Hooray, story time. My intention with these models is that they should be a snapshot from a believable, actual 40K
battlefield. That they tell a story about that Marine, just looking at him. That's why I avoid the traditional heroic poses 40K
models often get. It was a big part of why I had this idea for the previous Marine, but made him drawing the knives rather than having him wielding them. For now, you can tell the story about where he got
those blades for yourself. But here's a bit of short fiction on his pose. Usually I try to avoid writing any kind of "action porn". It's really not that exciting to write, and it almost always does no justice to the abject horror and brutal reality of actual combat. But I really ended up liking this model and tried to figure out what was going on with him. It turned into this little vignette. Hope you enjoy it. Maybe I'll put some more of these together.
Bogdan heard it first. With a shriek, a gunship dropped out of the thick morning haze
hanging over the battlefield. The shriek became a roar as its vectored thrust engines
kicked to life and stabilized it into a hover which drowned out his warning to the other
troopers in the entrenchment. It tilted slightly, shifting right and the twin underslung
rotary cannons spun to life, methodically stitching fire along the length of the fortification.
Bogdan threw himself to the ground and scrambled on his elbows and knees towards
the closest bunker. He was splattered with gore as the stubber gunner Yaro's torso
came apart. Dirt and pulverized rock pelted him from the opposite direction as the back
wall of the trench was chewed up by the fusillade. His vision, already limited by the
eyelets of his respirator mask, tunneled down to the salvation of the bunker's entrance,
and he barely noticed as he crawled over the shattered and pulped bodies of his
squadmates. Then, as quickly as it had come, the gunship's engines spooled up again
and it shrieked off. The cacophony had left his ears ringing, and he couldn't hear
anything except the dull scraping of his body against the ground and the heaving breaths
inside his mask.
But then he felt them. A rumbling series of soft thuds that were definitely not his heartbeat.
He rolled over onto his back, pushing himself halfway up to lean against a sandbag
which had toppled to the ground against the revetment, and saw the first of the Space
Marines vault into the trench. Their armor was a dark blue, with black arms and a black
chest plate which sported a dull silver eagle across it. A head taller than the tallest man
he'd ever known, the Space Marines were massive. And they had come out of nowhere.
Had a transport landed under the cover of the gunship? Bogdan froze, his eyes wide as
he watched them move. The closest one was coming towards him. Emblazoned across a
banner on its shoulder armor in Low Gothic scrawl was the word “Punish.” Horrifically, it
stomped down on the head of Radomir, who had been trying weakly to pull himself along
the floor of the trench, his left arm missing just above the elbow. Radomir's head
disappeared under the massive boot, and Bogdan could only see the blood and gore
which splashed out above another corpse which had mercifully blocked his view of the
carnage. But he could feel the force of the boot as it connected with the solid ground of the
It looked at him, and he knew he was about to die. Bogdan's mouth opened and closed
without a sound as the towering warrior moved towards him. It was only then that he spotted
the two wicked looking blades attached to its thighs. Sword sized blades that the Marine
carried as if they were just knives. Its left hand reached across its body to draw one of them
as it approached.
With guttural cries which sounded muffled and far away to his damaged ears, several of his
fellows charged out of the bunker, Wenzel streaming ignited promethium at the Marines with
his flamer. However, the approaching Marine ignored the gout of fire, charging straight into
them, burying the blade into Wenzel's gut. It pierced all the way through him and Wenzel's
mouth opened up as if to scream, but instead only fountained blood. The Marine dropped the
massive bolt rifle to its side, right hand flashing down even as flames licked across its arm, to
seize the other blade, which glinted with an otherworldly sheen. It was slightly curved and of a
manufacture Bogdan had never seen before. The Marine's left arm swung around in an outward
arc, the inertia tearing Wenzel's body free of the blade, nearly bisecting him in the process and
scattering blood and entrails. The body bounced off the side of the trench, contorting
gruesomely around the massive wound as it fell to the ground. Almost simultaneously, as
another soldier's point blank las fire scored the armor on the Marine's chest, a sweeping
backhand slash with its right arm sent that soldier pirouetting to the ground, his rib cage opened
up from armpit to armpit, and arm partially severed. The right side of the Marine's torso was on
fire, and yet it seemed to pay the flames no heed. The third trooper was caught by a downward
stroke from the Marine's left blade, driving him to his knees, chest cleft to the nipple. The Marine
ducked into the bunker, and out of Bogdan's view. He was all alone.
As the kneeling trooper toppled into his lap, Bogdan recognized him as Cibor, and could feel the
man's lifeblood pumping out to soak through his trousers. A second Marine, his armor charred by
fire but no longer ablaze, looked down at him, and clomped right past to follow the first. Then a
third. His ears were still ringing, but he could feel the reports of gunfire and explosive impacts he
could only assume were the Marines firing their bolters. There were only two Marines left in the
trench. They were both on one knee, one studying some kind of picter mounted on its left arm.
Bogdan's eyes darted around. Even if he could will his limbs to move, the only weapon in reach
was Cibor's lasgun, but it was pinned underneath his body. The two Marines rose to their feet,
and walked in his direction. The first moved past him, and Bogdan's heart raced. They hadn't
noticed him. He was going to live.
The last Marine swerved only a half a step toward him, and a deep, tinny voice emerged from the
vox caster on the front of its scowling faceplate.
The Marine's left boot caved in Bogdan's chest, striking the right side below the plane of the heart
and lifting him up. Air was forced out of his mouth, mixed with blood in a gust of reddish froth, and
none rushed in to replace it. Bogdan slumped back down, suffocating as his lungs refused to work.
He blinked a few times, mouth agape and leaking blood. He stared numbly at the dancing flames
atop the corpse of one of his friends which had been set alight by Wenzel's flamer until his vision
began to blur, and eventually went dark.