Battle for Byron Minor

[sarabando]

HI guys working on my Deathguard and IG project logs has given me lots of ideas for backstory so i've decided to keep some here. They wont be in chronological order and will follow multiple characters. Here's the first one. 

 

Coonar’s boots slapped against the marble flag stones as he ran haphazardly through the lower comerica. His breath came in short pants and sweat ran freely down his back and legs, not having time he still wore his heavy padded wool great coat and hat. Behind him the staccato report of an autogun on automatic punctured the air. Coonar skidded left loosing his footing but recovering quickly as he jogged down G11 West spirewards. The district was mostly deserted most fleeing to higher levels or to civilian shelters. He passed many shop fronts that had been damaged during the evacuation, the looting had little or no sense to it. He saw a Licenced house stripped bare, broken bottles of Amsec and Icewine littering the street but next door a clothing store untouched thick expensive coats with built in heater units, face masks, Anti freeze breathing kits all left untouched. He rolled his eyes one night without the giant heating turbines running and they would all be dead. He jogged past expensive boutiques, display servitors either hung motionless, or still swished and spun in pre programmed routines, draped in expensive silks, and furs. Forgotten by their owners in their rush to escape. Taking his mind off the burning in his legs he questioned the intelligence of building a hive under miles of ice.  Another burst of auto gun fire, and a woman’s shrieking wail tore him back to the present. The noise was closer, same hab block. He skidded to a halt and looked for somewhere to hide, a dog riffled through the smashed window of import butcher, the thin hound gorged itself on expensive wafers of imported delicacies.

Coonar contemplated for a moment joining the beast, for a low hiver like him it would have taken a year's wages to even afford the transit pass this high up the spire, and it would be nice to know he had eaten food that cost more than he made in a lifetime before he died.

A smash of glass, shots and a evil hollering ended that thought as a roaring engine growled from behind him.

Muscles aching he sprinted to cover Connar vaulted through the broken window and into the butcher’s shop. The dog if it noticed had more succulent things on its mind and continued to wolf down offworld hams and sausage.

The stench of death, and decay wafted into his nostrils making the experienced soldier gag. He wished it was simply the abandoned meats but knew better as the distant sounds of the invaders grew closer and louder.

The tired trooper ducked behind the polished wood counter as large industrial truck the kind used by the forest workers rounded the corner onto the boulevard. Profane symbols hurt his eyes, Imperial symbols defaced or torn clean off the vehicle. The worst however was the large scoop on the front normally used to shift large amounts of material into the mulchers of the printworks, now served a darker purpose.

Filled with bodies the scoops dripped foul ichor and undulated as hordes of rats and thick winged insects feasted on the grim cargo. With a hiss of hydraulic brakes the grotesque vehicle came to a halt in front of the damaged window as four masked men dropped from its raised cargo bed.

Coonar silently cursed and wished he still had his lasgun, having lost it in the last skirmish. He pulled his bayonet, a cheap mass produced thing stamped out by the local foundry in their thousands, cheap laminate padded the handle making it less uncomfortable to hold in his mittened hands. He could hear the muffled chatter between the men, distorted by the hoods they wore and by twisted tongues.  

Go away, go away he pleaded silently, willing the men to leave to find some other poor wretch to run down. The hab hound no longer content with ignoring these strangers intruding on his feast growled a low ragged noise that left no misunderstanding. The lead man big and bulky wearing an ill fitting Mulch workers uniform shot the dog at point blank range with an autopistol. Coonar winced as he heard the shot as he tried desperately to slow his breathing. He could hear them, the crunch of their boots on the broken glass, the raspy rhythmic breathing through their dusthoods. The worst part was the smell, a musky stench of stale urine stronger than the smell of the rot around him, but the most stomach churning a sweat and a sickly sweet scent that played at the back of his nose. They were in the shop now he could hear their boots echoing on the polished terracotta tiles, a bottle skittered across the room stopping his heart for a moment as it skipped past him coming to rest against his boot. Coonar swallowed, saying a silent prayer to the Emperor as he heard the autogun being cocked.

 

+++

 

[sarabando]

++Oxyl clenched his fists the leather of his left hand squeaked his right the familiar scrap of Ceramite as the over sized fingers of his power fist hummed and ground against each other. He was nervous, and bored it had been nearly thirteen hours since the Administratum survey team had broken the seals on the trans-cont mag rail that crisscrossed the space between the worlds primary and secondary Hives. 

Located three miles below the ice that covered their entire world Oxyl and his detachment had been ordered to hold the tertiary quarantine line nearly a kilometer further up track from the great sealed quarantine doors. 

They had been here before four years before when they had sealed the Hive to stem the flow of infection, the disease had no effect on humans but with the planets only source of off world income being wood and paper an infection that killed all plant life was deadly. 

Golgun his Vox operator signaled him over "Sir, both the Primary and secondary Quarantine lines have missed their scheduled check in." The nervous knot is Oxyl's stomach tightened, twenty years in the PDF through two Xeno's invasions he was no stranger to danger. 

"Listen up third company" He spoke clearly into his microlink vox. "Stand to and prepare to engage, safety's off but wait for my command." Twenty five guardsmen rushed to defensive positions their lasguns held ready. What ever had happened to the rest of their detachment would not catch the 177th flat footed. Oxyl upholstered his bolt pistol and racked the bolt as he stared into the darkness. 

Further down the ice tunnel past the forty eighth marker, something inhuman roared announcing its presence. ++

[sarabando]

+++

Oxyl and the remnants of his team crouched low behind a hastily erected barricade. Nervous looks passed between squad members as charge packs were check and prayers muttered. Roxll whimpered, quietly tucked neatly into an alcove clutching the mass of bandages to her stomach a snipers autogun had caught her in the last skirmish and they had lost their medic forty minutes ago.

In the plaza ahead of them bodies of both PDF troopers, civilians and the invaders littered  the open space. Once a wide open area the nearest thing to outside that most hive inhabitants would ever see now it was a kill box flanked by tall hab blocks and commercia. The 177th platoon had been fighting a containment operation for nearly three hours with little support from the upper hive command, sofar Oxyl and his remaining troopers had repelled four waves of irregulars, but both munitions and his able squadmates were running out.  

“Movement by the Q.37 Hab block entrance.” Hissed Golgun his IR Trinoculars whirled as they focused on the moving targets, piercing through the fog and acrid smoke that hung in the air growing thicker with each bloody exchange. Slinking out of the shadows came thirty or so of the shabby invaders, they wore a mixture of uniforms. Some outhab workers, clerks, Mulch workers in their thick rubberised waders, Printing staff whos robes were stained with more than just ink these days and a few even wore the yellow robes of the editorial staff. Each one held a autogun, lasrifle, or some other crude weapon. They moved as one pack, more like a mob than a military outfit. Oxyl allowed himself a brief smile at their lack of tactics, they had charged up here four times before and each time they moved the same even as he had redeployed his troops after each attack. Once last check of his gear, Bolt pistol loaded and cocked, webbing pouches closed. He was ready to face them as the group advanced into the plaza.

“Let them get into the open Yara.” His voice barely a whisper but still picked up by his microvox unit, a single click signaling her understanding. Sixty yards to his right stood a monument to some ancient crusade, thirty six bronze angels danced around the legs of the Emperor, nestled between the angels Yara one of his more dependable troopers and her loader Juroa lay motionless. They had set up their heavy bolter braced against a kneeling cherub, Yara held her breath as their targets approached. Bare finger resting on the cold metal of the weapon’s trigger, mittens removed so she could better operate the heavy cannon empty cartridge boxes littered their next and belts of the stocky rounds lay around them waiting.

The invaders, cultists as Oxyl new them to be from the gaudy symbols painted on their equipment had broken through the quarantine points earlier that day, He had lost nearly half his troopers in the tunnels as the unending tide had forced his troops back to the higher access points. House command had been as pig headed as ever, unable to accept his reports of the invaders true nature. To them these were escapees fleeing the lockdown, simply citizens of the secondary hive looking for safety or revenge. Hive command had refused his request for support, to seal the hive access gates or even allowed his request for the use of flame units citing some unknown bylaw or other prohibiting their use during the ice worlds artificial spring time. Now holding this entrance as invaders poured from the level below Oxyl would be damned if he would let the Arch enemy get a foot hold in his home. As the intruders prowled forward he could smell them long before they crawled into view, they clambered over the small walls, benches and past statues. Smashing windows and kicking open doors as they advanced, their lack of tactical awareness leaving them bunched up and vulnerable. As soon as the majority entered the wide open plaza there was no need for Oxyl to shout into his vox unit. To order his troops to open fire. They were well drilled and disciplined for a planetary defence force and his heart raced as the deafening report of the heavy bolter stung his ears. Hypervelocity reactive rounds exploded on impact whether that was with a soft living target or the stonework around them, the rounds flew in indifferent. Stone chips exploded becoming lethal shrapnel bringing down many before they could even consider finding cover. Las-rounds cut down targets as they finally began to react aimlessly dashing for cover. The tight beams sending puffs of dirt, dust and blood as they passed through their unarmoured targets. Even against such overwhelming numbers Oxyl was pleased to see his men firing controlled bursts letting their training take over. Quickly the numbers dwindled and Oxyl spoke into his Vox again. “Hold fire all units! close to engage and finish them off i don’t want to waste any more ammo.” With a cheer the eight able men and women of his PDF unit vaulted over their barricade. Fixed bayonets topped their lasguns and they fired from the hip as they charged forward. The heavy bolter continued to shift it’s deadly fire deeper into the enemy ranks cutting down any who tried to escape the charge. Troopers rushed into the plaza meeting the invaders head on the uniform green spear thrust into the panicking foe many tried to flee but were cut down almost instantly. Now caught between the PDF bayonets or their support weapons some turned to fight most just died.

Oxyl blasted at a man with his boltpistol, the caseless pistol bucked in his hand as it chambered another round the man wearing the robes of a third class editorial clerk split like a ripe offworld fruit. To his right Golgun scythed his lasgun on auto firing from the hip the heavy Vox unit on his back wobbling its aerial whipping back and forth. The Lieutenant was ready to chastise his Vox operator for the waste of ammunition until he saw the man do it again adding another five men to the growing pile in front of him.

“Boss there are more targets coming from Q.22” Chimed the youthful Vox operator not looking at his commander as he pumped another round into a crawling cultist whos lets had been shot out. “You smell that?” He shouted over the melee turning to track a shorter man in the tatty robes of a Stylus tuner. Two rounds, centre mass just like training.

Oxyl took a long sniff wrinkling his nose at the smells around him, sweat, death, the prickling ozone scent of las fire and the sticky sweet chemical tang of promethium. His eyes wide Oxyl spun round as he heard the click woosh of a flame unit being fired. Something hit him hard in the chest knocking him flat on his back as flames washed over where moments before he had been standing. Clad in poorly made but effective armour a Secundian trudged forward a long modified Agri-burner in his hands. It dribbled liquid promethum that burned on the metal deck, two las rounds panged off his chest piece and he let out a muffled chuckled his face hidden behind a welders mask.

Heavy bolter rounds poured into the flamer wielding invader, several rounds passed through his armour detonating inside his fuel tank, a yellow fireball engulfed the invader along with two more passing print workers whose oil soiled uniforms took the flame eagerly.

“They’re falling back!” Shouted Amiiry rushing forward to cover his squad leader, the tall trooper crouched near Oxyl and pumped steady aimed shots into the fleeting survivors. Oxyl blinked dirt from his eyes, his face felt like it was iceburnt red raw. He struggled to breath in the hot air, a heaviness on his chest made him think the worst. Collapsed lung, gut shot maybe its my throat he thought. He could feel warmth on his chest and neck, he raised his cerimite clad arm to his throat, the finger of his power fist came away bloody. Shaking his head to clear his mind the Lieutenant looked down he could see why his chest felt so heavy. Roxll was lying on it, she must have used all her will power to stand up and push him clear of the flamer were minutes before she had been paralyzed with pain from her abdominal wound.

“My thanks Corporal” He said patting her on the shoulder gently “but remember there is no sleeping on the job.” He carefully tried to sit up moving his savior so she would be lying on her back. “Come on Roxy get up people will start to talk.” He began, her arm flopped lifelessly away as he rolled the junior NCO over, she was dead it was her blood that now stained his chest and neck. He sighed another young needless sacrifice, coupled with the loss of yet another he considered a friend.  

Amiiry jogged back over and helped Oxyl to his feet. The older trooper rolled Roxll onto her back and placed her hands over her chest as he muttered a local prayer to the dead.

“May your river be long, warm and carry you to the Emperor’s arms Kittah.” His voice cracking slightly. Oxyl knew the prayers how many of the older hivers still took their dead deep down into the hive to the geothermal streams and rivers where they left their dead on small boats to float into the afterlife.

Golgun approached the pair and after making the sign of the Aquila towards Roxll he handed the Vox horn to the Lieutenant.

“Sir, house command for you. They want to know why they have been picking up flame unit use in the area after the ordered you not to use them.” The vox operator looked less than impressed with the bureaucracy in motion but like a good trooper kept his mouth shut.

Oxyl took the offered vox horn with the stupidity that house command was showing he might request a ice barge for the number of dead they would end up with.