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Here's the first half of my one shot. A troop transport en route to Verhoeven is attacked by a marauding vessel over a desert moon.

Defiant

It was hot. The sand scorched his feet even through his heavy boots, and the blistering sun beat down relentlessly over the dunes, waves of heat cascading over the rolling hills of the endless, featureless desert that stretched before him. The pristine dunes were only disturbed by the trail his trudging footsteps and bleeding wounds left behind him.

It was swelteringly hot in his uniform. A cruel irony that his regiment, destined to fight in harsh winter conditions, would be brought down over a desert world like this. Still, despite his discomfort, the heavy clothing helped keep in moisture, helped keep him alive, if only a bit longer.

He tripped over the shifting sands, planting his face in the burning ground, grit filling his eyes and wounds. Breathing heavily, he pushed himself up, only to fall again a few moments later. Hot, heavy, and exhausted from his trek, he lay there, under the burning sun, waiting for death to claim him. His thoughts turned to the past few days that had brought him here. He thought back to where it had all gone wrong...


“All personnel to battle stations, I repeat all personnel to battle stations!”

Korist Maedan was on his feet in an instant at the sound of the alarm. Around him, the rest of the 52nd Caistron Regiment was scrambling from their bunks. The troopship shuddered from several impacts. Korist was thrown off balance, tumbling into a group of soldiers as they milled towards the armoury. A loud voice barked out orders over the din of confusion spreading through the barracks, the Commissar.

“The enemy has revealed themselves, comrades! Now is the time to prove your worth! Repel these traitors in the Emperor’s name! Remember above all else: a man who has nothing can still give his life!”

The enemy? thought Korist. Before he could continue, he was pushed from behind, herded into the armoury. Reaching his locker, he rushed to put on his uniform and strap his equipment down, even as the blasts rocking the troopship intensified. Deep within the bowels of the ship, no windows allowed him a view of what was happening outside, but if the Commissar’s words were true, then they would meet this enemy soon enough, whoever they were.

The last of his gear strapped down in webbing, he powered up his lasgun and followed the defenders towards the entryways. The long, steel corridors were barely lit, the emergency lights offering only the slightest illumination as the ship continued to shake. The wail of the alarms rang in Korist’s ears, only punctuated by the Commissar’s endless diatribes.

“Go into battle with faith in your hearts and a prayer on your lips! The Emperor is watching us, let’s not disappoint him this day!”

He found himself shuffled towards one of the loading bays. The massive frame of the debarking ramp reached from the floor to the ceiling, built to allow access to the Imperium’s massive tanks and command vehicles. It also happened to be a critical weak point, and the place where the enemy would surely strike first. In the tense moments that followed, Korist began to wonder: just who were the enemy today? The commanders hadn’t said, only that they were “traitors” and “heretics”. Were they the ruinous powers? Political dissidents? Simple rebels? Maybe even xenos. All he knew had been told was that they were on their way to occupy a planet called Verhoeven, some forsaken ball of ice on the edge of the Harknell system, wherever that was.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a sudden crash, far louder than the hammering the troopship had been weathering. The whole ship shuddered violently. Seconds later, another crash broke through the bay. A massive harpoon pierced through the loading ramp, spiked claws extending and embedding themselves in the thick metal frame, sealing the breach before vacuum could tear the room apart. A boarding spike, thought Korist.

There was the sound of a line going taut, and the troopship lurched sideways. The grappling harpoons were dragging the ship into boarding range, reeling the beleaguered vessel in like a Lictor’s flesh hooks. Korist was thrown from his feet, sliding towards the loading doors as the ship struggled to change its orientation and normalize the onboard gravity. He saw the Commissar grab onto a railing above him, doing the same even as more men fell past. A horrible creaking sound caught his attention, and he looked up in fear. The tanks were straining in their moorings, threatening to break off and fall towards them. Korist winced as he heard the chains give away on one of the vehicle’s tracks, sending the Leman Russ tumbling towards the doors.

The tank barely passed by Korist as he held onto a floor rung. Several troops below weren’t so lucky,. He tried to block out the screams of the dying, keeping his eyes shut and holding on for dear life. Before his arms gave out, the ship slowly began to even out, the gravity normalizing to their new orientation. He was now flat against the ground rather than scaling a wall. First up was the Commissar, shouting as usual and dragging the shaken troopers to their feet.

“Cowards die on their arms and knees!” he roared. “The Guard dies standing! Get up!”

Korist dragged the injured away and helped many more to their feet. The enemy would hit soon, he was sure of it. As if answering him, the battering against the hull suddenly stopped. He raised his lasgun, training it on the doors. Sweat dripped from his forehead. In the short time between then and the first shots fired, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Korist was suddenly aware of how hot his gear was, how tightly he was gripping his rifle, how large the room was, and how few soldiers they had committed to blocking one of so many similar loading ramps. The ramp exploded.

Pouring through the hull breach from their boarding umbilical, the enemy’s forward shock troops took the brunt of 52nd Caistron’s fire. Dozens of traitors were cut down in seconds before they managed to get a foothold on the ship. However, several more boarding groups began piercing through the doors, and suddenly Korist was faced with more than one point of attack.

He diligently followed the Commissar’s orders, directing shot after shot against the traitors. Their armor was similar to his own. He even thought he saw the Aquila adorning their helmets. The traitors must have taken them from loyal imperials, he thought. Fueled by anger at the prospect, Korist renewed his attack, filling the air with las bolts to make taking the ship as unappealing as possible to these traitors. That’s what they were, no doubt about it. Traitors to a man, irredeemable. They would die by his hand. The air was growing hotter by the minute, discharged lasguns making heat waves around him, burning his face....

A good piece of writing. I assume this is only the first part? Some interesting ideas were hinted at, though not quite fully explored.

Perkustin wrote:A good piece of writing. I assume this is only the first part? Some interesting ideas were hinted at, though not quite fully explored.

Indeed. It's a civil war, and not everything might be as it seems. Inter service rivalries are so common these days.

Seems good, good luck with the rest of your part.

Part 2.

Korist gasped for air, tearing himself away from the burning sand. He couldn’t die now, not yet. He had to tell someone, he had to let them know what he saw, what terrible truth behind the attack had been. Breathing heavily, he turned to look back. The billowing smoke from the crashed troopship filled the horizon, the hulk resting behind several miles of dunes. He couldn’t go back, only forward....

“Not one step backwards, cowards!” screamed the Commissar. The shouts of the invading soldiers filled the tight corridors leading to the engineering section. Flanking the doorway with several fellow Caistron troops, Korist fired blindly into the oncoming foe, peppering the entrance with las bolt after las bolt.

The boarders had managed to drive them back from the docking bays, splitting the regiment between the fore and aft sections of the cruiser. Korist had been pushed into the rear of the ship with a handful of others. Behind them, tech-priests frantically scuttled every inch of data they could save, destroying the rest to deny the traitors vital information. If this ship fell, there wouldn’t be much left to salvage. Korist needed only to keep the treacherous dogs from reaching the Ad Mechs servants.

“Twelve more, breaking through from above!” shouted the squad’s vox operator. Through the web of gantries and ramps tapering around the massive engine clusters, Korist could see more shots flying from the rafters. Heavy assault teams were breaking through the other choke points. Soon, they would overrun the other squads, leaving the tech-priests completely exposed.

“What news from the bridge, private?” yelled the Commissar, firing his bolt pistol into the rebels, “Have the captain and navigators been evacuated?”

“I don’t know sir! Nobody is responding from the vox channels, and the intercom is dead!” the vox operator threw his arms up in defeat. “I can’t get through to anyone!”

The Commissar gritted his teeth, and pulled the peak of his cap down tighter. “Then we make our way there ourselves! Men, fix bayonets and prepare to charge!”

Korist followed the Commissar’s orders. Around him, the twenty or so men did the same, mounting their long blades onto their rifles, and awaited the order. A flick of his hand, and the grenade launchers moved forward to either side of the door. “Now!” shouted the Commissar.

Two smoke grenades arced through the entryway, bouncing off the walls and into the traitorous horde. The canisters broke, filling the air with voluminous white smoke that left the rebels choking. Uttering a wordless battle cry, Korist followed the Commissar through the confusion, navigating by the sparks of his power sword as they shone through the thick smoke.

He impaled the first enemy through the chest, before pulling the blade out and striking the next across the face with the gun’s stock. Blood flashed through the corridor, splattered by the gaping slashes administered by the Commissar. Driven purely by adrenaline, Korist pushed forward, thrusting and bashing with his weapon like a club rather than a gun.

The Caistrons swiftly butchered the first group amidst the obscuring white mist. Catching a second wind from the sudden violence, they pushed deeper, quickly bolstered by more squads. They were back on the offensive. The initial push of the rebels had left little rearguard defenses, allowing the Caistron to rapidly retake ground they had lost. Korist was elated at their success, with each room cleared invigorating him further.

The enemy, still clad in their stolen uniforms, brazenly wearing Imperial insignias as if they were some sick trophy, met with a swift end by Korist’s blade. They didn’t deserve a quick death, better to let them suffer blood loss and pain for their treason. He showed no mercy, and offered no quick death. Pain was all they warranted.

A half hour later, and the Caistron had reached the doors to the bridge. The attackers had dug in well here, but the overwhelming numbers of the 52nd, fearlessly led by the Commissar crushed them in short order.

“Well done, lads.” panted the Commissar, “One final step remains. The bridge is the key to the ship. Take it back, and you will be remembered as heroes to a man! One final step, and glory awaits us all!”

With his words, the doors were split open, the arousing cheers and cries of the Caistron 52nd filling the ship as they charged home to victory. Lasgun bolts found their homes embedded in the hearts of the traitors. Korist leapt through the air, his feet barely touching the ground while he raced along the length of the bridge. The Captain’s command dome was ahead and above, in just a few moments this would be over.

Then he heard the shot. Shortly after, the body of the captain tumbled out of the dome, circuitry and wiring pulling free of his fleshy mass, tearing large chunks of oily skin away with them. Fury gripped Korist’s heart. These cowards would pay dearly for their crimes.

“Not one step further back! Hold the bridge at all costs from these dogs! The Emperor wills it!”

He skidded to a halt, turning to face the entrance. He looked on, perplexed. There were no enemies behind them, the bridge was theirs. Why would the Commissar give such an order? He looked around confusedly for the Commissar, finally finding him among the soldiers, shouting as usual.

Then the second came, spearing the Commissar through the head, leaving him crumpled on the deck. Las bolts ripping past him quickly changed his focus, diving to the deck grille. The Caistrons responded in kind, filling the command dome with round after round, retribution for the slaughtered Commissar and Captain.

It was then that Korist caught sight of the Captain’s butcher. A billowing cloak trailed after the bastard as he leapt from the dome with a sword in his hand. Korist’s eyes widened. This wasn’t right, this couldn’t be right. The black coat, peaked cap, gold epaulets. This man was a Commissar. How could he have possibly betrayed their beloved Emperor? Average men he could see succumbing to lies, but an upholder of truth and loyalty? It was beyond his comprehension.

“For the Emperor, we shall smite this infestation!” shouted the man. Korist refused to believe his own ears. The audacity to invoke the Emperor’s name, to kill the God Emperor’s servants in his name,it was unfathomable. “The Loyalists shall prevail over these dogs! Death is the only cure for heresy!”

“SHUT UP!” screamed Korist, shooting wildly at the traitors. “Shut up, shut up shut up! You spit on his name! You’re not loyal, you’re not! We serve the Emperor, not you! Don’t you dare use that name, you don’t deserve to!”

“Blasphemous worm!” spat the treacherous Commissar. “Heed not his words, men! The vile taint of Chaos corrupts the minds of those of less than pure intent!”

“You are of less than pure intent, liar!” Korist shrieked. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. “Why attack your own men? Why attack fellow humans? WHY!?”

The traitors and the Caistron stopped fighting. They held their weapons steady, watching the verbal barrage between Korist and the Commissar. Tears filled the guardsman’s eyes.

“Why?”

“We seek to secure this system in the Emperor’s name whelp! By order of the Lord Inquisitor himself, we must purge heretics like you from the system by any means. You defile the Emperor by wearing such a uniform, by using his holy vessels for your own vile means! You are nothing but lowly vermin that must be expunged.”

Korist choked through his tears. “You think we’re traitors? What did we do, what heresy did we commit? You attacked us, we were only doing our job. Why should I believe you?”

Sneering, the Commissar dug a scrap of parchment from his coat, waving it in the air. “This is a charter from the Inquisition itself. It gives us full clearance to any military action undertaken within this system, sanctioned by the Administratum and authorized by Sector Command. Every one of these men carries the same order on their person.
Show them, men.”

The rebels each gripped their own letters, offering them to the Caistron soldiers. Each was the same, each marked with the seal of the Inquisition. Korist was swiftly falling apart inside. He had never seen any such charter administered to their own men. He had never heard anything beyond purging traitors from some Emperor forsaken system. Nothing, just words like “loyalty” or “heresy”. He slumped to his knees, quivering. Out the windows, he could see the moon they were over. The orange ball glowed with the radiance of the sun, reflected into Korist’s own eyes.

“I expected as much.” said the Commissar, folding the charter and returning it to his pocket. “Ignorance is its own crime. Now we shall finish what we have started. We can either give you a proper execution, or you can all continue your vain efforts to win here. Our cruiser is standing by to destroy this ship. If we cannot have it, neither can you. What is your choice, heretic? You, boy, you may choose first.”

The Caistrons stood waiting for Korist’s answer. After several minutes, he spoke softly. “I reject your choices. Everything you just said, I reject. I stand defiant against you. I know that my beliefs are true, and I won’t have anyone question my loyalty, paper or no. I choose your death.”

He dived to the ground, grabbing his lasgun. The Commissar’s pistol fired, hitting him in the gut. Gripping his lasgun tight, he aimed at the windows. Setting the charge to maximum, he loosed his bolt. The power pack exploded, the shattered gun inflicting several smaller wounds. The bolt struck the window, melting a hole through it. That was all it took.

The entire window gave away, shattering under the stress of decompression. Gripping the floor grille, Korist struggled against the gale force winds blowing out of the bridge. The Commissar and his traitors were blown into space, along with the Caistron soldiers. Consoles ripped out of their bearings, sparks flying and flames spewing out, igniting the escaping air.

Korist pulled himself up the bridge, ignoring the pain in his side. Spots began to grow in his eyes as the air escaped from his lungs, but he continued on, driven only by his faith and resolve. The door was in reaching distance. He was the only one left, the only one who could make it in time.

Pulling himself through, he grasped at the access panel, swiftly shutting off the wind. He took a deep gasp of air.
His relief was short lived. The bridge, utterly wrecked, lost control of the ship. Several violent shakes pounded the hull as the traitor’s cruiser opened fire on the dying vessel. The moon loomed larger and larger......

Korist Maedan collapsed again. His strength had left him, his wounds were too deep. Breathing his last, he thought of those last moments on the ship, that horrible revelation. He refused to believe it. He was no heretic. The man was surely lying, there was no way he could be telling the truth. Korist refused to believe his words. He was defiant.