Stealthy Grot Snipa
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Imperial Guard: Swampboots
Based on the Roscovian XIII (My Imperial Guard Army)
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Awakening
The weather puts a shiver through an Imperial Officer's spine, darn weather, make up your mind, frost or not. The world around him has an everchanging cycle of condition, one day it is fifty below freezing, the next it is boiling. "Hanz, tell your men in the decontamination area to make a move on, my boys are getting sweaty!". Hanz nods and tilts his cap in a commanding position. As he walks toward the shower complex, he passes buidlings no smaller than a pod. "Alright sons, get out here!" He barks up at the sounds of laughter. "C'mon Marshal, who wants dirty troopers?" yells down Roy, a hearty thin fellow. His long, thin, black hair and frail limbs show that he never worked out much. Hanz curses the ground, dreading that title of "marshal".
On this backwater colony station there is no discipline, no veterans, no events. The "sons" have never seen anymore combat than the occasional brawl between eachother. The strong shouldered, dark haired man called Hanz moves on toward the drill yard, where instead of training, there is a drinking contest riling up the men. "Heya, Marshal!" Hanz curses again at the title, which has turned into his moniker. He was promoted to the rank by the Magistrate himself, the promotion sending him to the backwater station of Roscovia to oversee things. His autopistol at his side, his fingers twitching for combat. his wish is granted, as a cloud of dust and fire appears in the distance. His receiver screams to life as sentries are yelling at eachother in confusion.
"What in blazes is that?" roars Hanz. He looks at the cloud where the fuel facility was, about forty clicks in the distance. Hanz fumbles for his com and barks, "Orbital watch, why are you not at your post!", the receiver replies, "Sir, nothing is, or was in the scanners!" Reaching for his spyglass, he peers at the explosion and sees a dreaded sight, the glowing of an energy unharnessed by mankind, gauss fire punches holes through the cement as he spins around, catching sight of skeletal beings with crackling, green weapons bore at there side. Rolling toward cover, he screams into the com "We have got company, battlestations! And get me some back-up!" The signal he recieves is that of panic and chaos, the gaurdsmen are crumpling under the attack, running, screaming, and some even fainting. "Darkin, get your sons down!" Hanz screams at those in the drill area. "Give me some cover!" Screams and fumbling emanates from the group in the field, as they bring their weapons to bear, their fire is dispursed and inaccurate, pinging off of the walls and barrels in the vacinity.
"Blasts, Roy, get your snipers together, we need some fire on these tin heads!", "Ay ay Marshal!" Hanz keeps himself from wincing at the name as he lifts his aim toward one of the necrons. There is chaos all around, a big hole is blown out of the side of the recreation center and the men behind it. Hanz takes this advantage to make a move toward the barracks, slinging himself under the awning an yells into the ground to space transmitter, "Magistrate, we need some support, my men are getting swat like flies!" He turns toward the men inside the complex, "Alright, Tinman, Gril, and Ciaran, get these dolls some leadership and round up the others for evacuation." The others nod. Hanz peers over to Roy's position and sees las-fire pour into the necrons below. I like that kid.
Roy dodges his eyes left and right, barking locations and targets to the groups he is with, yelling toward the shell-shocked to get out of there. "Watch for crossfire, as you retreat!". The intercom screams to life, "Make toward the transport, we are getting out of here!" Roy acknowledges with a few bursts, and then grabs his men running for the exit.
Hanz's party give covering fire to eachother as they advance toward the transport. Las-fire arcs toward the sounds of gauss fire, while the covered men run for their lives, clutching only their rifle, and whatever was near and thought useful at the time. The transport bay doors slide and weeze open as the gaurdsmen kick their feet up in a sprint, a sprint or die. The autocannons and lascannons aboard the ship fire death upon the attacker, while Hanz sees as the rest of the boys make it in. The doors close as they lift off, hearing an orbital bombardment of the base.
Hanz takes a look around seeing only a few hundred men, all in despair, a few are in fetal positions. He stops himself from saying anything and just watches the fires of his station.
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"Congrats Hanz, Roscovia is now free of the necrons onslaught. You are free to return. After three months of bombardment.", Hanz ears perk up at the sound of his name. "I am not returning Magistrate, I saw what that station did to these men, during the attack they fell over like daisies, reduced from a company to a platoon in seconds."
"The colonel was lost in the first explosion, Hanz, you are now the commanding officer of the Roscovian XIII", "What's left." snides Hanz, dreading this position of command. "You are a great leader, you are their hope and guidance Hanz." adds the magistrate. Hanz curses the magistrate's lack of emotion.
Aboard the Hallow, Hanz goes toward the bunks of his group of men. Roy, Tinman, Ciaran, and Grils all stand in salute. Darkin, may the emporer recieve your soul. "Stop that." The four men stop. "You are aware that now the four of you are my junior officers, correct?", "Marshal?", "Yes, and I am assuming Senior Officer.", "No not that, are we going back?", "No, we are not, instead we are going to serve and die for the emperor, on some forsaken battlefield." The others nod silently. I hope I can take these dolls and turn them into fighting men. "Our first mission, Magistrate wants us to support the Deathcorps in the assault on the Slov system.", "Sir, we only have seven hundred men, three chimeras, and two hydras. How can we present much power?", Gril argues. "Gril, we can't, but we will have to." This is a suicide mission.
This is the first part of my book, concerning Hanz and his slapped-in-the-face troops. Feel free to C/C and give suggestions for their adventures. Their story is goign to be based around the fact that they were a slack bunch of boot-camp-noobs now facing the hells of war. I will update this thread as I continue the plotline, but for now this is the awakening.
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