigir was beside it, hammering into its bad leg and shattering a kneecap. Despite the blows, the Tyrant rose again and swung its talons, seeking to cleave Sigir in half. The sergeant ducked inside the Tyranid's guard and went for its cannon, tearing the barrel in two with a well-aimed blow.

 

A fierce kick knocked Sigir backward, crushing his chest plate. On his back, he punched aside a stabbing blow that would have pierced him, then caught the second talon in his power fist. Arcs of energy crackled from one warrior to the other, and a terrible shriek of tortured metal filled the air as the Tyrant sawed through the palm of the weapon. Sigir raised his pistol, but a swift strike punched through the weapon, detonating the chambered round and blowing it apart. Once more, the Tyrant raised its free talon to strike, but Sigir hurled himself forward with all his might, unsheathing his sword in a single fluid movement and ramming it into the Tyrant's gut. Using the blade as an anchor point he threw himself upright, once more inside the beast's guard, and landed another mighty blow that shattered three of the Tyranid's ribs.

 

As he dropped back and tried to roll clear the Hive Tyrant struck once more. The blade tip bit deep into Sigir's abdominal armour and hurled him skyward, tumbling through the air to land a good twenty feet away. Astartes blood dripped from the creature's talon as it stomped forward, broken jaw locked in a snarl of bestial hate.

 

"Come at me!" Cyda cried over the din of battle, rushing forward to face the Tyrant on foot. Her pistol fired round after round into the Tyrant, but it did little to phase it. Sigir's plasmagunner broke through the melee and fell in beside Cyda, his own weapon landing much more telling blows. A third Marine joined them and together they advanced, pouring everything they had into the creature. Its crippled cannon rose to fire, but with the barrel broken the shots flew wide of the mark.

 

Then Sigir was back in the fray, a tribal war cry issuing from his mouth. He hurled a krak grenade as he charged that struck the Tyrant's left blade-limb and blew it off at the elbow. He broke the right talon in half with a backhand blow, then once more went for the giant's legs. Wounded by blows and gunfire the Hive Tyrant stumbled, and Sigir's free hand gripped the broken chitin of its chest as it fell.

 

"For Vikyl, and the honoured dead of the Fifth!"

With one last almighty blow, Sigir struck the Tyrant square in the face. The blow burst its skull and sent brain matter spraying out in all directions. At last, the Tyrant's body toppled backward, broken and defeated.

 

Within moments, a change came over the surviving Tyranids. Their drive was gone; instead of fighting as a focused whole, they became erratic and undisciplined. Some fought on, slashing wildly or shooting at anything that moved. Others tried to flee, but the Supernovas were hell-bent on slaughter. None would make it to the safety of the tree line, though a handful made it back to the caves.

 

Oxor joined his fellow sergeants in the middle of the corpse-strewn field. Hundreds of Tyranids had been slain, with a dozen dead or seriously wounded Astartes scattered amongst them. Yet every Marine bore wounds from the battle, be it minor injuries or damaged wargear. It was far from the clean operation Oxor had dreamed of.

"How is he?" Oxor asked Cyda, who was knelt beside Sigir, tending to his wounds.

"He'll live," she confirmed. "The injuries look worse than they are, although I have no idea how he kept fighting like that."

Pale and weak from blood loss, Sigir still managed a faint smile, "Oh you know me, I just can't leave a job unfinished."

The three of them laughed together, finding joy and relief at their success. It was not in the nature of Astartes to know fear, but both Oxor and Cyda had shared the same morbid thoughts; neither had truly believed they would live to see another day.

 

After a pause, Oxor turned to the remains of the Tyrant, and the broken bike nearby. "That's yours, isn't it?" he asked Cyda.

"Yes, and so was the attack. I figured if anyone was going to bring down a monster like that, it was Sigir."

It was hard to fault her logic. Whether through luck or skill, Sigir always seemed to come out on top. Maybe he was chosen by the Emperor? Blessed in some way? Oxor shrugged it off and replied, "You took a huge risk."

"Taking risks is what we do," she glanced up at Oxor and smiled, "I seem to recall an old sergeant telling an overly cautious Novitae that."

Oxor nodded, "Yes, I did." With a deep sigh he added, "I'm beginning to think I'm not fit to be a Captain. A squad I can handle, but I can't handle a damn demi-company, let alone a full one. If it weren't for your insights things would have gone much worse for us. Cyda, I want you to lead the Fifth."

"Hah! Youngest Captain in the Chapter's history!" Sigir laughed, "another success for the Fifth!"

Cyda shook her head, "I'm about twenty years too old for that ."

"Youngest serving Captain then!" Sigir corrected, apparently determined to have something to celebrate.

"Sure, why not," Cyda conceded. She turned once more to Oxor, "I'll take the position, but I'll need some experienced sergeants I can count on."

"Well you'll have to promote some, because he doesn't count. Now, Captain, if I have your leave I'll arrange transport for the wounded."

 

 

Epilogue:

 

A team of Techmarines got the land train up and running by the next morning. Oxor and those of his squad still able to fight arrived as the venerable engines spluttered back to life, much to the joy of the crew. The land around the train for hundreds of metres was broken by shell impacts, and the broken corpses of Tyranids lay scattered about the land.

 

The train master was sat on a crate of shells bearing the seals of the Munitorum. His weary face wore a faint smile as he surveyed the carnage. "They came back for us a few hours after you left," he told Oxor as the sergeant approached. "Three or four hundred strong, but nothing bigger than a man. Your Chapter's smiths killed everything that came within twenty paces of the train."

"And your guns took the rest, I see."

The old man nodded, beaming like a youth who'd won his first battle, "We gave a fine account of ourselves. Your men were kind enough to say as much."

"My men and I found the nest site and slew their leaders. It was a costly battle, but the deed is done."

"Tell us about the battle!" a young voice piped up from the train. Both Oxor and the train master looked up to see a boy of ten years or so peering at them through the carriage door.

"Tag! Show respect before our honoured guests!"

"It's alright," Oxor replied, "the boy is right. Some stories need to be told."

 

The tale drew in the entire train crew. Oxor and his men recounted the battle as best they could, and seeing how the tale enthralled the youth, the sergeant couldn't help but embellish a little. That seemed to encourage the same from his men, and by the end of the story the Tyranid horde had grown to thousands strong, and the Tyrant was apparently the size of a train engine. The looks on the faces of the train crew made the exaggeration worthwhile.

 

Afterward, as the Techmarines readied to leave and the crews were reluctantly shepherded back to their vehicles, Oxor took the train master aside. "There is one last thing. My company have lost many men, and we will need strong, brave youths to replace them. The boy, Tag, he is your son?"

"He is," the train master confirmed.

"I wish to take him with us, if I may. To undertake the Trials."

Tears welled in the old man's eyes. "It would be the greatest honour of my life to send him with you. Tag! Tag, get out here!"

 

And so, not long after, Oxor and his men turned for home and followed in the wake of their allies. Tag rode with them, sat behind Oxor, eyes streaming as the wind whipped his face. The boy had never imagined he could travel so fast. On his back was a simple bag with a few belongings, simple mementos of home. The Chapter would provide everything else he needed.

 

In time, the Fifth would rebuild. Tasal would rebuild. The Chapter would be strong again, and the Supernovas would once more journey the stars, fighting the foes of Mankind.

 

For now, there was plenty to do at home, and Oxor was glad his company was in safe hands.