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Hi, I'm new. I've just joined and I wanted to upload something I'm working on. Got inspired and just decided to start writing. I will be writing the pre-battle to this, but I got the bug over the boarding torpedo bit so I just had to write this up first.

Hope you enjoy.

=====================================================================


His brothers sat all around him in the dark boarding torpedo. There was no sound apart from Makanor chanting his prayers. They echoed through the vox headsets of all the marines there, reassuring them and settling their minds on the fight ahead.

"The Emperor is our shield and our protector. With him to guide us, the enemy shall have no purchase. Our armour is infused with his divine will and our weapons are his mailed fists. With then, we shall smite his foes."

Brother-sergeant Gague sat in the foremost chair of the compartment, nearest to the door. In the space marines, there was no leading from the back. Opposite him and second to disembark, was the oldest member of squad 3. His helmet was still a mark six, an older variant with a conical face plate, giving him the look of some sort of bird. The marine was looking at his knees, his head bobbing slightly as the torpedo lurched around. Gague realised he was probably asleep, but didn’t say anything. Space marines were capable of resting at any moment, for any length of timet, due to the catalepsean node implanted in their brains. He would wake instantaneously, when needed.

"We will drive out and purge the xenos, impure in the eyes of him on earth. We shall offer the enemy no quarter or mercy. We are implacable. We are unbreakable. We are the Emperors men of stone. Unflinching from the task and unshakable from our goals." Makanor said, oblivious to anything around him.

The Sergeant looked around the pod eventually coming back to the portal at his left knee. Immediately, his vizor, being helpful as always, started to play out information about the portal in front of his eyes. Duridium alloy, no pressure effects noted. well maintained. The boarding torpedoes iris hatch was still wound shut, its leaves glistening wetly in the low light from the consoles. Behind him, sat the torpedos pilot, Brother Nemiar. A veteran of many boarding operations this was not his first time piloting one of these ungainly craft. he played the controls like a virtuoso, occasionally adding small corrections. On the hull, the thrusters would be expelling small puffs of propellant nudging them this way or that, to correct their approach angle.

He had been charged to bring them into one of the lower decks, which a sensor laser said, was depressurised. "One minute." the pilot announced. His voice made an immediate impact. Most of the marines automatically put their hands on the butts of their weapons, which were mag-locked to the pillars of their seats and helpfully sandwiched by the marines body. There was no risk of the weapon being shocked loose and going anywhere inside the craft.

Gague selected a few options from his in-helmet display and integrated his view into the torpedos systems then patiently waited for the thirty second marker to come up. it scrolled past his eyes. "Prepare for boarding." he said. Magazines were checked and knocked loose, before being inserted into weapons. Slides were ratcheted with a dull muffle of sound. The torpedo had a bit of atmosphere, from their loading dock. The plasma gun carrier Brother Denedron, flipped the arming switch on his ancient weapon to active. Instantly the machine spirit of the weapon grumbled into life, starting to pre-heat his weapons plasma chamber and the glow grew to permeate the cramped space.


"Primarch progenitor, we offer this victory up for you, and for him on earth. Guide us true to the enemy. And let us teach him to fear your will made manifest." Makanor intoned and then the torpedo struck.


A noise like a tortured animal marked their arrival as the heavy durasteel point of the torpedo smashed into the ships hull metal. All at once, the nose cone of the torpedo opened in a star and curled back upon itself. Securing lines shot away from the rear of the torpedo and anchored themselves against the ships hull. Motors dragged on the securing lines and the entire torpedo burrowed itself into the hull, until the iris valve was completely exposed in the ships interior.

Inside, Gague and his squad were already on their feet, their armour boots magnetically locked to the walkway. Bringing his bolter up to his shoulder, Gague spoke through his helmet to the men behind him. "Squad 3, you know the plan, and you've done the drill. Secure the room, then sweep and clear our level by twos. Check targets and call out any contact."

"Five seconds." said Nemiar, slapping the last of the switches on his panel before he turned and gout out of his station, grabbing his bolter.

"The Emperor protects." intoned the chaplain in training, his own bolt pistol readied. Some of the squad echoed, some didn't but all of them were looking at the portal in front of their leader. Five seconds elapsed and the double iris valve unwound slowly, revealing the cargo bay.

The marines erupted from the pod like a lanced boil, slowly and surely exiting their little craft. They had all had their briefed assignments and gone over the deck plans of the ship in the hours before the boarding action.

Part Two!

Except.. this is actually part one and I'm starting to flesh out why they're on the assault in the first place. Just alot of navy fluff, which is of course, very cool in its own right. It's probably riddled with spelling mistakes, but I'll get to them later!

====================

The space marine strike cruiser “Deimos” wrestled her way back into normal space, closely followed by her consorts. A standard pattern Strike cruiser, she was easily identifiable by her rather impressive undercarriage: a bombardment cannon, which bulked up her underside and made her look pregnant, compared to her sleeker standard navy counterparts.

Her bridge was a hive of activity, as always after a translation. The shock from the immaterium into “real” space, often had unforeseen consequences and so these times were especially straining on the crew. However, this time as it was the the last few translations, nothing seemed to be amiss. Commodore Lundjgren sat in his command chair and drummed the fingers of one hand against it’s arm. The rankings and junior officers bustled as they processed data from all the ships systems and decks. Every hand was stood to, at his post and all decks were checking in, one after another.

Attached to the back of the commodore’s head, was a bundle of cortical plugs connecting him via a noosphere to the ship and his command console, overlaying data in realtime, from not only the incoming reports, but also the ships real vital data - the head of the mechanicum engine-seers on board looking after the reactors and of course, all the logical elements that made up the welter of systems aboard a starship. The sensory overload of so much data always took his breath away.

The crew gradually worked less and he could see out of the corner of his eye, various junior lieutenants reporting to their seniors. His executive officer approached his chair. “Sir, I am happy to report, jump successful. all stations and systems reporting green. We have successfully arrived at Graynor Majoris”

Lundjgren, aware of the scrutiny from everyone present, stood up from his chair, and removed the cortical plugs from his head. He straightened his jacket with a brief tug. “My compliments to your juniors, Captain Graaf, you may go and tell our passengers we have arrived.” setting his hands against the edge of his command pulpit, he turned his attention from his second in command.

Graaf turned smiling and walked down from the command dais. Behind him the old man was already rapping out orders. It was menial work, that the ships XO should be doing. However when the alternative was talking to a space marine of the same alleged rank, most navy personnel chose to hide behind formality. “ Open internal vox to ship wide, if you please.” the commodore paused while it was done and the two-tone ping told him it was on. “This is the bridge.” he started. “I can confirm the Deimos has successfully arrived at Graynor Majoris as of 5.554.765.M39. My compliments to all sections. state 3 condition x-ray. Duty officers, commence normal operations. Section heads, to muster in deck 4 amphitheatre for debrief at 20:00 hours ship time. That is all.”

He terminated the link, which replied with a faint “bing-bong” which echoed down the ships corridors and surveyed the officers, who were standing by for orders. “Sensors, start local system plot, launch survey drones. Lets do the administratum a favour while we’re here shall we?” He paced the deck plates like a man who didn’t get to do this very often and loved his job, hands clasped in the small of his back.

The trip down to the space marines levels was fairly lengthy as they had taken the flight deck level to also be their home. It made sense really, if they were required to launch they could do it quickly. They shared this level with the single element of navy pilots that the imperial fists had decided to keep on, but had insisted that there was an element of separation at one of the bulkheads, beyond which normal navy ratings could not venture.Graaf approached the two guards who stood outside “Bulkhead #12”. commonly called “tartarus” by the crew. They saluted as he approached.

“Please inform Captain Grosseteste, that I am here to see him.” the navy man said. Neither of the fists replied for a moment, but one of them, put his head on one side briefly as if he were listening to something. Without pause of pre thought, the marine gestured. “Go on through Lieutenant.” the man said his voice issuing out of his helmets vox grille. “Captain Grosseteste is in the armorium.” Ignoring how uneasy it made him that they knew his face, Lieutenant Graaf walked between the pair of armoured giants, trying not to look up into their face plates. he had his dignity to consider, afterall.

There was alot of in-fighting between the navy and space marines. However, the imperial fists for the most part seemed to be of the opinion that if you already had a highly qualified force to run your ships, that meant more space marines could be freed up for deployment into the combat zone which any fighting man was in favour of.

The captain was indeed in the armourium. As usual, he was struck by the cleanliness of his surroundings. Even the walls were polished clean and none of the ship board detritus was found. Here, marines were working on their equipment, slowly buffing out imperfections with lapping powder and performing weapon maintenance, before they would be sprayed back to their former glory by chapter serfs. It seemed the captain had suffered a few scratches, judging by the state of his rerebrace, which looked extensively mauled.

The captain carried on his silent work for a few minutes during which Graaf stood silently. Eventually the marine looked at him. Even sat on an arming bench, he did not have to look upwards to look the Navy officer in the eye. Having had a few of these audiences Graaf was not entirely unprepared for the experience, which shook most people. Space marines were physically huge, even out of their armour, bred to the best best mankind could ever be and genetically enhanced to supermen. He was glad the captain was sat down and always felt being around them, that he was before a great animal such as a bear from earth, that was always barely restrained.

“Lieutenant Graaf. Again.” the spacemarine said, with a hint of humour, though none showed in his face. “What does the commodore want.”

“Commodores compliments sir, the strategium and observation decks are available, should you wish to visit them. We have arrived at Graynor Majoris.” he replied perfunctorily. The space marine nodded and went back to polishing his armour. “Thankyou Lieutenant. Inform the captain of my thanks and that I will send word when I wish to convene.” Graaf saluted smartly and left the room feeling that, despite none of the marines looking, that he was being watched.

I really like what you've got going here! Keep it up!!!

Hi, Thanks very much! All comments and criticism really gratefully received!

A small commotion in the sensorium stations, attracted the commodores eye. As he strode towards them he over heard the argument between the section head, a junior grade lieutenant and his heavily augmented crewmen. “I’m telling you sir, she’s just not there. I’m only tracking the escorts.” Lieutenant Sung heard the sharp report of approaching uniform boots and his heart sank.

“Report, Mister Sung.” the captain asked of him. The Lieutenant turned and crisply saluted. As a junior officer, his performance was most open to strict censure, because he was younger, less skilled, more brash and in his captains eyes, the worst thing to crawl from the Calixis sector, since a bad dose of stomach rot.

“Yes sir, Sensors have plotted only three contacts that left the warp with us. We’re getting solid returns from Imperius Lux, Growth of Prosperity and Meeting the Dorn.” The commodore turned his head towards the communications section, the officer in charge had sidled over, knowing this conversation would be important.

“Comms confirms, vox traffic and astropathic contact from the rest of the flotilla, barring the wrath.” he added solemnly. Lundjgren nodded. “Thankyou mister Drell.” he replied, suddenly lost in thought. Somewhere in the warp, they had lost their consort, the light cruiser “Wrath of Davion”. The lieutenant looked abjectly at his superior for acknowledgement, but the captain had already turned away and was in motion towards his throne. “Communications, summon for me our most illustrious navigator and the new head of our astropathic choir, I would have an explanation for this. Politely, of course” The Drell acknowledged with a hasty “Aye” bent to the station immediately, sending murmured messages through the great ship.


The meeting between the various heads of department happened in the Strategium, some minutes later. All departments were represented including the captains of the escort squadron, their visages appearing via a vid vox link, wavering from time to time. The meeting was chaired by the space marine captain, who sat as his sire did, in the middle of the room, listening to all views. Though the command of the ships was undoubtedly Commodore Lundjgrens’, the command of the task force, was his.

The leader of the Navigator family onboard looked worried and she was not alone. Always of a wan appearance, she was practically translucent in the harsh light of the strategium which was turned up, for the purposes of the audience. Her third eye was covered by a black band of some exotic silk, chased through in silver thread with various constellations. Indeed, her entire brood were covered with star maps of one for or another. It seemed to be a mark of age, for her juniors had few compared to herself and the other middle aged male amongst them, their clothing by contracts festooned with the bright dots of many systems.

“I cannot account for it, my lord.” she was saying. “My junior, Neioc and I were in the blister, mapping our way through to the Graynor Majoris beacon. I swear we cannot have lost sight of her for more than a second, then a warp eddy swirled up and she was shrouded from view. We thought nothing of it, as it is not uncommon for us to lose sight of ships for the entire trip through the immaterium.”

“Has the warp been particularly changeable on this voyage?” came the electrical voice of the chief mechanicum priest on board magos Zell. Most of his body was inorganic, and his old chest piece buzzed as he spoke in sympathetic harmony. As with most of his kind, his red robes, usually torn stained and smudged with various grime, covered his entire body. Strange lumps bulged and moved beneath it, leading to a variety of disgusting jokes from the normal ratings. All of which no one was stupid enough to let him hear.

She simply shook her head in response. No one except a navigator or a very gifted psyker had any idea about the nature of the warp and she had no way to explain to a layman. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” she responded. “The promontories and warp storms around this area are not unusually turbulent - now or in fact ever.” her acolytes were nodding. “We really cannot account for it.” she shuffled her robes uncomfortably, a fact which the space marine noticed and stored. She was certainly not telling the whole truth.

A member of the astropathic choir coughed briefly and upsettingly at just the wrong moment in the silence between speakers. All eyes swung in his direction and his senior, who coloured momentarily. “Did you have anything to add?” asked the space marine. The astropath glared at his junior, which was even more disconcerting as he was blind and replied smoothly. “We received a fragment of a message, while we were translated. The origin and receiver could not be ordained, but the vibrancy of the images, mean it could have come from the Wrath of Davion. it was unintelligible. All we could discern were the words “Mute” and “Deliverance”. but without a senders code, I’m sorry, we have no proof of where it came from and we learn, do we not, to only give out verified messages.” his apprentice shrank behind him.

A disembodied voice echoed in the strategium. “Attention strategium - bridge. New sensor contact bearing 010 relative - Radar returns confirm tonnage equal to Imperial light cruiser.”

The Navy Commodore straightened immediately and the mood in the room lightened. “Acknowledged bridge. On our way.” his head had moved up slightly, as if he were directing his voice towards them. He paused and looked at the space marine captain. “well, that’s another mystery solved.” The super-mans face gave no emotion away as he stood from the strategiums throne. “Well, now we’ve found her - if that is her, the question becomes: where has she been.” he replied.

The bridge doors slid back to admit both captains onto the bridge. “Report.” said the naval man as he entered, walking beside an Astartes. The bridge crew were well trained, but even then there was a miniscule pause as they took in the sight of a marine, without his power armour on.

“Sir, no change as yet. She is on a direct intercept course to our present position, roughly sixty thousand klicks away. No IFF, unresponsive to vox hails. I’ve taken the liberty of dispatching Imperius Lux and Growth of Prosperity to make a visual ident on her.”

“Thankyou number one.” Lundjgren said, his eyes on the sensorium screens. Both of the their faces were fixed to it then. “Closure?” he carried on to ask faintly. The space marine said nothing his eyes looking at the same thing on the sensorium, his face clouding also An uneasy feeling nagging at him.

“How long to interception?” he asked, his deep voice rolling through the small room.

“Nine hundred KIAS Captain“ the first officer responded. “Uh, fifteen seconds my lord.”

As they watched, the two escort class ships swept towards the unknown their engines at idle, inertia carrying them. They were just at the point where military doctrine would have them sweep out to the side to become the arms of a pincer. slowly their thrusters shunted them apart, to envelop the interloper. “Definitely the Wrath sir, we can see her naming plate on the bow” the captain reported. “There’s some sort of discoloration here, my technical teams are scanning now sir. wait one.”

“Helm, what is our current heading?” the commodore asked, and received the answer - 225 relative. The ingressing ships vector was towards 180. meaning the Deimos was currently presenting most of her starboard flank. Both command men stood under the screens started to shift their stance, the space marine first. From an outside observer, it was a minute shift. to the back foot the defensive. “Helm,” said Lundjgren cautiously. “all ahead one quarter.”


At the sensorium station, Lieutenant Sung was watching the incoming telemetry from the incoming ship. It made no sense. No power to drives but the reactors were throbbing with power. So great was their output that it was affecting the sensors. Which would only happen if the reactors were not being managed properly. which could only mean one thing. Looking up at the picts, Lieutenant Sung felt a horrid gnawing doubt in the corner of his mind which grew as he noticed the attitude of the incoming cruiser changing, her bows slowly coming up.

All at once a report from the two flanking escorts that Wrath must be at least partially alive, because the thrusters where firing, and a sensor report that the primary power was being registered along her weapons pylons, made his fear explode. “Void shields to full, now!” Sung shrieked, the fear making his voice unnaturally shrill. Immediately alarms began to clang as the deck shuddered underneath their feet. The more experienced officers knew what that meant and had already braced themselves, as the cruiser took hits. A moment of instantaneous shock was replaced by visceral action and not only on the bridge, the air flooded with the sound of screaming men and shouting officers.

The captains face had a millieu of anger as he turned and staggering he made his way back to his command pulpit “Mister Sung. You are an officer. take ahold of yourself. I will not have hysterics on my bridge.” he snapped as he reached for his cortical plugs and sat down hard, his voice snapping short bursts of hard edged orders. “Helm come about to 90 relative ((90 degrees relative to galactic center)) then all ahead flank, Light port shields first, then the rest. Sensorium, tactical overlay, begin track of all active elements in system. Weapons, get me a firing solution on her lance and port side batteries. Lets show them our teeth!” His voice changed briefly, as he beckoned his XO over. “Number one, take DC and flight ops. I want her maneuvering thrusters knocked out and we’re going to need a torpedo screen. My lord captain you will excuse me, important Naval business, I hope you understand.” The marine was already leaving, he waved his hand over his head.

Graaf, did not hesitate. He took a breath and turned to one side. His fingertips found his headset and activated it with one hand while he punched the red crown button on his panel. Immediately a klaxon sounded throughout the ship. “Hands to action stations, Hands to action stations. State 1 condition Zulu. Assume damage control. The void-defence warning is red.” He touched his headset to shut the channel and after a brief review of the damage reports, started hammering out his own orders. “Send DC teams to decks two and five, Scramble Furies and Thunderhawks.”


Finally his fingers had the time to catch up to his head and rammed the plugs into their sockets. He sat back and closed his eyes, allowing his cortical interface full rein of his sensorium immediately overwhelmed. The magos in the belly of his great beast was complaining about his poor reactors. In the background the commodore could see his heavy red robed acolytes praising the great machine and performing the various rites that would bring the ship fully awake and goad the maximum power from her hulking fusion heart. He ignored the half/man after the barest minimum of platitudes and got back to the interesting bit of looking after himself. He was already become a part of the ship. a living breathing extension of it, riding the stars. His hands drifted lazily over the virtual keyboard, picked up through the haptic interfaces grafted to his fingers. His section heads were similarly attached to the ship, a gestalt of people who directed their functions in his name.



Down on the flight deck the sirens and red lights rolled silently. Once the initial alert was over, everyone knew the situation. Two deck hands moved through the lines of the ships, removing securing lines and coiling fuelling pipes into the servitor driven handcart. Janner nudged his junior as the pilots ran past them. “Here comes the HS.”

“HS?” Echoed the crewman. It was his first tour and he was a bit wet behind the ears still. This was the first time they’d seen actual starship combat in this tour. Behind them, the pilots ran into the flight bay and quickly mounted the boarding ladders of their interceptors. Flight crews gave them their helmets, slammed the cockpits shut and ran back into the safety of the pressurised back bay area. Blast doors wound down, before the flight decks magnetic shielding blinked off, with a vast out rushing of air. Even with the drop in pressure, there was enough atmosphere left to hear the engines start to fire, their tectonic booming momentarily jarring the floor and it seemed turning his eyes to jelly.

“Hot gak. Well at least, they think they are.” drawled the crewman as a Fury exploded out of the flight bay. He watched the lit-up engines disappearing and grimaced in disgust as he caught the charcoaled ceiling of the flight bay. “Always flying it like he fething stole it. we’ll have to bloody repaint that now.” he finished bitterly and carried on coiling up the hose, with his junior in tow, carefully coiling it down into the trolley. The man machine drone pushing the cart clicked to itself as they moved off, following them back to stores.



The bridge was still in organised chaos. “The Wrath is turning in, bow-on sir , she’s firing again!” the crewman yelled. The ship heeled as the void shields reacted to the strike of the light cruisers lance cannons, raking the strike cruisers flank from beyond her crenellated stern to midway down her gundecks. They winked out and everyone on the bridge started breathing again. “Port shields holding, capacitors at 60%”. The gunnery officers brow creased. At his station. As did most other peoples. She had half missed them with a full blast from her main guns. Most irregular. As if she were being piloted and gunned by complete amateurs.

Changed a few bits in the previous post to make them make a bit more sense. Here's the next bit. Nearly caught up to the first post now!

=====================

The captains head tilted again as he saw the score mark of the lances fading against his shields on the sensor track. “Damage report.” he stated. Everyone who needed to hear, heard him. the tactical Screen showed the disposition of the loyalist flotilla.

Graaf had been busy. “Decks two and five, multiple sections decompressed, We’ve lost starboard battery control, and the bombardment cannon is currently offline. torpedo fire control was also in those sections, so the magos is re routing - for now we’re down to manual control, no cogitator support.. Imperius Lux is reporting critical damage and they’ve issued the abandon ship. Growth has lost most of her control and shes fighting fires on multiple decks. She’s a non combatant.”

The commodore looked up at the con and saw it was true, Imperius Lux and Growth were both showing as a dim dark orange against the sable black of the tactical display. He bit off a curse.

The comms officer cut across the report. “Sir I have Captain Jens on the vox, requesting permission to disengage and start lifeboat retrieval.”

“Deny that request, instruct captain Jens that he is to close to point blank and engage the Wraths Drive Stacks.” the commodore said evenly. “We will retrieve, assure him.”

“Sir, port batteries have a firing solution.” reported the gunnery officer. He had clearly fallen over and was sporting a nasty gash on his head and his blood had stained the collar of his uniform. The captain didnt dress him down. without cogitator support, manual fire control was laborious in the extreme.

“Check for friendlies and shoot when clear.” the captain replied instantly. The lieutenant turned and touched his operators on the shoulder and the Deimos heeled slightly as her guns spoke for the first time in reply. Howling, the void between the two cruisers lit up with return fire as mass reactive shells and battery turbo lasers spat defiantly at the closing ship.

“Shots good sir!” Sung shouted from the sensorium. “Direct hit to the wraths port side lance battery pylon and one into her mid decks. Sir.. shes got no shields sir! Shots have impacted hull armour!”

Drell turned from his communications consoles at the same moment. “Reports confirmed by telemetry from to Dorn sir, in addition she reports solid hits to the Wraths drive stacks, main drive seems to be non-operational.”

A loud brash noise sang out across the command deck again, shooting fear through the assembled crew. Though they said nothing, they all knew this noise all too well. Vox traffic reports were gathering in turn from the remaining escort and the fighter wings.

“Deimos, sword leader, torpedo bay doors are opening - shes going to launch!” Sword leader ignored the yammering of his sensorium servitor, wrenching on his flight yoke. The thunderhawk banked sharply away from the Wraths torpedo tubes. “sword flight break break break, draw off to her stern, she’ll be targeting the Deimos. Follow the fish in, but stay out of the deimos’ flak perimeter.” His ships all acknowledged and just as they broke off, large tubes started to extrude from the flank of the wrath. “Deimos, sword flight, visual on launch, full spread!”


“Sword flight - Deimos, come about to heading 070, follow them in but do not approach to within 150 klicks of actual thats one five zero klicks, confirm?”

“Acknowledged Deimos, the space marine said at the controls of the thunderhawk. The torpedoes, two hundred feet long each, left the front of the once imperial cruiser through her armoured prow on pillars of fire.

“Helm turn into her two points, then steady as she goes, Gunnery, deploy countermeasures. I hope our birds are good at chasing number one.” His XO was in the middle of dealing with damage control and didnt reply any more than a furtive nod. Finally given a few seconds respite, he checked through the messaging logs he’d been receiving, mostly from the mechanicus adepts, but also updates from the damage control teams who were working to restore the ships inoperative systems. The reactors seemed to be within tolerable limits, though he was warning against extended action or deployment of the bombardment cannon, if and when it could be brought online.

Outside the Deimos, the fighter pilots were ramming home their throttles. “Swords 3 and 6, you’re with me, engage enemy torpedos. 2, 4 and five remain on the maneuvering thruster strafe runs. Watch for the movement to dorns battery fire. The gunships and interceptors sprang apart, heading in their respective directions. Their weapons tracked and eliminated two of the torpedoes whilst the remaining exploded impotently against the Deimos’ chaff and flak screen.

“ Captain! i think the navy has done it’s work. It seems we have a job for you afterall. I suggest we board and retake her deck by deck. What say you.”

Grosseteste was standing in the middle of his quarters armoured from the waist down already, pulling his power armour on with the help of chapter serfs. He held his arms out, as they approached him from the front and rear with his breastplate. “I would say commodore that I will vox you once I have control of the ship. I will require two boarding torpedoes and I will have to withdraw a thunderhawk from the fighter screen.” he replied. The edges of his suits breastplate locked on to his black carapace ports, peeking through his flesh and self tightened. Auto winding bolts whirred into place carrying with them power lines and various fluid tubes. Only the arms, pauldrons and helmet to go. he shrugged feeling the comforting pinch of his armour around his skin. The spinal plugs inserted themselves and the suit started to come alive, its internal power source humming to life.

“Granted.” returned Lundjgren immediately straightening in his chair. “The emperor protects, captain.” he finished and made the sign of the aquila. The space marine nodded and saluting, he turned to leave the bridge. Immediately he switched to his private command channel. “Brothers, we will be conducting a boarding mission. Pattern omega. Squads 1 and 3 report to torpedo decks and begin boarding prep. Squad 9 to the flight deck. One of our thunderhawks will be touching down for your embarkation immediately.

Well, its not alot, but its some. more to follow tomorrow, again, sorry about the ordering and spelling. this should be read directly after the first post I made.


===========


Each battle brother moved with a surety of purpose that spoke of daily drills to perfect just this art, the art of leaving a boarding torpedo into a vaulted chambered room. Gague being first out, immediately sidestepped and took several strides into the bay, before smoothly dropped to one knee to scan the room to the side of their entry. Brata, his most experienced tac marine took the other side.Krysos and Greth each scanned the high gantries for movement. Every marine had their job. As soon as he was out, Ferod had his portable auspex in his hand, scanning for enemy movement. They all paused while it swept the area.

A string of “clear” messages over the vox net occurred in rapid succession. “Auspex negative” he reported shortly over the vox circuit. There would be no audible sound from them, until absolutely necessary. Even their armoured boots were muffled. The chamber as indeed of the lower cargo decks. Vast and achingly silent, it spanned the whole lower deck, with neatly arranged containers all strapped and mag-locked to the plating. From inside their visors the marines infrared emitters were casting weird shadows against the distant hold walls. Ferod swung the auspex slowly around for a final sweep. Dropping it, the device coiled back to his waist with a sudden snap, power winders dragging its cabling back into a holder just below his backpack. As the auspex holder he would receive a limited warning through his visor if it found anything.

The sergeant checked his readouts. all his squad pulsed normally across in front of his eyes. “Squad, leapfrog to waypoints. Safeties off.” The thin atmosphere in the outside of the bay echoed to multiple clicks as safeties were remove and Ferod clicked his pre-igniter until the pre burner caught.

Quickly, the squad moved to their doorways and stacked, Gague flicked channels by biting on his channel bar. “Eagle lead, squad three. In position by cargo bay doors, deck two.” Eagle was the name of the hastily assembled strike force.”Copy Gague. Wait one.” came back the reply. The troopers relaxed briefly. In other places on the ship, the other two quads moved into place quickly at their respective doors. The captain's voice came against the backdrop of arc welders. Clearly someone was expecting to have to hold out.

The captains voice came through again, in a steady measure. “All squads, execute sweep. Advisory: expect close action.”

Aaaand the next bit. the Marines get into the ship and the cleanup outside starts

============

(cont)The squad braced their weapons and the sergeant pushed the door actuator.


On the bridge of the Deimos, the tension was slowly ebbing. “Torpedos home, gunship team are delivered, commodore. The Astartes are beginning their boarding action.” reported Drell from the communications bay. The commodore nodded. “Good. Helm? New course, take us to the Wrath’s stern then adopt station keeping. I want our big guns continuing to look at her backside. Number one, lets get our people.”

The XO nodded, turning from his Damage control work. He looked up at the hololithic display, bathing his face in ambers and green light for a second before touching his headset again. “Sword flight, this is Deimos, Good shooting. Thunderhawks detach for pickup, furies begin deep combat patrol around the flotilla. ”

While he was talking, Lundjgren had descended from his throne, to stand near the tactical tables. his finger tips brushed the steel surface, worn smooth by centuries of officers. “Damage report?” he asked. Graaf flicked the displays around, until a schematic of the Deimos was shown.

“Well sir, we took a bit of a mauling, but we came out alot better than we could have done. Fire control was completely gutted. It’s going to take us a couple of days to get the primaries back. Almost all the servitors in that section have been completely destroyed and we have only a few left in stores along with backup cogitators. The hull has taken extensive damage in these sections “ - he illustrated with a finger tip into the projection, making the image wobble slightly. “we’re utilising spares, but the rents in the hull armour are pretty bad. We lost a thunderhawk - caught a glancing burst off the Wrath’s batteries. You already know about Lux and Prosperity he said. Butchers bill so far is at about twenty thousand so far. Four thousand from us. Though thats an estimate.”

The commodore nodded his face bleak. “Emperor protect and guide them to him.” he replied, with the tone of a man who had to say that far too often in his career. The navy officers bent over the tactical table and started discussing the plans for damage control. The mechanicus adept was on his way to the bridge, grudgingly to add his opinion. No one looked forward to the metal mans visits to the bridge.

Squealing, the protesting door started to scroll back along its tracks, revealing an empty corridor. Ferod already had his auspex scanner out, sweeping the area. “Clear.” he replied to their unanswered question.

Gague started forward into the corridor, his squad naturally falling into their predetermined pattern. They had decided all this in the pre mission briefing, how they would take, hold and secure each corridor and room. Two fists to a “digit”, five digits in a “fist”, the squad shifted down their allotted hallways, keeping in regular vox contact. Like other chapters, the fists had purity of spirit in one aspect of warfare and this was undoubtedly their forte. the thousands of sleights, trick and tools that swept them inside the enemy's defences. to make the all important entry point, through which the crushing hammer of the emporer would swing decisively stood them in good stead when assaulting any fortification and imperial ships were just another stronghold, to the golden warriors.

Ferod and Greth advanced cautiously, their armour doing a bad job of keeping them quiet. they passed and cleared empty rooms one after the other. Most of their rooms had been empty so far apart from the usual navy accoutrements you’d expect. This deck had been exposed to near vacuum and the ship was in combat only til a few minutes ago, so there were not going to be many men alive in the section, though the lack of anyone at all was concerning.

“Room five, section two, clear.” Greth reported, his bolter nosing about inside the room. Ferod and he advanced towards the next door. pushing the release, Ferod stood back as the contained pressure in the room blurted into the corridor carrying with it the weight of a body. Biting off a sharp curse, he jerked backwards knocking into greths shoulder pauldron and pulled the nozzle of his weapon up. Kneeling he turned the body over. Its face was a ragged ruin of exposed muscle and strips of flesh. “Emporer above.” he breathed as he looked down the body and saw the mans hands, slathered with gore up past the wrists. “He clawed his own eyes out.”

Greth snatched a look over his shoulder and triggered his vision modes through the various cycles it had, but made no reply. What was there to say. Ferod stepped over the body into the room and took a look around. There was nothing of interest left in the room. Blood had arterially sprayed the walls and floor from the man as he’d mutilated himself but the room was non descript. It looked like a small office, with a haggard desk at which was a small cogitator, presumably for stock management. “Room seven section three clear.” Ferod said, turning to leave. he dragged the corpse back into the room by an ankle. “One casualty, human crew member. apparent suicide.” He punched the combination for the door to close and lock behind him.

Sergeant Gague nodded, in another section of the same level. “Acknowledged.” Several of his elements were reporting similar incidents. “Continue sweep, check targets thoroughly, you might find survivors.”

“Have you found any thus far, Brother-sergeant?” Asked Makanor across the vox link, hope exuding from his voice. Gague viewed the scene in the messhall with dispassionate disgust. A molten puddle of flesh joined three crew members on the floor in front of him having melted one of their legs each together. Like a bizarre spider/snail, they kept mindlessly trying to go in seperate directions, occasionally two of them pulling together, dragging the other along, each mind had clearly snapped long ago, their vacant expressions unchanging and slack.

Gague shook his head and levelled his bolt pistol at the deformed creature in front of him. “I wouldn’t call it that.” he replied and broke the connection. Martellan was standing by his side, bolter held ready. “Deliver them the Emporers grace.” he said, his voice twisted in revulsion. The room lit up with a couple of short bursts from their weapons. Once the firing was over, he and Martellan put up their weapons and left the hall, sealing the doors behind them. There would have to be a flamer sweep, once their work here was done, to cleanse this taint. If of course, there was enough of the ship to save. He grimly made his report to the captain as the pair of them made their way through their sector.

The captain of the sixth company, was a beast of a man even by space marine standards. The veteran of a hundred campaigns, travelling the stars of the Emporer had brought him fame even among his own kind. One of the last imperial fists recruited from Terra itself, his armour was hung and inlaid with numerous scrimshawed bones of his brothers hands and prominent victories making him larger than a normal marine and somehow more jagged. Along his power armours vambraces, were the heavily scrimshawed ridged and notched plates of a tyranid Lictor, one of a score of significant victories that he carried with him. His left arm ended in a crackling black gauntlet, that was born in the forge fires of mars. He foreswore the special weapons alot of his peers carried, trusting to his artificer armour, and that most marine of weapons, the bolter.

There were no more bodies on their level. There was much evidence of rapid movement, spilled drinks and ruined meals mingled with clothing papers and the detritus of crewmembers lives. Here and there off colour green brown fluid smeared across the floor and walls. Their thermal vision picked up random hotspots across the walls, the dull bulkhead. The marines fell back to stealth, slipping through the doors and halls. Fendrat, a trooper in the squad held up an armoured fist and the squad halted, automatically taking positions. “Voices sir, from the next bulkhead.” he voxed. Grosseteste moved up, and patted his pauldron, together they listened.


“Come on Decus, how long is this going to take.” Crewman Boz said, as he paced the decking. The room was uncomfortably small for him, as a loader from the cargo decks. he was used to vast expanses to move within. He addressed a slight man in a heavy red rubber robe, who was bent over the door access panel. “You know how I get.”

“I have no idea. Stop asking me stupid questions, i’m trying to crack this door open, but the machine spirits are resisting me for some reason. I will also remind you that for a man who doesn’t like to be constrained, you volunteered for very much the wrong job.” in front of him, Decus’ fingers were split at the knuckles, each subdividing into smaller more flexible digits.they were haptically stroking a keyboard, almost faster than the eye could see. He was a lexmechanic, one of the lower orders of the strange cult of mars and was as yet still mostly human looking. In the face at least. Boz gave him a dirty look and carried on walking back and forth across the room. Presently, Decus stood up. “I have it.” he pronounced and said to the door in his flesh voice: “Ostium, aperito.” the door clanked inside itself and then miraculously, began to withdraw into the frame with increasingly wounded sounds. Decus looked over his shoulder smugly at Boz, only to see the crewmans face transform into terror. Ice pooled in his stomach as he slowly turned back, to see the doorway crowded by black circular holes of gun muzzles. And beyond them, fully armoured space marines, holding the bolters. he licked his dry lips and his hands, as if sensing their masters fear, slowly withdrew back into themselves, until they were human looking once more. “Greetings, captain.” he said, once he found his voice again. “Are you here to help secure the ship?”

“Screw that.” Boz interrupted suddenly taking half a step forward, “Are we being rescued?”

Grosseteste swept the room, before lowering his bolter. His brothers stayed in the corridor, watching the way back, the silence of the greater ship draping them in its of shadows, and subtle distant noise. He turned his attention to the tech priest. The man was haloed by noospheric data tags which the priest seemed to exude into the air around him, in a nimbus of information, almost at times blotting him out visually. “Name and rank.” he replied bluntly. The tech priest and human babbled in their haste to reply. Boz it turned out was a cargo hauler, and Decus was the magos in charge of loading operations in that bay.

They had been going about their duties during warpspace transit, when without warning, binaric waves of data had reported seconds before alarm klaxons, that the geller field had collapsed around the ship, letting the raw stuff of terror and loathing inside the hull. They both told a similar story of foul abominations coming out of the steel of the ships bulkheads, fusions of metal and pink slobbering flesh, that theyd crushed with cargo containers and immediately taken to their heels. The rest of their team had not been so lucky.

“I am amazed you both survived. Warpspawn sends most men instantly insane.” the captains voice replied from behind his helmet grille.

“Ah, I think you have not had much experience of my kind.” the priest said tapping his head. “My role in the omnissiahs works, means most of my emotional processing has been sacrificed, for extra memory coils and cogitators.” Under the thinning hair, there was clearly flesh coloured studs, holding various scalp panels in place around the mans skull. He had obviously been heavily augmented internally.

“And you.” the marine asked of the crewman.

Boz pulled up the sleeve of his overalls to reveal a faded imperial aquila tattooed on his shoulder. “Corporal Boz, 254th Heilter Dragoons.” he replied grimly. “We were on Armageddon. I’ve seen my share of insane, in a previous life. Enough to last me a lifetime. Got into the Navy after demobbing because I thought it’d be safer than gruntwork.” Seemingly satisfied the end of the bolter lowered slightly. “It is our mission to reach the bridge. I have other strike teams heading for the engines, astropathic choir and navigators tower. Have you heard anything of the captain, or the senior command staff?”

They both shook their heads. “Alas, shipwide vox has been out, since the event. And the noosphere is full of contradictory data - I’ve been unable to send cross system queries.” the tech-priest replied. “I predict all of this ships systems will require rededicating to the omnissiah fully before the ship can be salvaged into service.”

Grinding his teeth Grosseteste turned his attention to the back of the room. “Can you open that door? We need to get to the trans-tubes. Or the inter-deck hatches.”

Hi, sorry for the long absence for any of you that read my stuff. Here's a small bit Ive written thats much later in the story. Essneitally, the captain has found the big bad guy and of course its a dirty nurgle space marine chaos spawn thing. This bit is from the end of their fight. Hope you enjoy.



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Grosseteste heaved and pushed himself upright. pain shot down his ruined arms and through his body. He eyed the thing with no name and held out his hand.

The daemon laughter unpleasantly, its back tendrils whipping ceaselessly like a cast tail, relishing the momen, savouring the kill. “Now you see the power of disease. You have nothing to gift the prince of decay but your death, you fool.” it hissed, coming closer, its feet deforming as it moved. “Your death and the gift in your last moments, of your fear.”

At the end of the captains knuckles and fingertips, his gauntlet had flat dull plas-glass lenses. and when activated they spewed forth the power of a small sun. a coruscating beam of light bathed the traitor in lambent energy and stopped it dead, the shock robbing it of all momentum. miraculously, the captain began to rise, slowly pushing himself to his feet. The rents in his armour wheezed with negative air pressure, filling with pale pink sealant gels. Strings of warning runes blinked in his visor, bathing his face and jaw in yellow and red. Warning colours that he did not heed, his stare locked on the enemy, and his mind full of doom. “I do not fear you, demon.” He spat, once he found his feet, his fingers loosely testing the balance of his purloined ax. “I am an Imperial Fist, forged by the God-Emperor of mankind.” he took the first step towards the thing, sensing things majorly wrong in his body and willing them to carry on. His herculanean effort was shocking. “His shaping struck the fear from me, in the moment of my making. What you see as ascension, I see as falling. What you count as strength I know was, bought with your soul. The mailed fist of the emperor is here for you, Oath-Breaker. And we know no fear!” his words bit off hard ended and vicious. to sting and wound whatever soul was left in the once marine, as he sprang.

The Ax grazed the demons head on its way past into the metal flesh of the bulkhead, but was only ever a distraction. half a tonne of angry space marine hurtled into the daemon, a blur of power assisted strength and human ingenuity. Off balance, he drove the demon back, hearing the crunching noises as a thousand hungry mouths bit down into the ceramite of his armour. Anger flooded his head, clouding his vision and his hearts were thudding in his ears. Pain was nothing to fear for an Imperial fist. Grossly damaged though he was his voice rebounded off the things corrupted flesh, a bellow of denial, anger and revulsion. Stood like a boxer from the oldest of Terran documents with the daemon bent over him, his left hand swung like a pneumatic hammer up into the things midriff. The doughy flesh shape moved slightly, with the force of the servo assisted punch. Berserk, he swung again in a mountain mans frenzy, words ripping from behind clenched teeth: "There.is.nothing.but.death.here.for.you!" The dull lenses of his martian gauntlet discharging with every punch, creating a gory lambent haze of burned necrotic flesh in the bridge and multiple glowing scars in the ceiling plate.

Back across the cupola he drove it, until his power assisted strength finally smashed the last shreds of poise from the beast and sent the entity sprawling against a bulkhead. Slowly it collapsed to the floor feet out in front of it, its chest as cratered as terras moon. His fury burned out, the captain staggered away, weeping servo fluid, and rich space marine blood, from a hundred scrapes on his armour. Beyond tired, he held out his hand again and the deep humming glow of techno arcane energies sprang into a nimbus.

“Send that puppet Peturabo a message from the sons of Rogal Dorn: Should one boot of one of his stinking whelps kiss the flesh of an imperial world, we will carve such a scar of death through his holdings that even his masters will pause the dance they lead him on to watch the slaughter.”

Triggering the gauntlet, the capacitors discharged in a final wave of raving energy, smashing what remained of the traitors chest into free floating radical particles, bursting from the chest of the once proud marine, now a phage ruined mess. Gasping, the captains tood for a few long seconds of rest assessing his state. his body was still functional, but he would require serious time in the medical centers. Perhaps even bionic enhancement. Lurching, over to a mess of detritus, he took up a support strut and limped away out of the command deck, each pace a frothy mess. Leaving his own carpet of blood as he went, he activated his vox.

“Grosseteste to all units. Threat Primus terminated. Moving to extraction. Sergeants, finish your sweep and move to your exits. Squads Dralaborn, Epilock and Maester. Launch and relieve your brothers. Apothecary, I require your aid.”