Forum adverts like this one are shown to any user who is not logged in. Join us by filling out a tiny 3 field form and you will get your own, free, dakka user account which gives a good range of benefits to you: No adverts like this in the forums anymore. Times and dates in your local timezone. Full tracking of what you have read so you can skip to your first unread post, easily see what has changed since you last logged in, and easily see what is new at a glance. Email notifications for threads you want to watch closely. Being a part of the oldest wargaming community on the net. If you are already a member then feel free to login now.

Ilya's legs were sticking out of the engine bay of his hellhound, cursing the design of the engine and muttering something about the feul pipe not bieng in the right place. The tanker who was helping him stood with a fearfull look on his face.

Another tanker wandered over and tapped Ilya on the shoulder, the staff sergeant jumped, hitting his head ont he top of the engine bay, after cursing and swearing he decided it would be a good idea to listen, he was a fellow tanker after all.

''That new hellhound is here...''

''Stock hellhound..worst thing on earth....right men, get to work, you know what to do,''

The other tankers lept over the tank, tearing it to it's bare bones.

''One day, the imperium are gonna build some ,decent tanks'' Thought Ilya, to himself.

Gareva made it to the front line after hours of walking, so much death, blood and metal he saw Guardsmen clash with cultists blades and las-bolts pierce flesh. Gareva headed towards the trenches and climbed down into them, he threw his servo skull in the air.
~~~Scanning~~~~
~~~Foes: Chaos Cultists~~~
~~~Allies:Imperial Guard~~~
~~~Outcome: Unknown~~~
Gareva headed towards the commanding officers.

{While resting/others are back}
Sam had been having the same dream again and again. In this dream all that would happen would be that he was back in his childhood, during one of the Schola baseball games against the Sisters in training. Not so great on the field, but great on the field. He would always be catching a fly ball and it would miss his glove and hit him in the face. It would break his nose and he would be out for the game. Then the break would get infected and he would be put in the hospital. He would feel pain like never before until a rotting corpse in a suit would come to him and offer salvation. He would deny every night, but he was closer to breaking than ever before. It all seemed so rational, accept the suited corpses proposal and be free of pain, why shouldn't he? But he knew that accepting would be to turn against his lord the Emperor. One day it was not an offer the suited corpse came with, but a plea. His troops were a disorganized rabble and they needed a strong and inspiring leader. Sam felt pity for them and felt he could accept this role. He knew that this position would make him as tough if not tougher than one of the Emperors own space marines and he would enjoy more benefits than even the Commissariat gave him, but he could not turn from the Emperor's light, he wouldn't.

















"Not yet" Moscetti the Bloated said

Atris thought to herself.

"I guess not all nobles are complete donkey-caves. I mean, Tarkus rescued me even after I almost killed him."

A smile began to work across her face.

"Fall back!"
The men scrambled from the melee, hopelessly outnumbered and out gunned they ran back towards the embankment. Bullets screamed past them, Aubrey's men cut down by fire and blades as they desperately tried to get away. Corporal Anzly, Aubrey's personal signaller was hit in leg causing him to tumble over. Aubrey didn't notce the fallen man that had been running beside him only turning when he heard him cry out in pain.
Anzly was crawling towards him, arm outstretched with pleading eyes. Aubrey went back to him without hesitation but stopped with horror as something came out from the thick smoke of battle. Anzly turned around on his back firing at something, a stomping giant clad in thick armour carrying an axe with a chainsaw for a blade. Anzly fumbled for another round, inserting it into the chamber with shaking hands. He fired again, the energy beam going wide off target. The chain-axe's engine roared to life with anticipation.
Anzly waved his arms with mercy, pleading for some kind of compassion from the warrior.
"Noo!" he begged, shielding his arm with his face as the axe was brought down on him. Aubrey's stomach turned as the poor privates pleads were drowned in his throat with blood.
He ran, and ran, as fast as he could not daring to look over his shoulder. He kept running till he reached the edge of the hab block city. He keeled over coughing and spluttering. His weak stomach gave up and he released the bile onto the cement. Chest heaving from the effort he prompted himself against the wall.

He calmed himself down, trying not to burst his already weakened lungs. He looked back at the devastation wrought on his forces. The defensive position now crawling with the hated enemy. His men staggering across the open wasteland towards him.
"Runner, I need a runner! You will do", he plucked a straggler from the crowd.
"Go to the armoured column, tell them to cover our retreat!"
The man quickly sped off to the west, while Aubrey grimly searched for another radioman.

Colm had made land fall 3 days earlier with his platoon, guard duty, the irony was definitly there. A devision of Basilisks had been dropped in by landers on the second day after the positins were cleared out of a cultist outpost. The position was an all seeing one that cover a vast view. Only one trooper was wounded, and with only a glancing lasround to the shoulder, a burn. This was a purfect ridge for the Basilisks. Colm's platoon was to guard these guns until further ordered.

ertert

Atris chuckled.

"I told you then, I'm fine, just a few bumps and bruises!"

She swept her blonde hair to the side.

"So, what've you been doing? I smell Ratling, I assume you were having brunch at our 5 star dining experience?"

Suddenly the Basilisks commander shouted blast. The Earthshakers blared their thunderous shouts. Thirty guns sreaming together. Colm shout over his micro-bead to the commander.

"What's the target?"

See the dim light in the distance, we've been ordered to help soften an enemy assualt. Its forced a friendly holding position to retreat under support of an armoured colume."

Damn cultists Colm thought and went on another round to check the men.

ervt

"Right back at you. I guess not all nobles are complete pillocks! You showed some guts."

Atris gave Tarkus a small kiss on the cheek.

"A little compensation for my saviour."

The Veteran Sergeant's face flushed bright red. A smirk crossed his face.

"If you insist, Atris..."

Tarkus grabbed her suddenly.

Y'anaur was pleased. Shemangloids servants had been numerous on alustdor and that enabled shemangloid to project shemangloids power.
Shemangloid saw a techpriest walk towards the battlefield and saw that that was a suitable prisoner. Shemangloid had dispatched shemangloids daemonettes to capture him and bring him to one of the few chaos loyal servants.
The daemonettes managed to knock him unconscious and teleported him to the tzeentch camp. The daemonettes ordered lynessa to allow them to begin torturing him.

Sam had been trying out his new legs, going for a run. They worked well, better even then his normal legs. He was also trying to purge his mind of what he had seen. He knew that the abomination that had come to him was nothing but a machination of chaos, sent to corrupt him. But he also knew that it seemed free. The Imperium was a machine, it cared for nothing except profit and expansion. The ideals of the Great Crusade that he had read about in the Blood Angels Librarium were long dead. He thought of the ancient Library on the ship. Where he had spent so many long hours reading, imagining what life must have been back then. Mephiston had always hated him, the old brooding bastard didn't see why Dante kept him around. But Dante said that he figured into his plan somehow. Sam though he knew how now. He waited until the dead of night. He grabbed his coat, his hat, his pistols, and a combat knife. He slit the throat of one sentry and fled into the night towards the Chaos camp. He sat down as soon as he saw it and meditated until the face reappeared. He didn't jump this time but walked closer to it.
"Welcome my son." Moscetti said and pressed his thumb against Sam's forehead. A mark appeared and Sam grinned.
"Seek out Lynessa, she has overall command of forces here." He said and disappeared. Sam strode in and made for the nearest person. The man was a stunted fat bulb with pustules and boils growing everywhere.
"YOU!" Sam barked and the man jumped.
"Yes sir?" He asked.
"Where's the one called Lynessa?" Sam asked and the man indicated a tent. Sam walked briskly in that direction and tore open the flap. He swore when he saw that this was the witch that Atris and Tarkus had fought.

Gareva woke to the sounds of claws shredding his armour, Gareva turned his head and saw his servitors being destroyed but the servo skull remind intact it was like the skull was recording the event.
"You chaos scum what are you doing?!" Gareva yelled as a claw cut through his armour and into his flesh. Gareva lay still letting the pain take him, his armour's system injecting him with pain killers to numb the pain.

"Tarkus?"

Their gaze met. Atris' heart began to beat faster and faster. Tarkus slowly moved towards her and whispered.

"As compensation."

Their lips locked together.

Lynessa smirked at the almost sensual torture that techpriest was receiving but accepted it. The second a nurgle corrupted commissar walked in lynessa greeted him with a smoldering hot ball of soulfire and said with a deep angry voice. ''What are you doing here scum?''

Atris' hear rolled down her back as she leaned upwards. Her eyes were clenched shut. She simply wanted to enjoy the moment to it's full. Their chests came up against each other, her breasts pressing on his muscled torso. They broke away slowly.

"Is that enough, Atris? Or do you need more compensation?"

"Don't presume to scare me Lynessa, I'm here to help you anyway." Sam said and prayed that she wouldn't recognize him

A runner burst intot he workshop where Ilya was working on the new hellhound.

He was out of breath and panted before he could say anything, so he went to tap Ilya on the shoulder, who had his head underneath the tank, as he tapped him there was a curse from Ilya, and with one swift move, crawled out from under the tank, lifted the runner with one hand and pinned him against the wall, befor ehe could say anything however, the runner shouted,

''Enemy assualt, our side retreeting, need armoured support,''

Ilya dropped the runner at once, shouting to the tank crews across the workshop,

''Load up and get in, we are needed!''

the runner felt a vast silence fall as the 3 tanks roared out of the workshop, a sudden relization fell on him, as he realized he was left to walk all the way to the front.

''Calling all tankers, anyone else helping with the retreet?'' yelled Illya into the Vox....

The sun was setting, spilling a weak orange hue over the disrepair of Alustdor. Along the road, wind whistled through rockcrete block houses, their windows smashed and rooves collapsed. Yellowing grasses and leafless brambles swayed in the wind. In the distance, the rusting shape of a windmill lay on its side, pock-marked by small arms fire. Sherman and the 14th Dragoons scanned the buildings for thermal heat. Nothing was found except the skittering signatures of rodents.

"All clear" reported one of the veterans.

"Remain alert and bring up the armour. Adjust auspexes and scan again, they may mean to deceive us" ordered Major Sherman

There was a still tension in the air, a fragile peace that could not last. Sherman could feel the taut energy on the wind. In the distance, yet clearly audiable, the late evening bombardment off the arch enemies lines began. The 14th Dragoons were ordered to hold the Imperial flank, and if needs be, support the nearby trench networks. They anchored themselves in a large farmhouse, surrounded by a large six foot wall. The outhouses were reduced to rubble, but the house still stood. Not a window within the rectangular farm house remained intact, and anything deemed useful would of been looted long ago.

A chimera rumbled into the courtyard, it's hull sprayed with the golden lion motif taken as the Dragoons symbol. Dust was kicked up by its heavy treads as it juttered to a halt. The heavy weapons crew clambered out the back, lugging three autocannons with them. The struggled to squeeze through the narrow door and dragged them up the stairs.

Sherman walked to the well, sitting a few metres from the courtyard. The water was an unctous yellow. It was so heavy with pollutants and toxins it sat with an unmoving viscosity, even when Sherman flicked his lho stick into it. The rest of his platoon set themselves up with drilled ease. Engineer's set the perimeter defences up in exceptional time.

By nightfall we'll be ready for whatever their going to throw at us thought Serman.

''Calling all tankers, anyone else helping with the retreat?'' yelled Illya into the Vox....

"This is Major Sherman of the 14th armoured Dragoons. What is the location?"

ervtert

Lynessa looked at him with eyes filled with distrust but she knew she had to make allies. She put her hand down and began speaking. ''Well i will make peace with you for now as there are more pressing matters at hand. First of all our army is fractured, the cultists have all sided with their own gods. My side is the smallest but in my opinion the best trained and equipped, those darned slaaneshi have the largest numbers, the nurgle ones have access to vehicles and the khorne worshipers have a small group of chaos astartes with them. If you can get those nurgle worshipers on our side we will have control over half the army then we can begin forming a council so none of us is the real leader. All actions will be made together! ''

"So..."

Atris simply held him close and smiled. This man had saved her on so many occasions. He had never done any wrong to her, and she was thankful.

"ALL UNITS PREPARE FOR BATTLE!"

''About 6 miles south of a ruined village, closing fast as we can,'' yelled Ilya to the Tanker ont he other end of the vox.

Picking up the Squadron vox he shouted for the other tank commanders to get a move on, the tanks picked up their pace, the wheels, which had replaced the tracks made for a faster tank, and every ounce of this advantage was bieng used.

With an after thought Ilya picked up the Vox again,

''Hey, anyone in a forward position? whats going up there?''

"The Nugle ones will side with me, I have the support of a daemonic master. I will make efforts to bring the Khorne ones into the fold as well, those Astartes will do well by us. You gather up the Slaaneshi folks, there is something to be said for numbers. DISSMISED!" Sam barked and left as abruptly as he had come. He went to the Khornate sector and was stopped by a large man with a chain of skulls around his waist.
"What do you want?" He asked.
"Your leader, where is he located?" Sam replied.
"Lord Zufor is busy at the moment, so you'll have to come back." The man replied.
"I'll duel you for the right to see him." Sam replied, playing off their obsessive desire for violence. The man scoffed and drew an axe. Sam's knife had seperated his hands from his body before he could speak. The man just growled and pointed with a bleeding stump towards the tent next to them. Sam walked in and looked at the mountain in front of him. He towered over even Sam in his Terminator Armor and his daemon weapon lit up with a red light when Sam entered.
"You are here to request command over my forces. I am here to give you a challenge. Win a battle with your Nurglitch forces and then you will have my support. Bring me the skull of a champion as insurance.

Sam rolled out in his Chimera and hit the scouts Salamander head on. Nurgley guardsmen pulled out and started to fire with autoguns and stubbers at the other veehicles, popping tires and killing drivers. The loyalist hopped out and tried to marshall to fight back. Sam marked out a commissar and shot his hat off, making sure that he wasn't harmed. The man sprinted towards Sam with a combat blade and Sam received the charge with his own blade extended. They danced around bodies and wrecked vehicles, locking blades in vicious struggles until Sam caught him with a left hook that laid the Commissar against a wrecked Salamander hull. Sam discarded his blade and bashed in his old colleague's teeth with a quick jab before beating his head against the wrecked tank and kicking him in the stomach again and again with hard metal. When Sam grew tired he grabbed the top of his head and pulled with all his strength. The mans neck came apart with a sick growl and tearing noise and Sam held the head high. He whistled and all his soldiers jumped back in their transports and left the dazed and destroyed scout team behind. He walked straight up to Zufor as soon as he got back and slammed the head down on his desk.
"Now, shall I marshall the troops?" Sam asked. Zufor laughed.
"Do whatever you wish with the troops, we are yours." He replied and Sam left to go find Lynessa and ask of her progress with the Slaanesshi soldiers.

erve

Atris couldn't fight. The medics had told her to rest. It didn't help that she had no squad to command.

"Good luck, Tarkus."

The woman walked back to her dank room. She pulled out a small pad of paper and a pencil. She began to write for Tarkus.

Shells fell far infront of llya's advance blowing mud and cultists high in the air, blood and body parts landed on the ground. Others that took hits directly or near them were vaporised instantly.

"Who's fireing thoughs shells," shouted llya into the vox set in his tank on an open channel"

"Five hundred and thirthy second Iron Dragons," came the reply. "Lord Militant General cought wind of the retreat and counter push and gave us the order to help."

Another fifteen cultists exploded.

''mind my tanks! came the reply,''

it seemed the cultists were upon them, skirting around the village where sherman and his dragoons were stationed they rounded a corner to find hundreds of the blighters.

''Ilya to Five Hundred and thrity second, target just north east of the village, Now!!,'' His voice sounded desperate, ''Five hundred and thirty second, do you have a nickname?'' he yelled into the vox.

Ilya stuck his head out the turret to get a better view, a round hit him in the side of the head, nothing major, but enough to make him slink back inside his tank. The cultist lines were lit up as the 3 modified hellhounds poured hellfire into them.

''Sherman, are you there? They are here!''

The clack clack of the hellhounds heavy bolters resounded inside the tank, cultists burning and falling, but they kept on coming.

Ilya prayed the reinforced hull he had had his tankers install on their hellhounds would hold up.