chazz huggins wrote:
Ok so I wouldn't call myself an expert on the fluff behind vehicles in 40k so please forgive any things that don't work with existing fluff, I've also never written Tank Crew fiction, and to top it off this was written on my phone so there are quite a number of mistakes, (I would check but I am really tired) but regardless I hope you enjoy.

The Bulwark of Scorn
When the WAAAGH! BlitzaGob descended for Sandor everyone knew that the PDF were no match for the orks having been already crippled by the recent chaos convergence. But the Lord Inquisitor Gregore would not see the planet he had fought tooth and nail for, fall to green skins. The Imperial forces were being systematically destroyed by the green tide. The Lord Inquisitor had consolidated all his forces to the last Hive City of Krem.
Krem was designed to withstand virtually any siege and proved useful in the war against the chaos forces. What made Krem so defensively impregnable was its location on an Island almost a mile away from the main land. To transport the massive amounts of resources to the island a 50 foot wide bridge stretched from the gate of the hive to the shore of the mainland. The Orks were marching for the foot of the bridge and the Inquisitor organized an armored task force to prevent the enemy advances on the gates. Leading the primary defense force was the crew of Bulwark of Scorn. The Land Raider had changed hands already a number of times before it found its way to Inquisitor Gregor but it was by far the finest vehicle in his armory. The vehicle design for massive astartes was modified to accommodate a human crew. Its lascannon sponsoons were swapped for heavy bolters, at the gunners hatch rested a storm bolter. The tank was at that time a unyielding black with red symbols of the inquisition. Gregore entrusted command this worthy vessel to his second in command Interrogator Vernus. Before becoming an Inquisitor's apprentice Vernus was Leman Russ tank comander for 402 Vostoryian First Born. The rest of the tank crew were similarly experienced but shared little else in common. The pilot was a man from the Death Corps named Faust, he was more comfortable behind the controls of a tank than any where. A Catchan named "Bullet Storm" Stark was the gunner for the tanks primary weapons. And last was the man responsible for the storm bolter on the top hatch Avar of the Fenrisian Karels. Truely a rare sight indeed as individuals from across the galaxy who would be unlikely to occupie the same sector of space now occupie the same tank.
As the Bulwark of Scorn took its position at the head of the defense force. At Vernus's disposal was a sum of 9 Leman Russ Battle tanks and 5 chimeraes all manned by volunteers from the PDF. At last Vernus had received word that the ork had reached the defense line at the main land's shore. Vernus than opened a channel to the other tanks and spoke these words, " men I won't lie to you this is a one way trip, you all knew this when you signed up for this mission, but what does it matter for all men must die, and it is us few who will stand to the fowl green tide and say not another step. It is today brothers and sisters that we become more than soldiers, we will be legends. Remeber your blood is the emperor's currency spend it wisely." The comm opened from all the other tanks with a thunderous "for the emperor". The tanks rolled to the center of the bridge along with the fog. Vernus moved to the top hatch and saw not 10 feet in front of him, a light drizzle and cold wind was present but Vernus's bear skin hat prevented him from the cold. Avar appeared in the neighboring hatch so he could man the Storm bolter. Vernus heard the roar of promithium powered engines approaching fast, he drew his Laslock pistol and took aim at the fog. Faust said he saw over a dozen hostile signatures only 40 feet away, two chimeras and a Leman Russ were ahead there top hatch gunners popped out and made ready. Perhaps 4 seconds later ork war bikes, buggies and trucks came zooming out of the fog the tanks ahead of Vernus made quick work of the orks at first. However the orks had no end. After four minutes of successful holding position the orks stopped throwing themselves at their defenses. Vernus used this opportunity to reposition his forces. Vernus organized his tanks into three five tank defense lines. The Bulwark of Scorn was in the rear to serve as the last line of defense. This position proved extremely effective as after two hours of assault Vernus had not lost a single tank. But soon the orks began to use their elite forces Nob bikers protected by meks with force fields. With this wave of Nobs Vernus lost the entire first and half of the second tank lines. Vernus witnessed the savagery of the ork boarding actions. He'd have lost an additional chimera if he hadn't personally shot the ork who had already slain the top hatch gunner. The breaks between waves began to shorten and the orks became even more blood thirsty finally only the Bulwark of Scorn two chimeras and a Leman Russ remained. It was 31st hour of the assault and the sun was setting on the mainland. The fog had lightened but the rain was in full force. The sun had nearly set behind distant mountains, when Faust picked them up on the scanner, they were big and there was at least three of them. A bolt of blue energy came out of the fog and hit the chimera to Vernus's left followed by a whirlwind of bullets that hit Avar, Vernus was fortunate enough to duck back into the landraider, Avar was vaporized from the waist up by the wall of lead. Finally the metal walkers stomped their way out of the fog. Vernus recognized the things to be what the orks refer to as a Gorkanaut. Without hesitation Stark began firing at the massive monstrosities two of them offloaded squads of heavly armored mega nobz. The two Gorkanauts began to work together to lift the Leman Russ and throw it off the bridge, the crew tried to disembark but were immediately met with fire. Vernus heard their screams as they plunged from the bridge to the sea. Meanwhile the mega nobz were heading for the final chimera. Stark shifted his focus to the nobs and was able to slay two of the orks. But four of the brutes made it to the chimera and once they ripped the hatch from the tank the las pistol fire did nothing to halt their advances. The hulking behemoths turned their attention to the Bulwark of Scorn. Faust and Stark turned to Vernus knowing what must be done. Vernus pulled the chrome detonator from his coat and spoke heroically "AND THEY SHALL KNOW NO FEAR" as the thumb of Vernus's glove made contact with the red button Vernus reflected on his life and regretted nothing. The bombs detonated under the bridge and the entire thing collapsed dropping itself and everything on top of it into the sea. What happened next to Krem and the planet as a whole is unclear but the heroism of the crew of the Bulwark of Scorn is without question. Under the sea the Bulwark of Scorn remained for almost 26 years, It was eventually recovered by a deathwatch tech marine. The tank was covered in barnacles from its turrets to its treads. But the machine spirit called to the tech marine so he devoted himself to seeing it repaired. And so the Bulwark of Scorn found new life in the deathwatch.

 NoPoet wrote:
Another Day to Die

The grav-tank shattered as though made of crystal and sank to the ground, graceful even in ruinous death.

"Tempest down, I repeat, Tempest is down," the stormtrooper spotter reported, already dropping his magnoculars and unslinging his long-las.

The Land Raiders rumbled from the cover of ruins and surrounding woodland, ten black-painted tanks heading toward the Alaitoc lines, nine Land Raiders each bearing the heraldry of a distinct Chapter of Astartes along with the scars of battle-damage, a single tank bearing the stylised I of the Imperial Inquisition. This tank was the oldest of them all. Its twin-barrelled lascannon sponsons still glowed with the heat of discharge from its kill shot.

Human soldiers advanced between them; two hundred mechanised Guard infantry marching beside their Chimeras, the fighter-transports dwarfed by the Astartes battle tanks.

Inquisitor Drayke leaned forward to peer into the servitor's driving compartment of his personal Land Raider, Bulwark of Scorn. His power armour hissed and whirred as it adapted to the Bulwark's rolling motion. The holo-viewers in the driving compartment revealed a shimmering, bucking image of the Imperial city ahead: the tithe buildings were occupied by Eldar snipers. Grav-tanks and weapons platforms rose from behind the buildings in so-called pop-up attacks, each of which killed Imperial vehicles and drove human troopers into cover.

"Gonna kick xenos ass," trooper Dornis muttered from his seat in the troop compartment. The Bulwark's engine roared as if in agreement. Drayke grinned to himself. He was leading a contingent of battle-hardened Imperial Guard, every man and woman among them full of hatred for the fickle Eldar, sick of the xenos' relentless attacks across this system.

The Alaitoc. The betrayers, allies of convenience, murderers of human beings and defilers of the Emperor’s domain when it suited them. What did those fragile, mincing bastards even want? To think, only two years ago Drayke had even fought alongside the treacherous scum – reluctantly, and purely at the request of the misguided Chapter Master Blenthis of the Firedogs Chapter – to repulse those strange metallic beings who had almost wiped out the colony of Nova III.

Now the Alaitoc were here on this civilised world, disrupting the collection of tithes and killing civilians.

More than that, he was leading the Deathwatch, one hundred Space Marines from across the Imperium

“Save some for the rest of us, Dornis,” the Inquisitor said. His voice was startlingly deep. It was a voice that carried, that made people listen.

“It’s a good day to die,” a deeper voice rumbled.

Dornis turned. Brother Svenjar was a towering presence, his black Terminator plate decorated with feral-looking runes. One of the Space Wolf’s immense shoulder pauldrons displayed his Chapter heritage – a black wolf against a yellow background – while the other displayed his Terminator honours, in this case fashioned into the ornate emblem of the Deathwatch.

“Predicting a negative future again, my friend?” Drayke said with a smirk.

“I’ll be right one of these days.” The Rune Priest chuckled. Drayke had never met another Astartes with a self-deprecating sense of humour. It shouldn’t have instilled confidence but Svenjar radiated assurance.

“Any activity from their witches?”

“The Eldar have a powerful coven of psykers directing their formations from somewhere behind the city. There are other psykers spread thinly among their lines, directing ghost warriors and Titans.”

“Have they attempted contact?”

“No,” Svenjar said, stroking his beard. His massive bulk seemed immune to the Bulwark’s rolling motion. “They know I’m here, they just haven’t bothered to show me love.”

“Remind me to send them a stern missive,” said Drayke. “Ignoring Brother Svenjar, eh? One more thing to add to their list of crimes.”

The Land Raider column rumbled into the open space between the Imperial position and the Eldar-occupied city. Grey rockrete buildings towered. The Eldar invasion had done minimal damage to the planet’s infrastructure; most of the shell holes and battle damage in the unattractive hab-buildings had been inflicted by the Imperial Guard.

Guard troopers boarded their Chimeras while the transports were still moving at walking pace. They’d been drilled to perfection. Not a single soldier tripped, broke an ankle or found themselves left behind. The Chimeras fanned out, dropping slightly back from the more survivable Land Raiders. Bulwark remained in the lead, the irascible tank practically daring the Eldar to waste more shots against it.

A detachment of Deathwatch Rhinos emerged from the forests far to Drayke’s west, appearing as if from nowhere and gunning at full speed towards a distant building. Eldar las-fire flashed, either narrowly missing the speeding vehicles or impacting worthlessly against reinforced armour. Five Land Speeders raced past the Rhinos, circling and strafing one of the Eldar-held buildings.

Drayke and Svenjar watched in silence as the Bulwark’s holo-displays showed the tactical overlays. The Alaitoc had deployed atypically, hiding themselves within and between the buildings ahead of the human advance and waiting for the Imperials to come to them. Swarms of jetbike riders swept forth to attack specific Imperial detachments before suddenly changing direction and fleeing; they were like shoals of predatory fish, charging, swarming, then exploding into retreat.
The Bulwark lurched and gears whined in protest as incoming fire began to pelt the Land Raider company.

“Come on, old friend,” Drayke said, rapping a sidewall as encouragement, “we’ll avenge your wounds a hundredfold. Just please get us there.”

“Emergency!” one of the servitors shouted, something close to emotion in its voice. “Enemy Titan unscrambling ahead. Phantom-class. Primary armaments: thermal cannon, power fist. Secondary armaments unknown. Detecting buildup in thermal cannon.”

“Where the hell did that come from?” trooper Yann yelled.

“Open fire!” Drayke ordered the servitor crew.

The Titan was majestic, a living sculpture of bone and gemstones, the embodiment of the Eldar form escalated to colossal scale. It seemed to coalesce into existence before them, where previously there had been little more than motes of light dancing in the morning air.

It opened fire moments before the Land Raiders. The beam of focused heat punched straight through the frontal armour of a Raider wearing heraldry of the Crimson Fists. The tank exploded from the inside out. A devastating loss, for a Chapter accustomed to devastating losses.

“Unable to hit target,” one of the Bulwark’s gunnery servitors said. It showed no feelings at all. It might have been reporting from a training ground, rather than under live fire from a hostile Titan.

The Phantom danced around the lattice of laser beams sent against it. The Chimeras joined in: multilasers, autocannon, heavy bolters, even a heavy flamer from one over-enthusiastic gunner. Hunter-killer missiles flared against the Titan but were unable to lock on, their simplistic machine spirits foxed by some daemonry. Those few shots which found a mark against the Titan’s legs did no damage.

“Incoming firepower,” intoned the driver.

The Phantom Titan’s most distinctive feature were its arching wing-flues. These flues contained secondary weapon systems. Missiles, little golden stars, streaked down to burst among the approaching Imperial armour. Two Chimeras swerved, melting and in flames, and two of the Land Raider company were wreathed in plasma fire.

“Left lascannon sponson overheating. Increasing coolant flow. Right lascannon sponson overheating. Increasing coolant flow. Coolant flow unable to compensate. Reducing firing rate. Blessed in the Emperor and steady is our aim.”

A second shot from the Titan blew the left-side tracks from a Headhunters Land Raider. Six Stormtroopers emerged, coughing and shouting, leaving four men dead and burning inside. The wounded Land Raider continued firing with its single remaining lascannon, barrels glowing as they overheated, until a second wave of plasma missiles consuming it and its fleeing passengers.

“Primary armament offline: weapon temperature critical in both sponsons. Advancing to combat speed, collision course plotted. Brace for impact.”

“What the hell are they doing?” trooper Folk said. “Inquisitor –”

“Hold your place, whelp,” Svenjar said, somehow sounding reassuring rather than insulting.

“This bloody tank,” Drayke murmured, wondering what the Land Raider had planned. Had its ancient spirit finally succumbed to senility, preferring death rather than servitude-in-madness?

“Drawing enemy fire,” a servitor said. “Brace.”

The Phantom Titan looked down at the Bulwark of Scorn, not even looking where it was going as it evaded the Imperial firepower with an ease that bordered on ridiculous. It levelled its heat lance, the weapon locked rigidly on target despite the war machine’s capering dance, and discharged, the shot tearing the Bulwark’s dormant assault cannon free. Drayke and the Wolf Priest remained on their feet but the stormtroopers were bucked in their seats, saved from further injury only by their restraints, though Sergeant Polens managed to knock himself unconscious.

Smoke filled the passenger compartments and the low lighting was replaced by red emergency lumens. A siren wailed.

“Armour penetrated: secondary weapon destroyed. Flashback to engine reactor… stabilising… beyond my ability to stabilise. Invoking blessed machine-spirit to self-repair. Oh Bulwark of Scorn, long-serving hero of the Imperium, survive that you may fight for the Emperor and Omnissiah, live so that your precious human cargo may live, endure that the Imperial Truth may endure…”

Drayke murmured prayers himself. The Bulwark was an old bastard, but it was brave and, so far as Drayke knew, the Land Raider had never allowed one of its passengers or crew to die in transit, no matter what hit them. It was thrice-blessed by the Saint of Agamemnon, it survived the barrage of no less than two Mega-Gargants when almost an entire Imperial army had been lain waste in the Valley of Carnage and rumours persisted that it had fought in defence of Terra during the forgotten horrors of the Great Heresy.

Its insane charge distracted the hostile Titan just enough for the Imperial Fists Land Raider, Meet Dorn’s Gaze, to land a penetrating shot that blew the Titan’s left knee joint out. Caught in a manoeuvre impossible for an Imperial Titan to emulate, the Phantom fell sideways, landing on its power fist. Wraithbone shards flew as the Titan’s weight forced it into the dirt.

Lascannon fire carved chunks from the fallen Titan’s body even as a shockwave rippled out from its point of impact. This time Inquisitor Drayke was thrown backwards by the unbelievable force and even the Wolf Priest shot an arm out to brace himself.

The Phantom Titan managed one final shot, evaporating Meet Dorn’s Gaze and bringing eight thousand years of heroism to an end. The Titan’s head loomed large before the Bulwark of Scorn; the Land Raider crunched, then jolted sharply, as its tracks bit into the Titan’s featureless face.

“Grind the bastard into the dirt,” Drayke ordered as he tried to clamber to his feet.

Today was a good day to die, but only for the Eldar.

Inquisitor Draco awoke with a start when a great, roaring engine rumbled to life nearby. He quickly rose from his cot and dashed to his tent's curtain and yanked it aside to peer out into the morning gloom. The noise was coming from the Bulwark of Scorn, a brand new Land Raider which he had acquired for the Deathwatch and for his own personal use.

The Land Raider's crew stumbled out of their tents before scrambling and slipping half-dressed across the muddy, frost-covered ground towards the active vehicle.
Guard Captain Perry clambered up the flank of the Land Raider, hauled open his cupola and dropped down inside with his laspistol raised; to his surprise he found no-one at the controls. Whilst his crew got into position inside the tank, he checked his instruments and the external sensors before climbing back up to report to the Inquisitor.
"Sir, it's the Bulwark Sir. He's agitated for some reason and won't accept my commands to shut down."
Captain Perry waited for a response or an order but the Inquisitor simply nodded and walked off, leaving Perry bemused atop his vehicle.

Draco slogged across the cold and slushy ground towards a small hillock at the other end of their little camp and looked around; the dawn was creeping up over the horizon and the darkness was being drawn away into a thick blue haze that gave way to wisps and clumps of fog. He took a deep shuddering breath but tasted only the cool, fresh, damp air of morning. A brisk wind blew across him and gave him a chill through his red and black pajamas but he stood there still, admiring the beauty in this part of the world even though he knew that the planet he stood on was being torn apart by war.
Captain Perry jogged up beside him, now fully dressed albeit raggedly, with his boots crunching across the frigid soil.
"Sir? What do you want us to do Sir?"
Draco took another deep, cleansing breath and scanned the horizon that was mired in mist and smiled wistfully up at the warm, bright red streaks that were beginning to shine through the murk. He opened his mouth to respond when the entire sky turned black in an instant; darkness like the dead of night enveloped them and clung to them almost like an ink; Captain Perry lit his flashlight in a hurry and yet it barely penetrated the wall of black.
"Get back to the Bulwark NOW!"
Draco snapped to the Captain, who skittered off to obey.

After rushing off into the gloom, Captain Perry realized that he didn't actually know where he was and which direction he needed to go. He stopped and tried listening for the rumble of the Bulwark's Engine or the sound of voices. He heard nothing and began to regret not spending the time to grab his Vox before heading over to the Inquisitor. He contemplated calling out but if he did that he'd look like a fool and the Inquisitor wouldn't be receptive to having a fool commanding his Land Raider.

Inquisitor Draco turned to head back to the camp and to his personal effects; he was painfully aware that he was standing in nothing but his pajamas having left his weapons and armour arranged neatly on the table in his tent; he even had nothing on his feet, having enjoyed the refreshing experience of the wet and chilly mud between his toes. The cloying blackness surrounded him and started to damage his calm for he knew what it heralded and so he began to run. He knew that he could cut his feet on anything he couldn't see in the dark but he put caution to the wind and sprinted on blindly with mounting dread.

Suddenly the jet-black gloom was torn asunder by startlingly bright, poison green flashes that blinded Draco who covered his eyes with his arms. The eerie quiet had been shattered as well by deafening crackling that accompanied each pulse of light. Stunned both by the harsh light and terrible noise, Draco stumbled on, terrified. He squinted his eyes and used his arms to try blocking out some of the light blaring at him like an explorer pushing aside vines in a jungle. In an instant, the flashes and crackling stopped and yet Draco heard echoes in his ears and saw residual pulses of light in his eyes. As he stood in a hunched pose, recovering, a humanoid figure began to form out of the shadows in front of him. Draco stood up taller and blinked his eyes to try clearing what he was seeing. When he realized what he was seeing, his heart went cold.

Perry saw the flashes of toxic green and heard the cracks of thunder that accompanied each one and was glad he wasn't closer; even from this distance, he felt the violence of each flash and crack. He crouched down, wondering whether it was incoming weapons fire or something worse. He had heard the stories of ancient, robotic monsters that attacked in flashes of green but he had never seen them for himself and the Inquisitor hadn't told them what they were doing here or who they were going to face. When the noise and light stopped, he stood up and walked as quietly as he could in their general direction and after a little while heard in the distance a faint voice, a worried and panicky voice, the Inquisitor's voice.
"halt in the name of the Emperor. I am Inqui..."
There was a flash of green, nowhere near as powerful as before, accompanied by a whine and a hiss. Perry gulped as his pulse markedly increased; the Inquisitor's voice had been sharply cut off.

When the night had fallen suddenly, the Bulwark of Scorn's engine roared a challenge and the Lascannons shrieked as they charged. Lieutenant Wheeler lost his balance when the Bulwark charged forwards and knocked his head on a beam. Rubbing his knocked skull, he clambered up into the absent Captain's seat and looked at the readouts; something was really wrong and the Bulwark knew it even if he couldn't quantify it. A minute ago the sun was well on its way to coming up but now it was pitch-black outside. Wheeler ordered the driver to bring the Bulwark to a halt and whilst it did so grudgingly, Wheeler could feel the tension in the metal around him for the Bulwark was straining to stay still and was ready to burst into action in an instant. When flashes of vile green began lighting up the dark, Wheeler directed the Land Raider in a circuitous route and placed the Bulwark of Scorn uphill relative to where the bursts of light were; it was quite a low angle but a slope nonetheless. The bursts stopped and both the Bulwark's sensors and Wheeler's eyes couldn't make out targets in the gloom but Wheeler could feel that something was there and it seemed like the Bulwark could too; the Lascannon barrels were slowly moving, scanning the unlit area in front of them and whined in readiness. There was another, weaker pulse of green in the dark and then nothing. Wheeler unsealed the cupola above him and stood up, peering into the overbearing murk with his eyes darting around trying to see anything at all.

Out of the obsidian shadows stepped several skeletal silhouettes. Unholy green light glowed from their lifeless eyes and the immemorial rifles cradled in their arms. The light burned brighter with each stoic step and glinted malevolently off of their metallic carapaces. Wheeler stood speechless, staring at their grim skulls which seemed to be forever grinning. The Bulwark did not wait. The night was now interspersed by screaming red beams that sliced across the gap between the Land Raider and the slowly encroaching horrors, the red at odds with the green. The Heavy Bolters at the front began to thud and chatter as well; miniature explosions burst on metal or in the mud and helped to light up the scene. Wheeler was startled back into action by the weapons-fire and hurriedly dropped back inside the tank and sealed the cupola. He turned to his screens and helped direct fire on the robots that marched towards them. The Lascannons seemed to do well, cutting the figures apart with ease and leaving the pieces glowing cherry red on the ground. Unfortunately, the Lascannons had a slow rate of fire and could only knock down one or two of them at a time. The Heavy Bolter seemed relatively ineffective, requiring extended or even multiple bursts on a single figure to bring it down. Emperor, these things are tough, Lieutenant Wheeler thought to himself as he saw one of them shrug off a few heavy bolter hits and keep on walking. It appeared like the things had crossed some sort of threshold because all of them began to fire back at once with streaks of loathsome green tearing across the night to impact against the Bulwark's armour which steamed away with each hit. Wheeler felt some trepidation when he realized that those rifles were slowly but surely wearing down the Land Raider's armour, something that was supposed to be impossible for small arms. He relaxed his shoulders and muttered,
"Not long now, not long now. They're going down. This will be over soon."
Then, he noticed something in the background and trained his telescope on it. He watched as shattered pieces of one of those beings began to melt together and reform, fresh and undamaged. With mounting horror, Wheeler saw it climb to its feet, pick up its rifle and rejoin its brothers in the assault. His heart pounded in his chest but he didn't panic for he knew that if he fled, he would die to a bolt pistol for sure whereas at least he'd have a chance if he stayed and fought.
For some odd reason, this calmed him and he went back to leading the men in his tank.

Captain Perry had seen the Lascannons firing and heard the clatter of the Heavy Bolters and so dashed towards them as fast as he dared, circling round to approach the Land Raider from behind so as to not get caught in the gunfire. He began to speed up as he neared the tank but then he suddenly saw a shape in front of him and skidded to a stop in the mud with his arms pinwheeling. The shape turned and he saw its face, a dark metallic silver plate with obnoxious green eyes that examined him coldly. There was another flash of green accompanied by a scratching whine and wet hiss and then he found he couldn't breathe. Perry looked down and saw that his lower chest and abdomen seemed to be gone. He looked back up in confusion, gulped at air that would not enter his lungs and then collapsed in the freezing dirt. The virulent green eyes passed over his body and then turned away, having shown not even a flicker of emotion during the entire affair.

Some hours later, the Bulwark of Scorn's thick and heavy tracks passed repeatedly over the last remaining humanoid, repeatedly snapping its body as it tried to re-knit back together. After a little while, it seemed to give up and then disappeared in a soft glow of repugnant green. The night gave way to mid-day as if a switch had been thrown. The entire battlefield, pockmarked with glass from Lascannon fire and craters from heavy bolter shells, was lit up by the Sun and Wheeler breached the Cupola to suck in the fresh air of clean, bright day. He stood on top of the Bulwark of Scorn and simply drank in the sunlight like a man who had been in prison for decades. When he had calmed his nerves, he turned his eyes on the Bulwark itself and saw the extensive damage it had sustained; no part of the Land Raider's surface was unmarked, deep craters had been gouged into the armour and most of the body looked as if it had been eroded like water on rocks. The Lascannons on the right hand side had been torn away and the ones on the left all but destroyed, the only weapon that was still in working order was one of the Heavy Bolters at the front and that had run out of ammunition quite quickly in the engagement. The last three regenerating skeletons had been destroyed simply by the Bulwark crushing them apart, which appeared to be greatly satisfying to the Land Raider because it rumbled happily after each kill. Every piece of their foe had vanished but it didn't take them long to find the bodies of Inquisitor Draco and Captain Perry. Weapons that could wear down tank armour would be vicious to flesh and blood, Wheeler thought grimly to himself as he looked upon their wounds which appeared clean and sharp, as if their body parts had been carved out with massive scalpels. Wheeler took one more deep breath of the daylight air and sighed in relief, it was good to be alive.

...................

Lieutenant Wheeler was swiftly promoted to Captain Wheeler and went on to command the Bulwark of Scorn, after it was repaired, throughout the rest of the Kronus Campaign. He came to be exceedingly familiar with their new foe, the Necrons, seeing the sickening green glow many more times before the Imperium's eventual victory.