Human Auxiliary to the Empire
Cornwall, UK
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This is my first real attempt at writing any kind of fiction within the 40K Universe, so Criticism ( As long as it's constructive ) is welcomed!
Heroes of the Imperium
“In the grim darkness of the future, there is only war.”
Bolter rounds tore through the air. The sound of rain and thunder and the flash of lighting covered the land and almost blanketed the roar of gunfire. A red haze of beams spread across the landscape as the Guardsmen opened fire, unleashing another volley of white hot light upon the hordes of Chaos. A crisp ‘Snap’ sounded above one mans head, as a bullet just missed, impacting into the chest of a man behind, tearing him in half and leaving his guts spread across the floor of the trench.
A man appeared by his side, checked his pulse and then shook his head. On his arms, he wore the chevrons of a Sereant. “KEEP FIRING!” He yelled, as he ducked and dodged his way through the trenches, to a small bunker. Inside he swiftly stood to attention, snapping a crisp salute. In the light, his full fatigue was shown. Dark circles under his eyes, Mud, Dirt and blood covering much of his face and clothing. The man behind the desk looked up briefly before nodding. The sergeant nodded and
began to speak. “Sir, we’re surrounded, out numbered and under supplied. The men are holding the line, but soon we’ll be down to helmets and knifes, Sir.”
The old man behind the desk sighed, nodded to the comms officer beside him and popped open a cigar case. “Call it in son; we’re cut-off and soon to be over run.” He turned back to the Sergeant as he lit his cigar. “You done good Sergeant. You’ve done your duty to the emprorer and the imperium. Now find a manner suitable to die in. Dismissed, Tom.”
The Segeant looked to the floor and back to the old man. “What’s a soliders duty but to do and die and if die we must, we’ll die standing. It’s been an honour, Sir.” The Sergeant gave a swift salute and turned on his heels back out of the bunker.
The night air smelt of decaying bodies and reeked of death, yet the cool breeze was welcoming. Tom looked to the sky, the stars shining as bright as ever. He sighed and stepped forwards, the sounds of battle blasting across the line. He came upon a trooper, curled in a ball on the floor shaking and sobbing. Tom looked around, before crouching and placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Get up soldier. You’ve got a duty to do. You are soldier of the Imperium, The Emporers fist. Stand and if die you must, die on your feet. Like a Man.” He said, looking into the Boys Eye’s.
The kid looked up and his face changed, he forced a small smile and nodded. Dragging himself to his feet, still shaking, he grabbed his rifle and gulped. Tom nodded as he moved on. His squad was a little further down the line. In the ten minutes it had taken him to reach the command bunker, things had worsened. His squad had little over fifteen men left; each wore the look of one who had not slept in days and dark eye’s with the thousand yard stare. Explosions shook them, but they didn’t flinch. They saluted to the Sergeant as he approached.
Over the side of the Trench a cultist appeared, leaping onto one of the Guardsmen, ipaling him upon a crooked sword. Within an instance the others had leapt upon him, a flurry of fists and arms. They subdued the Cultist long enough to raise a Las-rifle and unleash a devastating shot at point-blank range. The power vaporized the man’s head, turning into smoldering ash. The men stood and re-took their positions, over looking the battlefield. In the distance a stomach churning sight befell them. Chaos Marines. The men looked to the Sergeant, each with fear spewing from their eyes. Tom’s heart beat faster, as if knowing of its demise and determined to pump a life-times worth in the few minutes remaining. He laughed, loud and long. Throwing his helmet off, Tom looked to his men. “But to do and die, and die we shall. To death we go, yet not defeat!” Tom yelled, his eye’s alive with fire, as he climbed the trench and, followed by his men, charged the advancing line of Chaos Marines. Bolter rounds tore past him; plasma burst hit the ground in-front, spraying him with mud and molten rock. Yet he continued running, his men beside him.
The clouds parted as the very heavens themselves cried, yet these were no ordinary tears. They fell like metallic rain drops, plummeting into the ground, with a force so strong the very earth itself shook. From them, like the Valkries of anceint legends from before man ventured into space, came angels. Standing at just over seven foot, and clad in power armour that would disgrace a tank, The Space Marines had arrived. The Marine stood, surveying the battle, his grey/blue armour shining even in darkness. The crest of his shoulder pad showing the head of a wolf. The Marine turned to the Sergeant, to Tom and spoke, in a heavily modified voice. “We’ve got it from here, sergeant.” Then turning to his brothers he yelled, as loud as his many lungs would allow. “For Russ! And the All father!” Before letting out a wolf howl and leading his brothers into combat. The Marines followed him, wolf pelts and claws dangling as they charged and clashed ranks with the cultists and Chaos Marines.
The clash was brutal, the Space Wolves tore through cultists like wet paper bags, tearing them limb from limb with Axe’s and Bolt pistols. Although small in number, the Marines had already beat their way through to the traitors, a unit from the World Eaters. Massive hulking figures, twisted and mutated, their sacred armour defield by the Chaos Gods. Their cries of battle echoed over the battlefield. “Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull throne!” and at once, they Space Marines came together.
Tom stood in the shadow of the Drop pod, watching the small squad of Marines delving into the midst of the Chaos army. Something stirred in his heart as he seen one of the Wolves fall torn into with a power axe, a limb torn straight off, yet still he fired his bolter blowing the Bezerkers armour into smoking bits as blood poured to the floor. Tom looked to his men, before hollering “Charge!” The look on his mens faces turned into one of fear as their sergeant climbed out of his ditch and ran towards the cluster of Marines. His men, faltering only for a second, followed him again into battle. The Guardsmen were dwarfed by the Marines, yet they took one down ganging up on one Bezerker and pulling him to the ground unloading their entire battery packs into the Traitors chest. The metal burned and fizzed away, turning white from the heat and revealed the twisted and torn flesh within.
Within a second another marine was upon them, slicing two of the Guardsmen in half with one blow from his power axe. They turned and emptied their weapons into him, unditered, the Marine cut his way through another two Gaurdsmen, until a hulking figure appeared and with a heavy fist, crushed the bezekers head from behind. “You fight well, for men. We’ll take it from here. Return to your command centre and inform your commander we have it under control.” The marine said, as he turned back to his Brothers.
Edit: When the Sergeant charges I was thinking about cutting it off and going back to his days as a Private, telling the story up to the current timeframe. Not sure on it though.
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For the Greater Good! 
