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Commander Neverfield.

He was the glorious Captain of the mighty Ultramarines 2nd Company, veteran of well.. no battles. Never the less he was in command.

He sensed something, wind caught his cloak and he struck in his opinion a fine and menacing pose.



He waited. Nothing. Nevermind.
He heard yelling and laughter. Always in the mood for a party he headed towards the sound.
He saw 1st Squad under Sergeant What’s-his-name, when they saw him in turn they formed up into a semblance of order.




“Everything in order Sergeant?” Thank the God Emperor for ranks he could never remember names.

“Of course sir, we were just playing horseshoe.” Said the Sergeant.

“Why are you standing like that?”



“Like what sir?”
“Like your running, but frozen.”
“No reason sir.”
“Carry on then.” Neverfield couldn’t figure out the lower ranks. He was thirsty; he wandered onward in search of wine and battle.

He heard a deep rumble, echoing through the air. Perhaps battle after all. He strolled towards the sound as the codex dictated (ref Ultramarines Movie)

++Scissor, Paper, Rock++
++Bollocks!++
++Stop choosing Rock!++
++You stop choosing Rock!++

Then Neverfield saw the source of the deep heroic conversation.

Dreadnoughts.



“Brothers! How goes this fine Emperor’s Day.”

++ We are busy boy++
++ Shut up and play Tor++



++ I shall smite you this time Tex++



“Brothers it seems to me you cannot make any shape other then Rock.” Neverfield always felt he was rather helpful.

++Are you in a Dreadnought, No. What would you know what my Power Fist can do. Is your name less than 5 letters?++

"No."

++Lucky you, your name will not fit on the scrollwork. I suffered a minor concussion and woke up in this ‘thing’!++

++Concussion? Bah, I sprained my ankle. Then the apothecary heard my name was Tex and here I am!++

“Perhaps you could play horseshoe?” Neverfield suggested.

++Get off my lawn!++ The Dreadnought Tor aimed his Multi-Melta at him. Neverfield employed ‘combat tactics’ and ran like hell.

He was running looking over his pauldron when he ran into something.
“Umphf!” was the noise it made.
Neverfield looked at the marine before him.



“Commander, are you ok?” The words were spoken with a strange accent. His voice sounded archaic, evil even.

“You are not from my company. Who are you stranger?”

“Brother Kravin from 6th Company.”

Neverfield sensed there was something wrong. He tried to put his finger on it.
“Are those horns Codex approved?” Neverfield inquired.

“Of course, commander. It’s a tradition of 6th Company, the bigger the horns, the greater the honour to old Rowboat.”

“You mean Robute.”

“Indeed.”

6th Company was always strange; reserves, weekend warriors, always partying. Neverfield had always disliked them.

BANG! They both heard it. A bolt round.

“Perhaps we should investigate Commander?” The marine sounded so evil. But he was 6th company.

“Yes lets.”

Together they came to a clearing. Neverfield saw his Chaplin. His name was.. He couldn’t remember.
“Chaplin.” He greeted him.



“Commander Neverfield, jolly good to see you. You just missed it.”

“Missed what?” Said Neverfield.

“The start of the race brother! My Assault Squad vs 1st squad’s rhino!”

“Don’t they both move 12 inches a turn. Oh of course the men have fleet.”

The Chaplin glared at the new transfer.

“What nonsense are you talking boy? Inches?” questioned the Chaplin.

The new transfer remained silent. The Chaplin looked to Neverfield.

“6th company.” Neverfield gave in explanation.

The Chaplin nodded, satisfied. No one liked 6th Company. They heard a roar of noise.

“Here they come!” Laughed the Chaplin.
Neverfield could see them; the Assault Squad was leading the Rhino.



The Assault squad roared across the finish line first.
“I pity the fool who challenges us for the cup!” The marine struck a ridiculous pose.



“Victory Lap! Victory Lap!” Yelled the Chaplin. As one the Assault Squad and the Chaplin took to the skies.

Neverfield was left with the evil 6th Company marine and the grumbling of an idling rhino.





The driver stuck his head out of the hatch.

“Commander, did you see it? I almost had them.”

“It was close.” Neverfield lied.

The driver noticed his acquaintance. “Who’s the lad with the horns?”

“New transfer, 6th Company.” Replied Neverfield. The driver scoffed at this.

“Well then, would you and the lady like a ride back to base?” he offered, gesturing in some polite posh manner.

“Certainly, take us to the bar.” Neverfield needed a drink.

“Very well sir.” The driver turned to the 6th Company man. “So darling, are those horns always like that or are you happy to see me?”

The 6th Company man just sighed.

+++

So I have a razorback and a LR to paint yet. Will add to when possible.

Really good paint job my friend

That story made me giggle. Oh how entertaining. Some nice paint work too.

Thanx guys.

I still can decide what to arm my razorback with.. eurgh.

Thats wicked mate, good entertainment that made me feel good because they aren't Orks.