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Just a story I'm working on, general gist is that it covers a PDF squadron as it ends up fighting in an Imperial campaign.

Linked to that sector project of mine.

~ ~ ~

Wings of the Aquilla

One thing that I’ve learnt over the years is that you never know where life will take you. That day back on Morrdh, when I was but a recently promoted Flying Officer in the Planetary Defense Air Force, I could barely imagine that I would eventually end up commanding a fighter squadron in His Divine Majesty’s Imperial Navy Air Arm. Back then I flew an atmospheric fighter known as a Hawk, a turbojet fighter-bomber with sweptback wings and a pack of four autocannons just under the nose. The Hawk was a nimble aircraft and a joy to fly, though at the time we were blissfully unaware just how hopelessly outclassed it really was. There were some of the Imperial built Lightnings, though these amounted to only a single squadron that was assigned to the air defense of the planetary capital.

Course Morrdh was little more than a frontier world of dark forests and dank swamplands, famed for being a smuggler’s heaven and of course for a large number of aviators. Air travel was the only real way of getting around, though a more honest explanation is that every Morridane longs for the freedom of the sky high above the muck we called home. Aside from some old, half-buried pre-Imperial ruins there was little of value for anyone to be interested in. It was also located just off the main warp routes which made it ideal for the foresaid smugglers, the very same smugglers that we meant to discourage by flying patrols in our Hawks.

That day when fate deemed to later my destiny I was walking across the rockcrete apron of the airbase with my wingman, or more accurately my wingwoman, Pilot Officer Lothwyn Shaw towards our respective planes. Lothwyn was a quiet one who kept mostly to herself, though she was still a pretty good pilot. She was assigned as my wingman shortly after I got promoted to the rank of Flying Officer, though by that point we had only flown a handful of sorties together and I had yet to get the measure of her. I had certainly gotten the impression that she was aloof, that day was no different as she climbed straight into the cockpit of her Hawk after barely exchanging any words. In time I thought she would thaw a little, but I settled my eyes on the fuselage of my Hawk just under the cockpit where some writing had been painted by one of the ground crew; ‘F/O A. WADDOCK’.

My name. MY aircraft.

But my thoughts were interrupted when Lothwyn suddenly cried out and gestured towards the administration building. “Sir, the old man’s coming over.”

The Old Man, our commanding officer Squadron Leader Hornbridge. A man with more than a few years of service behind him which showed in the way he walked and in his manner, slow and careful. A man whose hotheaded youth had been tempered by decades of military service and command, a sort of grandfather figure who could still be a bastard when the situation called for it. Hornbridge stopped a short distance from our planes and called out. “Yer patrol’s been scrubbed. The both o’ yer are to be on the parade ground in an hour in yer best blues. That is all.”

“Yes sir,” I nodded. I felt a bit disappointed at having our flight cancelled, but ‘best blues’ meant our dress uniforms and also something important. Lothwyn had obviously come to the same conclusion for when I turned to speak to her she was already halfway to her own billets. With a sigh I headed towards my own billets in order to change, wondering what could have been so important to have our patrol grounded at the last minute.

Really like this. Moar!!

I agree, MOAR!

h00b wrote:Really like this. Moar!!

Trondheim wrote:I agree, MOAR!

Working on it guys, but thanks for the support.

As promised, the next part.

~ ~ ~

“Ye got any idea wot all this is ‘bouts Artis?” Piran Aghamore, my fellow Flying Officer in my flight, asked me as I joined our squadron on the parade square. “Doesn’t seem like yer usual surprise inspection, I mean pretty sure the entire base has been assembled.”

“Really?” I asked and glanced round to see that Piran was correct, effectively everyone from ground crew to the Munitorum scribes had turned out. “Looks to be something pretty damn important.”

“Either way we’re ‘bouts to find out…” Muttered Piran as the idle chatter died away as a small group of senior officers walked onto the platform that had been hastily constructed a scant few hours ago. One officer in particular stood out, from the ribbons on his jacket and the golden aquilla on his cap I could easily hazard a guess that the officer was none other than the PDF’s overall air commander Air Marshal Kendrick himself. A vox-speaker had been setup to carry Kendrick’s voice as addressed the parade square and crackled as it did so.

“Sons and daughters of Morrdh!” Kendrick began, his voice slightly distorted by the vox-speaker. “I need not tell you of the Xenos raid that befell our sector save for that fact that it turned some of our neighbors away from the Emperor’s light. A campaign is being mustered to return our brethren to the fold and a call for troops has been made, a call that we will answer.”

“In addition to ground troops some of our air units are being tithed, their strength being added to that of His Divine Majesty’s Imperial Navy. A number of squadrons from across Morrdh have been selected, though from this base the squadrons in question are Three-Seven-Two and Five-Five-Eight. Your Navy transport leaves orbit tomorrow at oh-eight hundred hours, may the Emperor’s blessing be upon you and good luck.”

“Well that’ll be us then.” Muttered Flight Lieutenant Garrock, our flight commander. “The old man will want to say a few words later over some drinks, best get all yer affairs in order as I imagine we’ll be gone fer quite a while.”

“So we’ll be flying the Navy’s flyers I take it?” Asked Fullet, one of the Pilot Officers who had a massive grin on his face at the prospect.

“Stands to reason,” Agreed Piran. “Reckon they’ll give us Lightnings to fly, real beauts to fly and easy on the controls.”

“Yer certain o’ that?” Fullet asked, sounding a little skeptical.

“Well as I said it stands to reason.” Piran replied, making it seem like he was a qualified expert on the matter. “We’re fully trained fighter pilots after all, doubt the Navy will waste us on carting munitions around.”

“Once we’ve meet up with the Fleet we’ll find out soon enough.” Garrock interrupted. “But first I want the lot o’ yer to get yer kit sorted and be ready for transit come the morn, in the meantime I’ll go and speak with the old man.”

“Yes sir,” I replied in a chorus with the other pilots before we dispersed back to our billets. We were all excited at the prospect at going off-world and serving the Emperor, even more so at what we presumed would be a chance to fly a Navy Lightning or even a Thunderbolt. Our high spirits were only brought low when the effects of getting more than a little merry on some celebratory drinks made themselves felt amongst those who were in the officer’s mess the night before. The shuttle ride up to orbit didn’t help matters much either, though our earlier excitement resurfaced as our stead landed in the hanger deck of the transport that would be our billets for the duration of the transit. We were bound for the agri-world of New Garrack, the mustering point for Imperial forces and where we were told to expect some flight training from the Navy.

Glancing round the hanger deck I saw other shuttles and lighters that had brought up the other Morridane squadrons that would be joining us on New Garrack along with their respective ground crews, every one of them had the same mixture of excitement and bewilderment as we did. Despite Piran’s best efforts we still none the wiser about what we would ultimately be flying, save for something about vector-thrust aircraft. We knew for certain that it would be Imperial aircraft that we’ll be flying since our Hawks would be left behind to equip our squadrons, but which one exactly remained a mystery. Right the immediate priority for some of us was to find our quarters and sleep off lingering hangovers, something I made to do until a voidsman stopped and asked me. “First time on a shiftship?”

“….Yes, pretty much.” I replied only for the man to start chuckling and walk off leaving us dumbfounded in addition to a slow sinking feeling. We had heard stories told secondhand of the Warp that the Emperor’s Fleet used to travel the vast distances of the void, but we all assumed that certain aspects had been embellished. We all thought that surely it couldn’t be that bad?

We got our answer soon enough.

Nice second part. Looking forward to part three, Morrdh!

Loving this, your characthers have a genuie feel about them. And I actualy feel like they could be someone one could happen to know in real lfie. Well done

thenoobbomb wrote:Nice second part. Looking forward to part three, Morrdh!

Trondheim wrote:Loving this, your characthers have a genuie feel about them. And I actualy feel like they could be someone one could happen to know in real lfie. Well done

Thanks guys!

Don't consider myself any better than a halfway decent writer, but that doesn't stop me from at least trying my best.

Hell, once it's finished I my see about getting it polished up and perhaps see if Black Library would be interested in it (though I'm not expecting a great deal here).

List me also as a reader. I'm liking the progression of the story so far.

 Themanwiththeplan wrote:
List me also as a reader. I'm liking the progression of the story so far.

Thanks!

I'll aim to get a new segment up at least once a week, I'll also aim for longer posts depending how busy the day job gets.

Expect a new post in the next day or, busy weekend at work.

Belatedly, Part Three!

~ ~ ~

They say that your first trip through the Warp is the worse, truth is that each trip never becomes any easier with the only real difference was that after the first time you sort of knew what to expect. Nameless horrors growl and brush against the Gellar Field, their cries echoing through the empty spaces of the shiftship during your waking hours as they tried to invade your thoughts and dreams whenever you tried to sleep. I’ve seen men slowly driven increasingly mad with each Warp jump they make, most end up being planet-bound whilst others simply up and disappear into the depths of the ship. There were many ways of dealing with it either becoming devout Emperor Brother and pray during your every waking hour or finding a distraction in the form of the bottle. Some like myself soon learnt to seek out the Medicae for some sleeping pills, others I knew sought out…other substances.

Needless to say we were all glad when those two weeks spent in transit finally ended, it had had taken longer than expected for a short trip. Our destination, the Agri World of New Garrack, was only a marginal improvement over the shiftship with no nameless horrors wanting to devour your mortal soul lurking on the other side of the hull. Instead New Garrack had Grox, lots and lots of Grox. Those large, reptilian animals had almost free roam of the semi-arid world save for the few fortified settlements that were home to the planet’s Human population. Yet somebody in the Departmento Munitorum had decided that it would be the perfect place to be the mustering point for Imperial forces being gathered to fight here in the Dienstad Sector.

The vast influx warranted the planet’s sole spaceport being expanded to house all the billets, munitions dumps, aircraft pans and administration facilities needed. All this was being carved out of the dusty scrubland that was New Garrack’s surface, dust clouds were kicked up by countless machinery as the Departmento Munitorum’s Labour Corps and Ogryn Auxilia worked to construct the necessary facilities. Landers and cargo trucks added to both the dust clouds and the overall din of noise, men had to shout and wave their arms in order to communicate with one another. The whine of the engines of our own lander made me just miss something that Piran said, so I turned to him and cried. “Wot?!”

“I said all this dust is gonna be fun!” Piran shouted back. “We’re suppose to be doing our Navy flight training here!”

“If ye read the briefing slate ye would know theres a few outlaying airstrips, mostly fer the Grox and the local PDF lads.” Interrupted Flight Lieutenant Garrock. “This dusty frakhole of a spaceport is just a transit camp, everyone’s being shifted elsewhere on this dust ball so that we’re not a nice big target fer the rebs or the Lurkers.”

Ah yes, the Lurkers.

They were some Xenos race that infested the Ariadna Expanse, a wilderness area of space that bordered the Dienstad Sector. Nobody had seen what they look like, save for their snatch-ships that struck during the cover of darkness and took people through the use of some arcane technology. They’d mostly concerned themselves with small raids against worlds close to the Expanse, chiefly why the fortress worlds of the Lyran Group came into being to act as a bastion against the Xenos. A few months prior to our arrival on New Garrack the Lurkers had launched a sector wide attack that struck many worlds and was quickly dubbed the Great Raid, a handful of their snatch-ships had made it as far as Morrdh but had only seemed interested in the old ruins as no missing persons were reported. All of the squadron’s Hawks had been scrambled that night, but by the time we’d been vectored onto them the Xenos were gone. In the weeks that followed we were first questioned by our own intelligence officers, then some staff level officers and then finally some Ordos agents. What the Lurkers were up on Morrdh wouldn’t become clear until much, much later.

Getting back to our arrival on New Garrack, our flight commander Garrock had noticed that the Flight had fallen silent at the mention of the Lurkers. Without a word he abruptly went over to harass a nearby Munitorum clerk who was trying to look busy by comparing some crates to what he had on a data slate in his hand, after a few minutes of both men wrangling and waving their arms about we found ourselves being ushered onto some six-wheeled cargo trucks (or Cargo-6 as they’re also called) that had been commandeered from the locals and given a hasty scrub before being pressed into service. Our comrades in the other Flight climbed onto one of the other trucks as the groundcrew mounted couple of other trucks, after receiving a docket from the clerk our convoy soon set off into the Grox-infested New Garrack wilderness to whatever airstrip we would be calling home.

Nice, as always

Me like! Now more

New post inbound, just been busy with work and worshipping Grandfather Nurgl-....being sick.

Aaaaaand new post time!

~ ~ ~

Our first glimpse of Airstrip Kilo Two-Four wasn’t exactly an encouraging one, especially after a two hour journey in the back of a Cargo-6 driving along poorly maintained dusty tracks through the New Garrack wilderness. For starters it was bang smack in the middle of nowhere with the nearest settlement a few miles away and, as we soon learned, the airstrip was only home to a small caretaker staff unless the airstrip was required or a PDF training exercise or the planet was under attack. I strongly suspect that some Munitorum scribe had spotted that no units were stationed here when reviewing the planet’s facilities and had simply posted the squadron there for the sake of it.

The caretaker staff themselves were little more than an officer and a handful of PDF troopers, their sole purpose was to maintain a presence at the airstrip by sitting around all day drinking recaf and attempting to shoo away the occasional wandering grox. Though the locals were crafty blighters in being able to hold of items with no questions asked and making our coin pouches considerably lighter by the time we finally left. Apparently many a Munitorum scribe met their ruin on New Garrack thanks to the sly bastards that made up the locals, certainly the squadron’s quartermaster kept extra vigilant during our stay on that dust ball.

Alas, I’m rambling.

It was the driver who let us know that we were finally approaching the airstrip, we gingerly glanced over the side of the truck and shielded our eyes best we could from the dust cloud that was kicked up by the truck in front. At first we couldn’t see anything but then the control tower came into view, followed by the hangers and ancillary buildings. It certainly wasn’t the biggest airbase around, though it also wasn’t the smallest one either. At best guess it seemed like the airstrip could handle a couple of dozen or so aircraft, effectively two squadrons. Though as the trucks pulled up on the airstrip’s apron in front of the hangers I couldn’t help but feel something was amidst, it took Piran to say it before I realized what was up. “No aircraft.”

“That can’t be right can it?” Asked Pilot Officer Teagan Grady, Flight Lieutenant’s Garrock’s own wingman (or wingwoman to be more accurate), as she glanced round the airstrip. “Wot the frick do they expect us to do here? Learn to fly a grox?”

“Alright pipe down and listen up,” Called out the Old Man himself, Squadron Leader Hornbridge. “The Navy’s sending us some birds to fly, though they’ll arrive in a day or so along with some flight instructors. In the meantime locate the billets and stake yer claims, we’ll soon have company in the form of Three-Seven-Two and another squadron from home. Together we’ll be forming the Navy’s Six Hundred and Seventh Wing, commanded by Wing Commander Vorgen Siegmund. That is all, dismissed.”

There was a chorus of acknowledgements as we all saluted and then turned to collect our kit bags before heading off to explore Airstrip Kilo Two-Four. Whilst it wasn’t exactly an encouraging sight from a distance, up close there was plenty to have been dismayed about. A lot of the buildings were weather beaten with cracked, peeling paint and weeds were forcing their way up through the gaps between the rockcrete slabs that formed the airstrip’s roadways. Everywhere was a feeling of decay, yes the base was kept on a reserve basis but at the same time it was barely maintained to any real standard. It was in dire need of a lot more than just a lick of paint, something that did little other than reinforce our sinking feeling that we’d been dumped out in effectively the middle of nowhere. As we gradually learned, the Departmento Munitorum moved in its own logic-defying and painfully slow way regardless of external factors.

\O/ Hooray!

Now this was a nice short snip, now more before I send my Wolfes after you

New post at long last!

~ ~ ~

We’d been at Airstrip Kilo Two-Four for a couple of days settling in before we heard the distant roar of aircraft, our curiosity piqued we hurried outside to scan the horizon for the approaching aircraft. It was MacRoane, a Pilot Officer from A Flight, who spotted them first and gestured towards the specks as he gave a cry to alert us. Before long we could make out a Valkyrie leading the formation, with an eagle winged Aquila Lander immediately behind it and in turn followed by the remaining craft in the form of a dozen or so Arvus Lighters. Since we were still expecting fighters we presumed the formation was en route to someplace else, though as we continued to watch the formation started its landing approach and it clear that our airstrip was its destination. Soon the air was filled with the roar of dozens of jet engines as the aircraft touched down one-by-one and then mercifully wind their engines down before finally shutting them down altogether.

“Get fell in ye lot!” Called out Squadron Leader Hornbridge almost as soon as he could be heard over the din, though noticeably he was wearing his best blues for which the explanation came soon enough. “We’ve got a Brass hat.”

Sure enough the Aquila Lander had parked itself slightly apart from the other aircraft and a squad of naval armsmen piled out and quickly took up a defensive stance round the craft, a moment later an officer with the insignia of a Wing Commander step foot out of the craft. Hornbridge quickly saluted and the rest of us followed suit, which the Wing Commander returned and glazed over us for a moment before he spoke. “I am Wing Commander Vorgen Siegmund, commander of the Six Hundred and Seventh Mobility Wing which your squadron is now part of.”

“I know from your service records that you are fighter pilots and I know being assigned to fly cargo shuttles isn’t going to go down well, something I can already tell from some of your faces.” Siegmund continued, pausing for a moment before pressing on. “Please understand that this doesn’t reflect badly upon yourselves, it is unfortunate that you aren’t experienced with the vector aircraft the Navy uses. To address this problem the Navy has decided to start you off on craft such as the Arvus Lighter, I know flying cargo around isn’t exactly your idea of valour but view it more as an opportunity to prove yourself and who knows you may find yourselves in the cockpit of a Lightning or a Thunderbolt sooner than you think.”

“I must depart soon but before I leave I wish to introduce you to Squadron Leader Balsal and his fellow instructors.” Stated Siegmund as he gestured to a group of officers who’d emerged from the Valkyrie and were making a beeline towards the officers mess, they paused only to quickly salute before resuming their trip at a slightly hurried pace. “They are experienced on a wide range of different aircraft, so learn from them well. Other than that, good luck and the Emperor Protects.”

Those assembled repeated the oft-stated phrase as Siegmund turned and re-boarded the Aquila, followed shortly afterwards by the naval armsmen. During Siegmund’s little speech the Arvus pilots had exited their own craft and had formed up by the Valkyrie where they signed a dataslate held by a Munitorum scribe before boarding the troop carrier, once they had all boarded the Valkyrie crew prepared for takeoff and rose into the sky with a roar of its engines where it was joined by the Aquila before the pair of them turned and flew back the way they had come. After the two craft had receded into the distance we took stock of the situation we’d found ourselves in and tried to imagine what to expect, though Piran probably summed things up when he dryly muttered. “Well Artis, it isn’t a Grox we’ll be flying but it might as well be one…”

At long last a new post!

~ ~ ~

“Well look on the bright,” Said the instructor, an old Navy flyer by the name of Haddon, who was explaining to us the arcane mysteries of vector aircraft. “If you have a nasty prang, they’ll probably recover enough of you to make a servitor out of.”

“That’s suppose to be comforting how exactly?” Replied Piran, the first one to voice what we are all thinking. Thus far the training course had mostly been about installing a sense of mild terror in our mind, though the less said about The Hazards of Spaceflight the better. We hadn’t been allowed anywhere near the Arvus Lighters, they remained the forbidden fruit that only the ground crew had been deemed worthy of getting their dirty mitts on. Course it hadn’t all been rosy since Flight Lieutenant Gormleigh, the squadron’s engineering officer and senior grease monkey, had exchanged words with the Techpriest Yorke who’d attached his/her/them-self to the squadron seemingly for his/her/their own reasons.

“It means you get to continue your service to His Divine Majes-…” Haddon replied before suddenly stopping, a hazard a guess that he was waiting for the resident Commissar to be well out of earshot, sighed and changing his tone. “It ain’t, it’s just a load of Grox droppings.”

“You lot have been given a real dreg-deal, but that’s how the Navy operates.” Continued Haddon, though it was hard to tell whether he felt sorry for us or was just feeling clapped-out. “But I’ve been in your boots, started flying on cargo shuttles and lighters before they shifted me onto recon crates. Just don’t be too eager to jump into a fighter, you’ll get your chance sooner or later but get your flight hours up on lighters first. Vector aircraft aren’t too dissimilar from one another, so take the chance to eke every last flying hour you can get….it’ll pay off later on.”

Haddon’s words had been a little unexpected and we were a little uncertain what to make of it, that was probably something he picked up on for he then said. “Alright, you’ve been stuffed full of all the theory you can take and so tomorrow we’ll make a start on the practical side of things. Meet me on the flight line tomorrow morning at oh-nine-hundred hours to get hands on with the Hog. Dismissed.”

Becoming a servitor is, naturally, a blessing of the Emperor. Why doesn't he want his remains to be servitor'd?

YaY new stuff to read, but we need moar!