Forum adverts like this one are shown to any user who is not logged in. Join us by filling out a tiny 3 field form and you will get your own, free, dakka user account which gives a good range of benefits to you: No adverts like this in the forums anymore. Times and dates in your local timezone. Full tracking of what you have read so you can skip to your first unread post, easily see what has changed since you last logged in, and easily see what is new at a glance. Email notifications for threads you want to watch closely. Being a part of the oldest wargaming community on the net. If you are already a member then feel free to login now.

So, my first real space marine short story. Just looking for input, since this is a rough draft.

In the bowels of the ship, the astartes waited. Above them, the ship creaked and groaned with age. Three large, heavily armored figures bred for war. In the flickering light, their silver armor shone bright and they emitted an aura of power and danger. Overhead, a voice came on through a nearby vox emplacement in the ceiling.

“Brothers, twenty seconds until we are attached. Prepare to board. Brother Clement, hunt well.”

The first astartes looked up, prepared for what was to come. He quickly raised his bolter, checking his magazine and chamber, waiting for the moment. Behind him, the other two marines did the same, having practiced this drill many times and performing it in combat several times before. Clement looked back at the other two, Benedict and Felix and cocked his head to the side. Comms would be silent now, and their only form of communications would be their neural links.
“Brothers, are you ready?”

They both chirped an affirmative, and the moment was lost. The ship shook violently, and there was a muffled explosion. Before them, a hatch swung open and the servoskull above it glowed green. The link was airtight. The fighting was begun. With ease, they charged forward, slipping down the short tunnel to come through a smoking hole in the other ships hull. Clement rolled as he went through, hugging the far wall as his compatriots took up positions facing both ends of the hallway.
“Secure the cargo, I will take the bridge. Give them no time to sabotage it. No fatalities.”

The two nodded and quickly began to run down the left passage. Clement rose quietly and proceeded down the right. It wasn’t long before he encountered the first signs of defense. Two armed servitors walked towards him, brilliant red lights flaring as their systems targeted him. Lasguns fired and brilliant beams of light shot out towards him. The shots bounced off his armor, and he raised his bolter in return. A quick salvo of shots roared out, the great rounds quickly turning them into twisted flesh and metal. He moved on, making good time as he moved ever closer to the bridge. Several times more, combat servitors blocked his path, but he quickly mowed them down in a quick burst of shots, never halting his momentum. Finally, he reached the great blast doors blocking him from the bridge. Beneath the helmet, he smiled and quickly knelt to proceed to the next part of the plan.

Benedict and Felix had a far shorter trip to make. Quickly rushing down the hall, they turned right and found a bulkhead door. Forcing it open, they looked out from an upper catwalk onto a small cargo hold. A cargo hold bristling with astartes equipment. Servitors moved ponderously, carrying large packages while a large figure rushed about. The figure turned and his servoharness moved quickly, wrapping up another melta charge and handing it to a waiting servitor who ponderously walked off. His armor was a bright yellow, and the arrogant emblem of the Imperial Fists shone on his pauldron. The techmarine looked at them, confused and angry.

“You are the ones who dare attack this vessel? You have indeed fallen far from the light of the Emperor’s chosen.”

Felix quickly rushed down a set of nearby stairs and descended to the floor. Benedict remained relaxed and put a foot on the railing, his bolter at his side and a grin on his face, though the helmet concealed it. “I would say we have not fallen far at all. Now I believe that an introduction is in order.” In an instant, the bolter rose to a ready position and fired. Single shots rang out and he shifted positions quickly from target to target. A dozen shots were fired, and most of the servitors fell to the ground, their heads gone and only slightly twitching corpses remained. “I am Benedict and the stoic battle brother running around finishing off the rest of your helpers is Felix. And since you thought that a small cargo hauler like this would escape our notice, we will happily confiscate these supplies for ourselves.”
Felix moved quickly, a quick burst here and there to finish a missed servitor, before reaching the techmarine, his weapon raised. He quickly pulled out two pairs of manacles and tossed them at the marine’s feet. “Don’t move except to put them on.” The marine glowered at him and didn’t move. Felix aimed high and fired. Rounds tore into the limbs of the servoharness, blasting several off and leaving the rest mangled and nonfunctional. The marine grimaced with pain and dropped to the ground. He slipped one set of manacles on his wrists and the second on his ankles, and sat still. Felix pulled out a pair of large spikes and slipped them through the chains. With a broken piece of the servoharness, he drove the spikes into the deck.

Benedict surveyed the bounty and sent a message back to the ship. “Bounty secure. Come around and prepare to receive the cargo.” He looked back down the hallway. “We are secure. We don’t have long.”

On the bridge, Clement was pleased. There were few jobs that were truly satisfactory to a space marine and single handedly taking over the bridge was one of his favorites. More than two dozen servitors lay dead before him amidst spent bolter casings. At the helm, an ancient human lay seated, eyes closed and body bruised. The only thing holding him in his chair were the series of couplings and tubes running into his body. Hearing his battle brother’s communique, he punched the captain once more before rushing back down the hall. For a small cargo hauler, they certainly had been well armed, even if they had not had professional guards. What were you hiding after all, I wonder. When he finally reached the cargo bay, it all made sense.

Before him lay a small armory. On the floor below, glistening and newly built, were a pair of predators and a rhino. Around them lay a dozen landspeeders and racks of weapons and ammunition. In the back, the bay doors were open, revealing an even larger bay with several more predators and landspeeders inside. Several servitors crawled over each of the vehicles, quickly bringing them to life and moving them over to the other bay. In the middle however, Benedict and Felix stood guard over the techmarine, his head bowed in shame.

Clement descended and walked over to the pair. “Any word from the captive?” They shook their heads. “Get on the ship. We won’t have long before the captain wakes. I will handle the rest.”

The two walked away and Clement dropped to one knee to stare the marine in the eye. He broke the silence. “The Emperor works in mysterious ways, Brother.”

The marine snorted. “You are no brother, traitor. You will be hunted down for these crimes.”

Clement drew his bolt pistol and pushed it under his chin, forcing the marine to meet his visage. “You are young, and do not understand. We were created with a purpose and the strength to finish that purpose. The Imperial Fists cast us into shadows, and so you will pay reparations.”

He lowered the pistol and aimed at the chains. Rising, he took several steps back and fired. The chains broke from a single shot, and Clement changed targets. Staying level with the techmarine’s face, he continued his path. The marine stayed still and watched. Clement finally reached the safety of his ship’s cargo bay, and slowly the great doors descended, sealing them off. He holstered the pistol and turned around to face the other two astartes.

Taking off his helmet and tucking it under his arms, he sighed. “Check the equipment one last time. Make sure there is no form of tracking or trap. I will inform the sergeant of our success. Soon, the Iron Reavers will be ready.”

This is an excellent start to something, and I mean that in terms of both the story and the draft itself. The way this reads right now, and this is a compliment, is as though it were written by a novice with sound mechanical technique. The mechanics are really the hard part, the rest is the fun stuff. I call you a "novice" because you're making a lot of novice moves with your writing style, your phrasing, your description. You're painting the broadest of strokes but neglecting the little, huge details that make or break a story. That's great though, because your broad strokes work so far. They're not horrible, face-palm moments like you see in a lot of fanfics. Let me give you an example of how you can improve.

"Quickly rushing down the hall, they turned right and found a bulkhead door. Forcing it open, they looked out from an upper catwalk onto a small cargo hold."

Right here is a prime example of how the narration of a simple action can either soar or fall flat. It's all about the details. How loud were their footsteps? Did they echo in the tight, metal space? Were there sirens? Were the lights on or had the ship gone dark? How was the corridor lit, plain electric bulbs, red hazard lighting, or the archaic torches you see in some legion ships? And then, my personal favorite possibility, forcing the hatch open. How did they do that? What direction did it swing? Or did it slide? Was there a crank, a lever, a wheel? Or did his ceramite gauntlets whine with stressing servo motors as he dug his armored fingers into the frame, the metal deforming beneath his grip, until at last a satisfying crunch filled the enclosed space as the locking mechanism shattered, the door opening lazily inward to reveal a terrified young crewman. Did that crewman beg? Did they spare him as per the order, 'no fatalities,' or did one of the marines give in to a bloodlust that his comrades had begun to find unsettling?

See? Every moment in your story has the chance to be that moment, that beautiful, gorgeous moment that a reader remembers when they think back to the story. Kicking a man into a pit and screaming about Sparta can sound stupid unless it's presented correctly, but if you do it right your work will be remembered.

Find those details. Make some moments in this.