Fresh-Faced New User
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Hello All, just had a fun game today and wrote a little narrative about it. Let me know if you want any of the hard data or lists. Cheers! BAS
2nd Lt. Petasos of the 4th battalion of the 67th infantry regiment gripped the harness that held him to the human-sized jumpseat as the Thunderhawk gunship battered its way through the atmosphere.
He clenched his teeth to keep them from clashing together. They had given him a crew-helmet, and it slid around on his head as the fuselage shook. The crew-helmet was connected by a cable to the gunship’s communications-network, and through the earpieces he could hear the sweet strains of a cello playing, backed by violins. It was, he thought, an ancient classical piece by a forgotten composer, known only as “Air” for some reason.
On either side of him, in two rows leading to the assault ramp door, hulking figures in red armor sat quietly on benches. Emerald lenses gleamed dully in their helmets as their armored bodies gently rocked and swayed with the motion of the gunship. Otherwise, they moved little and said nothing. Petasos assumed that they were listening to the music, too.
A hatch next to him slid open, and another space marine entered the compartment. This one had a golden helm mag-locked to his belt and a black cape trailing from the back of his gorget. His skin was pale, his hair a short-cropped blonde, and as he smiled at Petasos, his lips pulled back to reveal an unnaturally white and perfect set of teeth.
The towering space marine captain reached up and pushed a button set next to a speaker on the bulkhead. The music cut out. The other space marines lifted their heads and regarded their captain silently.
“My brothers,” his voice boomed through Pestaos’s headphones, “we are a scant few minutes from our drop, and I wanted to take that time to enjoy a little more camaraderie with the Imperium’s finest warriors!”
The space marines responded with a deafening vox-amplified shout that shook the fuselage even more than the turbulence.
The captain’s smile grew even wider. “Some of you may be wondering about our last-minute addition, our officer here from the Astra Militarum.”
His face hardened, then, his smile vanishing. “You may be wondering why we are bothering trying to teach them anything, given how thoroughly they have already failed to defend their own planet!”
Petasos dropped his gaze from the captain to the rest of the space marines. They regarded him silently, but he could feel their contempt.
The space marine captain continued. “It is a universal truth, that good times make soft men. The planet of Hermaneus saw too many years of peace and prosperity. Their militarum began to prefer officers with nice manners to those with initiative, and to prefer soldiers who looked pretty on a parade ground to those that had steel in their guts.”
“They fell into comfortable routines, and so when the first signs of trouble began to be noticed, they did nothing. They held fast to their traditions and predictable patterns, even while a cancer spread through the organs of their society. When the uprising came, they were not prepared, and many good citizens and soldiers paid the ultimate price for that lack.”
The space marine captain looked down at Petasos. “We did not come here to guard this planet in perpetuity. We came here as a chirurgeon to cut out that cancer, and to advise the patient how to prevent a recurrence. I would consider our job unfinished if we did not set right the inadequacies of the planetary defense forces. Therefore, Lieutenant Petasos will accompany us as an observer. Lieutenant, do you have anything to say to the Blood Angels?”
Petasos swallowed before keying the mike built into his helmet. He paused for a moment before he spoke to the now-silent ranks of space marines.
“I know that we must look like…fools to you. Yes, lots of things could have been handled better…and I hope that our new leadership…”
He paused again, involuntarily remembering how the space marine captain, whose name he now remembered as Aurel, had summarily executed the 67th regiment’s commander with a single bolt pistol shot. He shuddered lightly, remembering how the old man’s warm blood and brains had sprayed against his face.
“...will take the information that I bring back and use it to strengthen our defenses so that this never happens again.”
He took a deep breath. “I know that we must seem laughably weak compared to you, the Emperor’s angels, but I love my home, as do so many of the rest of us, and we’re going to do everything we can to win this fight.”
Captain Aurel smiled faintly in response. “Well said, Lieutenant. The Emperor protects those who keep faith with Him.”
An alarm buzzed through the fuselage of the gunship, and yellow lights above the assault ramp door began to blink. The gunship slowed and began to rapidly descend. The space marines got to their feet and unstrapped their weapons. Petasos struggled to his feet, still holding onto the jumpseat as the gunship rocked.
Captain Aurel donned his golden helmet and locked it into place. “Are we ready?!” he shouted through his voxmitter.
The Blood Angels roared back in response.
One of the space marines, a sergeant by his black-painted shoulder plates, walked down the aisle between the ranks, doing last minute checks of their equipment. “What is it makes the grass grow?!” he shouted.
“Blood! Blood! Blood!” shouted the space marines in return, thumping their pauldrons with their armored fists.
“What do the daemons crave below?!” the sergeant continued.
“Blood! Blood! Blood!” shouted the space marines, louder this time.
The gunship dropped like a stone, even as the assault ramp began to open, spilling light into the compartment. Petasos held onto the seat, trying not to vomit from the sudden motion.
“What is our strength, what is our gift?!”
“BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!”
The assault ramp was almost fully open now, wind howling into the compartment as the ground outside seemed to be rushing up to meet the ramp.
“Forward now, brothers, deadly and swift!!!”
“BLOOOD!” howled the space marines as they rushed to exit the assault ramp, even before the gunship slammed into the ground.
Petasos staggered after them. Already, the gunship was lifting off again, and he slid forward towards the ramp as the rear of the vehicle began to lift into the air. He tumbled out, twisting and falling before one of the space marines caught him by his web harness.
The Space Marine held him like a sack of tubers, sprinting forward and jumping into the rear of an anti-grav armored personnel carrier. There, he dropped Petasos, even as the APC lifted off the ground.
Another sergeant, this one with severe burn scars, helped Petasos to his feet. “Sergeant Dragomir!” he grinned and pumped Petasos’s hand. “Let’s get you plugged into the company net so you can properly observe!”
The sergeant led Petasos to a vox panel set into the midsection of the APC and plugged his crew helmet into the vox. Petasos thanked him and stood on top of one of the crew benches so he could look around. The space marines had dropped at the edge of one of the minor hamlets that dotted planet Hermaneus. Like most, it was populated by cheap, rusting pre-fab structures, and its streets were strewn with garbage. He could see no movement, though, not even a stray canid. If there were people there, they were keeping their heads down.
He held onto the side-railing as the APC began to move forward. The vox crackled to life.
“Squad Aurel, to all squads, report status.” Petasos looked to his left and saw the space marine captain with a squad of ornately armored, golden-helmed warriors with him, surely the elite of the Blood Angels company.
The Lieutenant did a quick scan of the battlefield as the different squads reported in.
“Squad Bogdan, secured.” Several Blood Angels in heavy armor with long bolt rifles formed a 360 degree defensive posture around the spot where the thunderhawks had landed.
“Squad Cezar, advancing.” Five Blood Angels with yellow-painted helmets, armed with chainswords and bolt pistols, moved from covered position to covered position, towards the town.
“Squad Dragomir stands ready,” reported the sergeant next to Petasos. He and his men cradled enormous looking flamethrowers, held ready over the sides of the APC.
“Squad Emilian, advancing.” Five Blood Angel intercessors with bolt rifles moved forward, covering their yellow-helmed brothers.
“Squad Florintin stands ready,” said a raspy voice over the vox. Petasos couldn’t see the squad, but he could hear the whine of a gunship’s engine in the background and assumed that they were being held in reserve.
“Squad Grigore, ready for action.” Looking forward, Petasos could barely see a squad of lightly-armored space marines, far ahead of their brothers.
“Acknowledged, brothers,” came the voice of the captain again. “Armum Libertas. Let us bring the Emperor’s mercy to the mutant, the heretic and the xenos.”
Petasos looked around as the space marines moved into a rough arrowhead formation. Ahead of them, penned animals lowed nervously. “Wait, you’re attacking an agricultural sector?” he asked the sergeant.
The Blood Angel nodded with a cruel smile. “Indeed. The larger the enemy force, the greater their logistical needs. Destroying their food supplies will reduce their combat effectiveness without any further effort on our part. These cultists are slippery. We’re never going to bring them to battle unless we are directly attacking something that they can’t afford to lose.”
Petasos nodded grimly. His own regiment’s attempt to engage the cultists in open battle had been a disaster of traps, ambushes, and running battles.
The sound of internal combustion engines reached his ears, and he turned to see a pack of bikes and quads come roaring around the corner of one of the buildings and turn into the Blood Angel’s left flank. He shuddered, remembering how those bikers had relentlessly harried his regiment’s flanks.
The bikers fired their quad-mounted heavy guns, their hand-held grenade launchers and multiple small-arms. The Blood Angels intercessors staggered back from the onslaught of fire, some of them falling, the others forced to take cover.
Petasos winced, fearing he was about to see a repeat of his own regiment’s defeat.
The yellow-helmed assault intercessors turned to the left, starting to move towards the bikes, but the nimble vehicles turned and sped out of their reach.
Some kind of four-wheeled utility vehicle drove into a hull-down position in a crater near the center of the battlefield and started firing at the Blood Angels.
The voice of Captain Aurel crackled over the vox. “Enemy bikers designated primary target. Engage at will.”
Petasos grabbed onto the handrails again as the impulsor lunged forward and slewed around to present its flank to the bikes. Sergeant Dragomir smiled as he and his squad raised their pyroblasters over the side of the vehicle and aimed them at the bikes.
“Engaging,” he reported, as his squad blasted streams of thick, burning promethium over the bikers. Petasos shielded his face from the sudden burst of heat, his ears filled with the screams of burning mutants.
When he looked again, he could see that most of the mutants were dead, their bikes smoking and burning, their corpses blackened and charred.
“New targets on the right” crackled the report of Sergeant Grigore. Petasos turned to see a gaggle of armed mutants emerging from the buildings, weapons drawn.
Above the fray, a Blood Angels gunship circled. Black-armored Chaplain Florintin stood in the center of the crew compartment, regarding his squad. The five black-armored Blood Angels struggled weakly in their restraints, their eyes glassy with soporific medications.
Florintin lifted a golden chalice, filled with blood and stimulant chems, to the mouth of the first space marine. He drank greedily, and the Chaplain walked down the line, administering the blood medicine to each.
“Our time is nigh, brothers,” he said as he moved. “The greatest battle is upon us, and I know you will all do your duty, unto the end.”
The first of the space marines looked up at him, his pupils widely dilated. “Terra will not fall, Father.”
The Chaplain nodded and took up the space marine’s black helmet. “Brother Ian, the chapter will remember you. In memento mori.” He placed the helmet on and engaged the seals. Moving down the line, he likewise sealed each marine within their armor with a benediction.
Inside his own helmet, the vox came to life. “Optimal teleport homer location acquired and marked. The Emperor protects.”
The Chaplain leaned down and struck the safety harness of each marine. They stood, hands already reaching for weapons. He strode to the front of the gunship and slammed the release to the assault ramp.
The wind rushed in as he activated the turbines on his jump pack. “Follow me, brothers, for the Emperor, and Sanguinius!” he voxed to the squad.
He leaped from the assault ramp, followed by the rest of his squad. Their jump packs flared, slowing and controlling their descent.
Despite the solemn nature of his charge, Florintin allowed himself a small smile within his helmet. It was in moments like this that he felt like a true angel of death, falling from the sky to smite the unrighteous with holy fury.
The black-armored marines landed just outside a half-collapsed slaughterhouse. The mutants within turned and flinched in shock.
Chaplain Florintin raised his inferno pistol and activated the disruption field of his crozius arcanum. He gave his death company marines no further orders.
There was no need to.
Back in the center of the battlefield, the impulsor rocked violently from an enormous explosion. Petasos looked and saw a dirty mushroom cloud rising from where the Blood Angels command squad had been.
More traps, he knew.
Wind blew the smoke away. The golden-helmed Sternguard Veterans lay scattered, grievously wounded, or worse. Petasos almost cheered, though, as he saw Captain Aurel still advancing, bolt rifle still firing.
The Infernus marines jumped down from the transport and advanced on one of the cattle pens, their pyroblasters burning or driving away the remaining bikers.
In the center of the battlefield, the incursors broke cover, running towards the ridgerunner vehicle in the crater. Another trap exploded, sending three of them sprawling into the dirt. One of the remaining two heaved a heavy haywire mine onto the vehicle’s hood, where it exploded.
The vehicle began to burn, and the mutant commander coughed heavily as he tried to climb out of it.
Captain Aurel shot him in the head, taking the ridgerunner out of the fight permanently.
In the slaughterhouse, the Death Company marines surged into the hapless cultists. Power weapons blazed and thunderhammers came crashing down with deafening booms. Mutants screeched and bled, and all were slain within seconds.
Chaplain Florintin slammed the teleport homer into the ground and pressed the activation rune.
Behind him, he heard trapdoors flipping open, as another swarm of mutants rushed up out of the floor to engage the Death Company.
He regarded them cooly through his skull-faced helmet. “So be it.”
The mutants rushed them, guns blazing.
The impulsor swung back towards the center of the battlefield and Captain Aurel climbed aboard. Petasos could see that his armor was broken in some places, and the red paint could not hide the already-drying bloodstains. Although the captain had survived the trap, he had been seriously injured.
“Primary target, enemy agent on ruined building, will designate,” voxxed Aurel. A flurry of bolter fire from the Blood Angels collapsed a damaged grain silo, sending the enemy explosives there falling to her death.
“Heavy mutant infantry sighted,” came the vox signal. Several enormous mutants holding heavy melee weapons were loping from between the buildings, heading for the Blood Angels.
Captain Aurel jumped off of the Impulsor, landing painfully, and drew his power sword. The assault intercessors moved up to his side.
The captain pointed his blade at the huge mutants and thumbed its activation rune.
“For the Emperor and Sanguinus!” he roared, leading the Blood Angels into a charge.
Petasos shook his head at this display of insane bravado. He had seen those mutants in action before. They had crushed everything in their path, seemingly unstoppable. For the Blood Angel captain to engage them in close combat seemed the height of madness.
The Blood Angels struck with furious precision. Chainswords roared, tearing mutant limbs from lumpy torsos. The captain’s blade flashed, severing mutant heads and carving ugly bodies apart. At the end of the fight, only the largest mutant was still somehow standing, staggering back as his twisted body surged with new life.
More screaming mutants rushed forward, attacking the assault intercessors as the rejuvenated abomination surged forward to clobber them with his hammer. Blood flew as the mutants attacked the space marines viciously. By now, though, the rest of the Blood Angels were converging on the battlefield, firing all the while and killing all of the mutants except for the mighty abomination.
“Fight me!” its twisted mouth gurgled as it swung its enormous hammer around. “Fight me and die!”
The impulsor APC lunged forward and smashed into its twisted body, sending the mighty mutant crashing to the ground, never to rise again.
Captain Aurel surveyed the battlefield. Smoke rose from burning buildings and animal pens. The ground was littered with the bodies of twisted mutants and not a few space marines.
“Mission accomplished. Return to base.”
A slight victory for the Blood Angels!
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