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I dont pretend to be anything other than a very simplistic writer but this is just a very short story, its subject you will probably will recognise. I wrote this after a friend of mine and I had a discussion about the tactical incompetence of the sergeant in question, we both reached the same conclusion.
The offensive had not gone well for the sergeant. He and his men were pinned down in a trench, facing the mass onslaught of the Ork Waaagh. The orders the sergeant had received were simple; a rapid insertion by thunderhawk to secure a landing zone for his battle brothers, ready to deep strike via drop pod. The initial engagement had started well; the sergeant’s tactical squad had cut a bloody swathe through the Greenskin horde with holy bolter fire and cleansing flame. It was only after contact was made with the predator tank that things had started to deteriorate. The presence of the Orkish leader had swelled the ranks of the Greenskins forcing the Blood Ravens to give ground. Now they were forced into a trench with limited ammunition left and the threat of ever more Greenskins looming. Even though they occupied a strong defensive position, especially against the melee loving Orks, the sergeant knew the last of their ammunition would soon be exhausted and they would be overwhelmed before the main strike force could arrive.
The sergeant desperately called into the vox network, while taking cover behind the trench wall.
“Our position is almost overrun, we need support now!”
The voice of the communications officer sharply replied:
“Hold out for as long as you are able, reinforcements are en route.”
The sergeant stood up to peer out over the battlefield, hoping he might glimpse the fiery trails of incoming drop pods but the only things that greeted him were the fast incoming missiles of the Greenskins.
The rockets found their mark and the predator, which had previously reaped a bloody toll on the Greenskins was now obliterated in a ball of flame. The sergeant was flung to the ground by the force of the blast, along with several of his men. As they recovered, they saw that the Greenskins had begun a renewed charge toward their position. A shout of “INCOMING!” rang out from one of the men and bolters desperately flared. Just as the Greenskins were upon them help arrived from an unexpected quarter. A sacred Dreadnought emerged from the smoke and cut the wave of advancing Greenskins down with a single burst from its assault cannon. It then proceeded to punish the larger group of Greenskins in the distance.
The sergeant knew this was his chance to bring honor to himself and his squad, some say that his thirst for glory clouded his judgment. Ignoring every tenant the Codex Astartes had taught him in the field of tactics he gave a mighty cry and charged out of the trench, up the hill toward the Greenskins. The cry was quickly taken up by his men and ignoring their better judgment followed their sergeant into the fray. The Greenskins took up a cry of their own and charged to meet the approaching Blood Ravens. When battle was joined chaos reigned. The sergeant further ignoring the teachings of the Codex had decided to keep his squad in loose formation and as such each man fought an individual battle.
Greenskins and Blood Ravens alike fell in the brutal close combat, the sergeant killed many with his chainsword, with great cleaving strokes. The Blood Ravens had somehow managed to gain the upper hand, when disaster struck. The blessed dreadnought who had crushed many an Ork with its mighty power fist was reduced to a pile of burning debris when an Ork managed to destroy it with a stick bomb. The almighty explosion threw Greenskins and Blood Ravens to the ground; many did not live to fight again. The sergeant soon recovered and looking around saw that his squad had been decimated by his poor judgment and his mission had failed. Hoping to restore some small measure of his shattered honor, he took up the fallen standard and dashed as fast as his shattered power armor would allow to the top of the ridge. The surviving Greenskins did not make his assent easy; they opened fire with their great, ugly shootas, peppering the sergeant with bullets. While his power armor protected him from the worse, one bullet hit the back of his neck and the sergeant cursed his decision not to wear a helmet in battle. Some say that this injury would later lead to a crippling speech impediment but luckily did not prove his undoing.
With a cry of pain he sunk to the ground and with the last of his strength planted the standard in the hard earth. As his vision darkened from the sky he saw the fiery trails of a hundred drop pods from the Blood Ravens strike force, a maneuver particularly dear to the sergeant the Codex Astartes named “Steel Rain”. As the sergeant beheld this wonderful and terrible sight he new a day would come where he would use the same tactic himself. After realizing his mission had finally been successful and the Blood Ravens victory assured he allowed unconsciousness to claim him.
Truly this was a good start for Sergeant Indrick Boreale.
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