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Hello! Thought I'd share the first part of a Guardsman story. With hopefully more to come. Enjoy :-)

The lad squatted in the crumbling corner of the rubble-strewn office. Furtively, He reached into his oversized flak jacket and withdrew a pouch of Nicota Leaves, the dry air had leached some of the natural moisture from his contraband but it was still good to chew. The young man figured that this small luxury would have to replace rest for this evening. He rolled one of the sticky brown leaves up and shoved it in his expectant maw, his gums tingled in anticipation for that slow 'hit' of numbness. The older troopers in the room eyed the lad jealously, each one regretting having squandered their own stolen haul of Nicota. The boy spat a brown gobbet, watched it mingle with the ash and dust, and removed his plasteel helmet. He felt for his longest Honour-braid, always a source of comfort to him as a child, but was instead greeted by the brutal buzz-cut of the Emperor's Glorious Army. At this memories of his home came flooding back, his father dying happy thinking his son had escaped the Tithe, hunting the wild fowl that nested in the lake and tipping Grox while drunk on dilute ethanol. The smashed window he was looking out of filled with the landscape of his feral homeland. Enjoyment of this joyful delusion was soon crushed as the colour washed out of the scene, nagging ruins displaced the Oaks and Apple trees, a smog choked sun exchanged it's pitiless half light for the brilliant rays of his Homestar and all around the merry crowds disbanded into the corpses and charnel pits littering the wasteland. Normally he would sigh at this return to reality but now he saw these reminiscences as a form of torture. This realisation was fortuitous timing as the familiar clump of the feared leather jack boots was just becoming audible in the corridor beyond.

Commissar Josef Van Tiernan entered the office soon after. The muddy uniforms of the now neatly assembled squad contrasted poorly with the polished splendour of Van Tiernans attire. As was usual on seeing the Commissar the same pity for the ensign who had to polish the Commissar's Jackboots echoed through the squad. The Commissar surveyed the room haughtily, obviously disgusted by the mess. The men suddenly, and irrationally, felt guilty for not cleaning the ruin and making it fit for this master of the Creed.
'Hmmm, I see you've made an attempt at fortifying this room......Yes?!'
the men, even the sergeant, were reticent to reply, the troopers did not like to even botch their grammar in front of the Commissar. A vein visibly throbbed in the commissar's temple,
'YES?!' he spat.
'Err...Indeed... Sir Comissar Sir.. We umm.. Have..' Came the meek sergeants reply.
'Good, well done Murtahn. Now, I have a Request, ('More like order' thought the troops as one) there is an Auspex station a block to the south, it is taking readings from the traitorous artifacts in the plaza. It would be much appreciated if one of you would volunteer to retrieve it's data'
There was no immediate reply. The vein throbbed again, without the lids keeping them in Van Tiernan's eyes would surely pop out in a moment. The officer slowly made towards his bolt pistol just in case he needed to enforce his 'request'. After a few more tension filled seconds the lad piped up.
'I volunteer, Sir Commissar Sir'
'Thatta boy Kervid, there's promise in you my lad!' (He said this without a hint of remorse knowing full well he was almost certainly sending the boy to his death)
+++

Kervid Pulled the great coat tighter round him as he glanced sspiciously out the Office entrance, partially satisfied his sectors were clear he ran to the derelict commerce station across the street. He was grateful for the greatcoat Murtahn had donated, discounting his fear of the Commissar, the boy respected Murtahn; he was a good sergeant, perhaps not a born soldier, but a born leader for sure. He was a few years older than Kervid but was from a similar world and shared many near identical experiences when growing up. Having spent so long on watch the youth had near forgot his lasgun, he looked down as if to make sure he still possessed it. Unlike some of the veterans Kerv had little fondness for his weapon and anyway, he had only fired it a handful of times; usually at unseen ambushers or warning shots at bewildered civilians. He had little understanding of the weapon beyond it's basic operation and maintenance, the dials on the side remained a mystery and the stock was still poorly adjusted to his stance. As the boy ruminated on the nature of the gun he remembered the safety was still engaged, embarrassed, he primed the weapon. The act of disengaging the safety gave him a momentary boost in confidence.

It was hard not to step on the bones of the dead but when Kervid first arrived he tried his utmost not to. Such superstition seemed distant now but the infant skeleton just ahead gave temporary credence to his old beliefs and he stepped carefully over it. The street's were deathly quiet and that primal fear of ambush started to creep into the lad's psyche. Earlier in the week Kervid had watched as the forward sentries of Gamma squad were cut down by an enfilading Heavy bolter team hiding in a wrecked fountain, the traitors attempted to flee the scene but were rooted out by the accompanying veteran squad. The boy additionally remembered this event as it had been the first time he had wished to act vengeance on the enemy, even on recall Kervid's grip on his Lasgun tightened. Yet again the private's inner monologue was derailed by reality as a clattering bounced out of an alley to the left. Kervid knew that the Auspex was only a hundred yards away now but it seemed reckless not to investigate the sound. With considerable trepidation the boy entered the Alley.
+++

As Kerv entered the alley his heartbeat kicked up a gear, his every fibre suggesting flight from the grim potential beyond. His ill fitting boots crushed a newspaper lying on the cracked Asphalt. The faded headline still conspicuous in it's deception: 'DO NOT ABANDON HOPE CITIZENS! THE SO CALLED 'SCIONS OF MALIGNANCY' ARE BUT DEVIANT PARODIES OF THE ASTARTES, THEY WILL CRUMBLE.' The details were lost in grime and brackish smears, only scant phrases were now visible, 'Heroic actions of the PDF'..... 'Another crushing blow to the heretic command'..... 'Enemy morale is weak'.... 'malfunctioning, ineffective, equipment'... 'will all be over by the Festival of the Crusade'. The lad knew that each and every word of this rag was lies, he had seen the work of the enemy first hand; such orgiastic slaughter, such abhorrent destruction; that he had even been privy to it felt like a victory for the enemy. A handful of cautious steps later the source of the previous clattering caught the boy's eye.

'0.75 HIGH EXPLOSIVE ROUNDS, DESIGNATION: HEAVY BOLTER' was written on the side of the empty hard-case. It lay just ten yards down the alley, just before it started to narrow. The boy crouched down into combat stance when a another fell from a second storey window.
'Oil the feed you idiot! These things are ancient!' rasped a throaty voice a few metres above. Kervid was paralysed by indecision, the next exchange was a deal breaker.
'Be sure to target the tracks, we want to force them into the open', the voice that said this was a far more threatening proposition, impossibly deep and dripping malice it was the voice of a renegade Marine. Kervid's attention turned to a low rumble approaching from the East.
'They approach, on my word and not a moment before little ones',
'With pleasure my liege!' came the sycophantic reply accompanied by the cocking of three Heavy weapons. From the narrow gap between the buildings Kervid spotted a Loyalist rhino crossing the ruined square, right into the ambush.

And now some action!!! Pretty proud of this next passage. Enjoy :-)

+++The rhino batted aside a burnt out Tauros, the civilian vehicle's axle sheared free from the drive and bounced along the top of the APC in a shower of sparks. The entrails of the gearbox and motor were likewise scattered and crushed piecemeal under whirring steel. The brutal crunch masked the first shots of the ambushing heavy bolters. Kerv immediately came to the conclusion that the car wreck was placed there on purpose by the renegades to figure range. Mortar shook free of it's beds as the heavy weapons rumbled out their bullets, smoke started to pour out the window from which that fateful hard-case had fallen. The Rhino was instantly bathed in impacts focused on it's skirts and flanks, there was a metallic snap as one of the tracks was blasted free of it's bolts. There was a terrible grinding and the sound of shearing iron as the liberated track loop was coughed out the back of the armoured skirt. Sparks were spat furiously as the exposed drive wheels kissed the tarmac. Remarkably, the Rhino's momentum was undiminished and with a wrenching screech it arrived but ten yards from the attacker's vantage point.
'Damnable! Pour fire on them! Make your last bolts count, churls!' roared the dark champion, not a hint of desperation in his voice. There was a sound of decompression and the side and back doors of the Rhino slammed into the ruined pavement.

Darting out in a practised combat-evade formation came four Tactical Marines of the Olympic Lions. It seems they were barely a micrometer outside the vehicle before they had fired their first salvo. The elevated room erupted in the sounds of detonations and death. The Heavy weapons were momentarily silenced giving the Lions a window in which to seize a more advantageous position. Kervid became aware of a desperate scurrying and the noise of squeaking wheels and soon after two Heavy bolters opened up again on the marines. The guardsman watched as the bullets punched into their intended target; the alabastor armour of a loyalist. Ablative plates took the brunt and started to crumble under the pressure of the heavy calibre, the marine was staggered before lowering his stance and pirouetting out of it's firing solution. The super soldiers were temporarily pinned by the last two heavy weapons, it was noted by the young spectator that one of the heavy bolters was being fired far more competently, it seemed someone had grew tired of merely watching. It was now that the Loyalists chose to break the stalemate, in one swift motion the top hatch of the Rhino sprung open and and the fifth, flamer equipped, Olympic Lion surfaced in a fireball of ignited prometheum.

To be burned to death was always a fear of Kervid, and if before it was set in stone, when a screaming traitor hurled himself out of the window above, it was set in admantium.

Silence. Rather than taking a moment to appreciate it the marines consolidated their position beneath the crackling flames. The reflected chemical fires danced joyfully around the gilding on each battle brother's power armour. A sound was captured by the boy's inferior ears that was missed by the attuned auto senses of the Olympic Lions, a low vocoded cough. Within seconds the same degree of agility was demonstrated by the unharmed traitor Marine. With an inhuman leap out of the flame choked frontage, the dark warrior slammed into the asphalt between Kervid and the Astartes. It looked every bit like a meteor had struck as the Heretic was still bathed in lingering chemical fires.

With implausible serenity the combat squad acknowledged the Aspiring Champion, the sergeant then calmly stepped apart from his men and addressed his fallen cousin.
'For the memory of a time we would have met as brothers, I will fight you on fair terms'
'Very well slave, I shall kill you on fair terms' with this the servant of chaos pounced, rusted wrist-blade flashing. Throwing down his bolter and leaning back in anticipation the loyalist drew his combat blade in an underhand grip. The sergeant struck out with his left gauntlet swatting aside the jagged blade headed for his neck, with a similarly disciplined blow the traitor lent into the deflecting swing and delivered a rolling punch into the abdominal plate of the Imperial. Lightning fast to reply the sergeant constricted the withdrawing fist and shot the pommel of his blade into the visor of the traitor, knocking him back in an explosion of sparks. Not yet beaten the traitor begun another advance this time taking the initiative and ducking low, he stowed half his jagged blade in the exposed knee socket of the Olympic Lion. Even a superhuman could not hide his obvious agony and he gasped loudly and grunted as he smashed an elbow into the top of the dark warrior's head. This blow proved highly effective, flooring the heretic and snapping his blade as it struggled to escape knee flesh and cartilage. With his good leg the sergeant delivered a swift kick into the prone attacker sending him skidding into a junction box.

The twisted power pack of the Chaos space marine lay ruined, embedded in the dented metal of the power hub. Exhaust gases fizzed obscenely from the wound it left in the back of his armour.
'Very good slave, Come try that again' for the first time Kervid heard doubt in the Heretic's voice, a momentary falter, imperceptible but undeniable.
'This must end now traitor, I cannot spare you any mercy'

With that both lunged into a charge, Their separate momentums cancelled themselves out and after a few seconds locked in a tangle the two warriors started their final attacks. It was hard for the awed human to perceive some of the blows exchanged in this last spar. All that Kervid could manage to process was the traitor's attacks becoming more and more desperate and undisciplined. With a last splintering tackle from the damned warrior, taking loyalist and renegade through a plate glass fronting, the Sergeant delivered his killing blow, plunging his knife into the cervical vertebrae of the Dark Champion. Strephon Utonik, Aspiring Champion of the Scions of Malignancy died instantly and in silence.

And now an interlude... Thought i would do a newspaper article kinda thing about the war, hopefully not as naff as it sounds. :-)

BY ORDER OF THE ADEPTUS TERRA PRESS OFFICE,
THE CITIZEN'S INFORMER: TYREASEN EDITION

COMBATANTS OF THE TYREASEN WAR

This humble servant of the Emperor [BLESS HIS NAME] is proud to tell you, the loyal public, that the war effort is going incredibly well! You need not get too comfortable in the generous accommodation set out for you by the evacuation office for you will be able to return to your homes VERY SOON! To whom do you owe this pleasure? Well, it is recommended that tonight you give thanks to the various regiments that have come to our aid. The most notable of these are the heroic men of the Euphrates 78th these men have held back the pitiful attacks of the rebels and are currently making the BIG PUSH to end their measly attempt at rebellion. The regiment is 8000 (pre-deployment census) strong and has taken few casualties so far. It must be stressed that rumours of mass desertion and 3000 killed or wounded are nothing more than Hearsay. Your thanks must also be given to the armoured squadrons of the Ryzan 12th and the Mordian 111th who's mighty battle tanks have crushed all before them. 'But Citizen's Informer!' I hear you clamour, 'To whom do we owe the greatest debt?!' well be prepared to parade and celebrate the DIVINE intervention of the Olympic Lions. That's right a chapter of the Adeptus Astartes no less! They have chosen to bless us with their mastery of warcraft and violence of action! You will recognise them by their white armour with gold edging, their shoulder pads bearing a field in the colours of red and green and the Symbol of the Lion Rampant wielding a Toxe. So mighty are these Knights of the Emperor that they only sent thirty men to win this war. Whisperings that this is merely the number that could be spared are dangerous sedition. If any of your Co-workers, Friends, Spouses, Parents or Children have spread this, or any other, misinformation it is prudent that you report them to your inquisitorial liaison immediately. That is all for now on this trifling little skirmish and now we return to the rest of this segmentum's news.
***


++[SECURE TRANSMISSION] encrypted band, decoding key {n+#ÆƱ}++
>/Subject: #: Intelligence on rebel forces
>/Sub-heading: #: SCIONS OF MALIGNANCY
>/Threat level: #: Traitor Astartes [RED HIGH]
>/Begin transcript
My lord inquisitor I have Dire news from the Tyreasen Front, what started as a handful of bushfire conflicts has turned into full scale war. The Scions of Malignancy have sowed significant destruction on this world. I believe this warband numbers somewhere in the region of 700, fully half judged to be Astartes Equivalent, and higher, warriors. It is only a matter of time before they construct a warp gate on this world. The sigils of warding you entrusted me with are burning a furious white, sorcery of the foulest manner is at play! I beg you, send more of your forces or maybe take pity on these wretches yourself. I apologise for the frankness of my request but I believe only a man of your prodigious talents can stop a pan-global Demonic Incursion. The Euphrates 78th have so far taken horrendous casualties, a conservative figure of 3000 has been relayed to me, their morale is also desperately low. The small battle group of Olympic Lions sent has been far too small to entrust on missions of any significance and I fear I may have to send them back so as not to risk them any further. So I part with another plea for aid, though you gave me powers of Exterminatus I am reluctant to exercise it before you personally have deemed the Tyreasen people doomed.
Your Humble servant, and once most adoring Acolyte,
Inquisitor Quirann Uolis.

Nice, it sure was a long read, thanks for giving me a good read about a new recruit. I really like the last part, with the Inquisitor.

Wow!!!!
It was really good i loved it all the way though

Are you going to wright any other storys because i hope
to hear more from you

Cheers mate! Yeah got some ideas, defo enough for another two short passages.

Conferring silently the Combat squad adjourned to the Rhino, it's engine having never stopped. In a moment of self doubt Kervid hid himself when the last of the marines to enter the APC looked in his direction. Face down in the broken pavement the imperial guardsman heard the Rhino trundle away, noisy but clearly unaffected by the damage inflicted by the traitor bolters. A noise emanated from the emplacement formerly populated by the renegade squad, Kervid felt his heart plunge into an Ice bath as he made the connection; Survivors! His ears followed the sound to the back of the room where it rammed against a fire escape door. The ominous noise then kicked down the service ladder with a clamouring smash. Kervid had to act, he hugged the alley wall and sidled back to the junction with the street to get a view of the survivor. With a disciplined intake of breath he exposed his head to take a peek. There at the top of the steel ladder to ground level was a traitor, still wearing a perversion of his PDF uniform. His left leg was burnt and caked in drying blood, he had foregone his flak vest and his jacket was choked in sweat. He was holding the broadcaster of a long range micro field-vox, he addressed the microphone,
'The Astartes are making towards the star dock from the south.. ', a hacking cough, Prometheum fumes wreaked havoc on unprotected lungs, 'Come in?! Are you receiving this?!' another cough, the familiar groan of a man that has coughed up blood then a reply.
'Negative, imperial jammers are scrambling you, get to the plaza, and report',
'Yes lord Vizier'.
The rebel stowed his autogun and turned to face the eavesdropping lad,
'Gak!'.


With that both soldiers broke out of their positions, the maimed traitor jumping down onto an ash covered dumpster and tumbling to the pavement into a sprint. Kervid hurriedly brought up his lasgun to his sightline. He fired off a shot but the unstable platform of his sprinting body sent the bolt wide of the mark. All the same the recruit was easily gaining on the wounded traitor. The panicked older man reached into his webbing for a magazine but the ammunition slipped from his blister slicked hands. The pursuing guardsman jumped over the clattering sickle with a long stride. Without a call for surrender, as he had been trained, Kervid stopped and aimed his rifle at the fleeing man. He imagined a paper target as he squeezed the trigger. There was a scream as his shot connected, knocking the traitor to the ground. Heart racing and stomach churning the boy moved to secure the body, kicking away the autogun as he went.

The renegade guardsman turned his bloodied face to meet the gaze of the boy,
'So, they send a child to do a man's work?'
'I'm not a child! I'm eighteen!' Kervid tried to say this in a deeper voice than his own, as boys often do. At this response the bestubbled, wounded, man chuckled to himself, it was odd what dying men found funny.
'You're lucky then lad, I was barely fifteen before my first kill was forced on me' at this the man shot Kervid a knowing look. Kervid just continued aiming his gun at the grizzled face, afraid to let his guard down.
'You're a slave boy, you are bound to service for an uncaring corpse..'. An unseen hand crept to a hip holstered auto pistol. 'Those that revere him are used as tools by those that know the truth. Your pitiful world gave you away as blood money' at this Kervid's blood boiled.
'No!' he roared at the prone figure.
'What is it boy? Does my heresy repulse you? Your people sold you away to save their own skins!' at this Kervid fired, the las-round punched into the face of the man, the loud crack of the impact mingled with the exploding constituents of the snarling face. The now raised hand of the renegade squeezed off a few post mortem scatter-shot rounds from the autopistol, rattling harmlessly into the distance.

The now teary eyed Kervid had only ever feared the Emperor but was absolutely against any word defaming his people and homeworld. He felt the grip of a wretch on his throat, the vomit flowed freely.

I've decided to go for a serial sort of thing for this, i think it has some mileage. In the meantime heres a stop gap passage.

The taste of bile lingered in the boys pallet as he finally came to the entrance of the Auspex station. He took a swig from his flask, swilling the water round his mouth. He spat the water, now thick with Kime. He took a moment to regain his composure, shouldered his lasgun, and entered the relay station, peering through the dark entry hall he spied dimly lit terminals and heard the whirring of strange archeotech. On crossing the threshold of the module and into it's dark corridors something of far greater concern played on his mind; the glint of spent shell casings and tang of propellant in the air. A fight had taken place here.

As if to confirm this, an apprehensive footstep struck the body of one of several bizarrely dressed warriors. Feeling the soft yield of flesh under the rubber of his sole Kervid reluctantly turned his flashlight on to inspect. Kervid recognised their odd appearance; he had seen Similar men frequenting the armouries and maintenance areas, the lad had heard them referred to as 'Skeetaree' or some-such. Regardless of what they once were all they did now was clog the decontamination tunnel that gave entry to the inner module. The corpses bore the horrendous punctures of bolter wounds, the work of traitor Marines for sure.

Now inside the main vaulted hall the purpose of the station became apparent, great wires and probes punctured a sharp tusk of Obsidian that jutted out the ground. It emitted it's own sound, one far lower in frequency and stimulant to forgotten instincts. Kervid was compelled by that most human of desires to touch the loathe Obelisk, logic lost out to impulse in the lads mind and he volunteered a hand to it's cold surface.

Nothing, admittedly the lad did not know what to expect or wish to happen but none the less there was a slight feeling of disappointment.
'Very bad move my boy' came a weak voice from a dark corner of the room, Kervid brought up his torch to reveal the speaker.
'My last two Servitors who touched that thing had violent memory echoes, had to put them down, funny though, during Vivisection we are always careful to excise the memory centres, anyway I digress. Seeing as you are not frothing at the mouth and tearing off slabs of flesh, I think I can trust you. My name is Magos Tarkoff, custodian of this monitoring equipment and as you can see I am in need of your assistance' at this he gestured to his, previously unseen, grievous wounds.

Have decided to split up the fiction into action and character vignettes, the Action pieces will be longer passages, the character development split into smaller chunks. Heres some more character/plot development. Don't worry, next installment will be action packed i assure you.

The naked musculature, hydraulics, ribs and viscera glistened with blood and oil, where it had failed to saturate his rust red habit, the mixture pooled on the floor. Tarkoff's lower abdomen had been butterflied by mass reactive bolts, in his bionic hands he held a bizarre device with inflating and deflating membranes.
'I was only supposed to get my bionic lungs on elevation to junior Fabricator, seems I get them early' at this the Magos chuckled, satisfied with the joke. Again Kervid was struck by the black humour of the dying.
'As you can see I am rather doomed, if extraction were a possibility I may have a chance but..... Anyway... The chaos scum destroyed most of the data and left me for dead, fortunately they did not factor in my resourcefulness, I flatter myself of course but would you begrudge a dying man some final self aggrandisement? It was a simple case of re-purposing the security logs and redirecting.... '. Kervid twitched with impatience, boy could this guy talk!
'Hmmm.. I'm waffling aren't I? Long story short, take this my boy' he threw Kervid a talisman of remembrance (a venerable piece of Archeotech capable of storing the sagas of 1000 tomes),
'Make sure it reaches no one else but my dear friend, Inquisitor Quirann Uolis. Now my boy, I would thoroughly recommend you leave sharpish, I fear the traitors are returning to this quadrant en masse'. Kervid felt somewhat overloaded with information but after a curt thank you he turned tail and ran as politely as possible.

Unlike the journey there the return voyage was uneventful. He arrived back at the office block and the barricaded doorway.
'Hey pipsqueak, what's the password?' came a voice from the eye slit carved into the re purposed office door.
'Barking-Toad, will you let me in now Davidson?!' was Kervid's wearied reply.

Home sweet Home he thought as he climbed the stairs to resume his position and rejoin the platoon. As he ascended the stairs he was stopped by Commissar Van Tiernan, he addressed the boy from two steps higher, being barely over five foot Van Tiernan had to be resourceful when he wished to exude authority.
'Have something for me private?'....

Gripping

Very nicely done

Good read this. Carry on, I like it.

Subscribed and waiting for the next great installment. I love stories about the Guard

I said I was gonna write some more action but I thought some more character development was required and also I thought it might up the tension for the upcoming fight. As always i hope you enjoy and if not tell me why I won't cry... Much...

'No' replied the boy,
'Please repeat?' said the commissar rapidly,
'I was ordered to give the intelligence only to an Inquisitor by the name of Uolis'
'Well your Orders have changed, hand it over' Van Tiernan outstretched his open palm, there was a look in his eyes that seemed to expect nothing less than complete supplication.
'When did the orders change?' said the boy, a promise to a dying man, half machine or not, was best kept.
'They Changed Right Now. Hand. It. Over. Now. You little runt!' the last word came caked with malice. Kervid, no matter what his values, was not going to die for them today, reluctantly he gave in to the Commissar's demand.
'Was that so hard private?' the commissar mocked in a condescending tone, 'Resume your post at once'. Kervid squeezed past the Officer and resumed the ascent.
'One more thing lad..' he turned to again acknowledge the commissar,
'Such impudence can get in the way of promotion'.

'Rob! It's good to see you alive'. Sergeant Friedrich Murtahn had greeted Kervid with his first name, it was easy to forget the presence of friends sometimes.
'It's good to be alive Freddy, hope you didn't miss me too much'
'Certainly didn't miss your stench!' they shared a rare laugh 'Listen Kerv, the men had placed a bet you wouldn't make it, I won. I think it's only right you get the prize'. He handed Kervid a small flask, Kervid opened the canteen and took a sniff, strong enough to burn the hair out your nostrils, good stuff.
'Enjoy it Rob, that there is the most despicable Aquavit on the planet!'.

Their illusion of bar-room banter was splintered by the distant sounds of gun fire and soon after loud pleas for entry at the fortified door. A low murmur of affirmation from the surly door guard was eventually heard then the hurried scuffling of troops up the stair. A weather beaten veteran burst into the room.
'Sergeant Murtahn?!'
'Yeah, what's going on?'
'Sergeant Major Temujin Scotland, Special operations, we just got our butts handed to us at the space port, the Astartes ordered us to leave, we have pursuers. I'm afraid, sergeant, that the fight is coming this way.'

It was a source of marvel how quickly the platoon readied the building for siege, the spark of welding torches, the heft of sand bags and the trundle of gun carriages transformed the once apathetic sentries into industrious soldiers. They spent the last ten minutes in near silence, Kervid, Murtahn and the rest of the inexperienced platoon stood behind the veterans to provide relief if any were to fail at their post. After all the hard work had been done Van Tiernan chose to reappear, he looked around the room, being careful not to let on that he was impressed and even proud of the work that had been achieved.
'Very good, I have been informed that the chaos forces will be upon us in 5 or so short minutes. Naturally I will not waste my inspiring oratory on the routine annihilation of 10 traitor Marines (On hearing this, the most hardened of the special operations squad aside, the whole room lost all healthy colour from their faces), so I will say merely this, make your shots count and good hunting!'.
After this less than energising 'speech' the commissar made a line for Kervid.
'Now lad, I have reconsidered the matter of your promotion, congratulations, you have attained the rank of specialist',
the up to now unseen, scuttling, ensign then surfaced, he thrust a plasma gun into Kervid's hands. The rifle was still warm to the touch and bore an unpleasant cauterized odour.
'Pray you are more fortunate than the last owner, good luck' with this scuttling ensign and scuttling commissar adjourned to a better hiding place.

On seeing this the older Murtahn took aside his friend and sometime subordinate.
'Rob, you gotta hand that thing over, I fired one in basic, I know for a fact they gave you the 'expedient induction' treatment you're gonna get fried for sure'.
'It's alright Fred, i'll be careful'
'Fine mate, your choice, your funeral'
'Probably all of ours' they shared a final laugh before Kervid took up a firing position at one of the windows next to a veteran.

The Hardened trooper turned to address the boy, In his face, underneath the thick layer of scar tissue, a tiny glint of unmolested kindness shone through.
'Look a little green for a plasma, listen kid you start to feel the heat, stop firing, bite down and recite the alphabet, don't restart till you've done all thirty two. I once squeezed of a shot at Egrek. Big mistake.' at this he flashed his right palm, there was no discernible print just a slab of grey waxy meat.

'Activity! Lower right commerce stall!' a cry from one of the weapon teams, as one the men looked down at the shop front, on cue a manic guardsman leaped through the glass frontage. Clearly so intent on escaping those behind, he showed no regard for the numerous cuts and shard of glass he now carried.
'A survivor from theta platoon, not proud to say we left 'em for dead' the veteran whispered to Kervid. The terrified soldier below burst into a sprint in an attempt to cross the road and make good his escape. Just short of making the crossing his right shoulder detonated in a mist of crimson, his cry echoed alongside the thunderous clap that had caused it. A dark red traitor legionnaire calmly stepped out of the alley from which he had fired, he shouldered his smoking bolter and drew his bolt pistol to finish the job. From his vantage point Kervid sighted his Plasma gun and hovered above the trigger.
The veteran placed a hand on the boys shoulder to intervene,
'I'm sorry kid, there's nothing you can do for him now, it's tough but we can't play our hand just yet'.
Only a few of the more wizened souls in the office block continued to watch as the pistol's bolt round finished the job.

Soon after, as if manifesting from the shadows, more traitor marines revealed themselves. As their numbers swelled a significant number of the entrenched guardsmen whispered their personal prayers.
'Emperor guide my shot..'
'By the light of the Astronomicon..'
Others prayed to forgotten idols, or to those they still secretly worshipped.
'All-father see my enemies routed...'
'Earth mother entrust me a portion of your bravery..'
'Great eagle guard my soul from the ravens..'
'Mithras the true, purge Ahrim the false from my heart..'
Kervid had no prayer to give but gave one last thought to his homeworld and those he had left behind. Sergeant Major Scotland gave a silent order and simultaneously 25 trigger digits depressed.

Nice read! When's next part?

I like what you have written. 40k fan fiction is always fun to read.

loving it more MORE MORE !!!!!!

i liked the part where it had words jk Its was definetly worth reading it all

Nice, keep it up!

Some more. Look out for a particularly grisly end for a chaos space marine

The street below erupted in the micro-detonations of lasfire. Asphalt, plascrete and ablative ceramite alike exploded or came loose in the withering outburst. The warriors below couldn't reply in kind as the street was utterly saturated with fire. Power armour could not survive laser attrition but it would only take one well represented bolter to break the guard fire solution.

As a demonstration of this well known fact. Both the defender's confidence and lower defences were shattered when heavy bolter fire scythed out from an enlistment post that had escaped the loyalist overwatch. Heavy calibre tracer flushed into the offices lower floor where the imperial fire had been most telling. The guns of epsilon platoon silenced as the troopers hid to preserve their tender flak armoured forms. Mutilated faces grinned beneath admantium masks as finally clawed fingers could freely pump the triggers of baroque boltguns. It was now Kervid's turn to experience the fire storm that had gladly slain so many. Nailed down planks and re purposed road signs blew apart in the face of a hurricane of bolt shells. All but the bravest guardsmen jumped back from the windows. Kervid steeled himself, he only needed a couple more seconds to get off a few more shots, his gambit was short lived as a wooden rampart exploded in his face. He staggered back and clawed at splinters now embedded in his cheeks and neck. Most who still manned the windows were not so lucky, the squads grenadier saw his ribcage and shoulder blades re distributed onto the rear wall, elsewhere an aged trooper was bifurcated by a ricochet. Kervid looked over to Sergeant Major Scotland, the two made eye contact for a brief moment, Sergeant Temujin nodded to the boy and sprinted to the downed grenade launcher.
'Specialists man your Posts! Troopers; grenades! Claw back your positions!'

Kervid and a hard bitten meltagunner anwered the call and joined Scotland. From the supporting ranks pins were pulled and a hailstorm of grenades thrown to the street below. Men were relying on him, where before he was taking tentative pot shots Kervid held the trigger down on full lock. The plasma pulses suddenly increased exponentially in rate, Kervid hazarded an idiotic grin as he brought it down on the cowering traitors sending three of them floundering for cover. His veteran comrade rejoined him and immediately augured a shot through the eye socket of one of the titanic warriors. The lad and the grey haired soldier shared a smile. Finally the autocannons resumed bombardment and two traitors tasted their own blood as millennia old power armour finally lost integrity. Two windows to the right the veteran sergeant used his grenade launcher to great effect sending a krak round into the frenzied, heavy bolter armed, legionnaire's weapon. In a chain reaction the anti infantry cannon's magazine was ignited, all shells angrily detonating as one, shredding the chaos warrior's groin and lower abdomen. The reaction went fission when super dense shrapnel-sabot mingled with the punctured reactor of the obscenely wounded marine. The last bolt shells and other fallout were thrust out by a rampaging shock-wave. A large piece of molten slag gained Kervid's attention as it careened towards him. His veteran comrade in arms took the hit and skidded backwards. Kervid frantically looked back through the ozone haze that now filled the room. He only heard a disembodied shout;
'It's alright sonny, Just a flesh wound!'

With the help of fresh fire from the lower floor the guardsmen had amazingly whittled the ten Man death squad to just three marines to the cost of a mere fifteen of their own. All but one of the, now concealed, Marines had seemingly expended his bolter ammunition. The guardsmen reloaded stoically, there could be no relief until the inevitable suicide charge had been vanquished. Silence replaced the cacophony and all that could be heard were the fumblings of magazines and webbing. Of the Chaos Marines not a sight or sound. During the reprieve a curious base rhythm seemed to punctuate the silence, most of the soldiers mistook it for their pounding hearts. Soon the thump was unmistakable, the crush of mighty feet, panicked face looked to panicked face amongst the imperial troops. The beat was agonizingly close, the fog of bolt propellant and plasma fumes displaced it's source but nonetheless it was shaking the very bones of the office building.

With an eye for a dramatic first impression a wrecking ball force smashed through the manufactorum wall below. A blossoming cloud of mortar, spalled concrete and sheared steel enlived it's entrance.
'Men! Target priority one! DREADNOUGHT!!'

Awesome

Whoo!
quite a read! good work mate!

Win!

Wow i had'nt realise you had written so much, just read the first two chapters and its great , a really engaging Lead character you have created with kervid . Looking forward to reading the rest asap.

-drools slighty- ;D

Wow Great work!

Love it.

Moar... Gave a chaotic Dreadnoght an assault cannon .. Was tired of writing Autocannon. Enjoy.

An atavistic assault cannon vomited it's broadside, concrete and re-bar torn to shreds as one. With a creaking of structural columns the office block finally succumbed; with a terrible crunch the second story folded unto the first. The platoon manning the ground floor were pulped instantly. Kervid and his fellows on the floor above were tossed like cutlery on an unsteady place setting, each man flung against the fortifications they defended. Dust filled the room, combined with the noise it indicated the seriousness of the situation, each man looked at his feet, not two feet beneath were the smudges of those they called allies, drinking buddies and gambling mates.

One trooper, whom Kervid had known personally, had been clean flung out into the street, he regained stance, isolated, quaking lasgun aimed into the swirling debris cloud as his brothers clung to the darkness ever tighter. A titanic mass clouded in swirling dust devils rammed into him, it's red eyes glinting in baleful satisfaction as it swung into him. Meat sloshed from the bone as the two separated, liberally spread upon a concrete wall.

'YOU HIDE LITTLE ONES! KNOW THIS! MY TOMB HAS TAUGHT ME PATIENCE!' It said; hell spoke no such horror, a steel voice bathed in habitual death. It strutted a pounding staccato parade. Would it have to prise it's morsels from the rubble?

Seeming to state a categorical no a Coriolis swirl tore through the fog right into the Assault cannon arm of the dreadnought, blunting it as it spooled for another salvo.
'MANGY GUTTER RUNT!', the dreadnought swung a manic strike into the fog parting the mist to reveal the veteran melta-gunner. The power wreathed fist clipped the attacker junking his gun and sending him reeling. The dreadnought turned to face his audience,
'IF YOU INSIST ON FACING ME ONE BY ONE I SHALL HAVE A PLEASANT DAY OF THIS!'. A shattering crunch shot through the control servos of the beast's leg another shot exploding a piston filled with gushing ichor. Through the clearing dust the veteran pumped another round into his shotgun.
'Scotland! If you're still alive I could do with a hand! [Another slug into the waist articulation pivot] I only stole a few of these krak-rounds!' His final shot pinged harmlessly off the War machine's Plated sarcophagus. The beast would not be fooled again. The foolhardy veteran ran to the smashed recruitment kiosk, loading the last couple cartridges as he went.

Scotland whispered to the remaining men; 'Albrecht, Vorenus, Tucson, Dumas. You still got any Grens?'
'Yessir' replied the remnants of his squad.
Scotland turned to Kervid 'Lad, could sure use that plasma'
'Yessir' without hesitation, he had learnt now not to pray for salvation, always better to create it.
'Van Tiernan?! Inquired the Veteran Sergeant searchingly, a second later two of his men dumped the quaking form of the Commissar in front of Temujin. Urine soaked his once immaculate britches and his white knuckles clung tightly onto his bolt pistol.
'Forget it. On my word lads!' Kervid took the time for one more deep inhale....
'GO GO GO!!'