The only ork in the entire mob who wasn’t addling his mind with grog was Grabnut, the mekaniak. And perhaps that was because his mind addled decades ago. He was snoring soundly under his workbench, surrounded by the detritus of another failed ‘genioos invenshun’.

Gubbinz opened his left eye and peered cautiously around. He did most things cautiously, for even in such a haphazard war band as this, the life of a grot is often short and messy. Once he was certain the orks were all asleep he crept from under his box and scurried across the workshop floor. He grabbed something from the table, then looked down at his master.

He’d been Grabnut’s chief, and well frankly only, oiler for years now. But working for a senile mekboy under a depraved warboss had huge advantages for Gubbinz. He got time to tinker with relatively infrequent beatings. Grabnut was often so involved in his latest plan (most likely a rocket power squig, or perhaps a bi-directional shoota for the suicide squad) he often forgot to bellow at Gubbinz for days on end. And being particularly bright for a gretchin, Gubbinz had started to learn things. He edoocated himself.

Moving quietly but franticly Gubbinz scurried out of the mek’s shed and into the camp. As usual the ladz were strewn around the various fires, most of them passed out in their drinks or dropped where they stood. A strange tableau in the centre of the main clearing showed Mazdrock and some other nob had been bashing each other senseless when the squig grog kicked in. They’d both fallen against each other, out cold and standing. Gubbinz silently picked around them, through the ramshackle huts and tents and up the large dune behind the camp. Looking back once to check he hadn’t been spotted, he slid over the top of the dune and down the canyon to his secret place.

For the past few months Gubbinz had snuck out every night like this, scavenging tools and parts from Grabnut’s workshop (and often out of invenshuns, ensuring none of them worked too well) and coming to the clearing. And tonight his work should finally be complete. See, Gubbinz had had revelation several months ago. He realised he was a greenskin. It had come as quite a surprise, but this epiphany of self-realisation led to one further thought. He wanted to kill stuff. Or more accurately, blow stuff up. Unfortunately Mazdrock had long forgotten about the war they were supposed to be fighting. Ever since Looga the madboy shared his squig grog with the other ladz, they’d lost sight of everything except where the next drink came from. And slowly the already dim-witted Mazdrock became slower and duller. Gubbinz knew he had to take matters into his own hands. If he wanted a waaagh, he’d damn well have to start one!

So like any true mekboy (well.. mekgrot anyway) he did what came instinctively. He started building a gargant. A gargant so mighty, so terrifyingly inspiring it would call all the other grots around to his banner, and together they would go show the oomies what real greenskin shootin and choppin was all about!

Gubbinz crawled in through the access hatch and ran through the crude corridors of his creation. He’d never felt more alive, he knew everything about this beast, for here he was the master. He cackled to himself, not knowing any better. Finally he scurried up the ladder into the control room and took his seat. With a sense of orkish pride and a snarl of triumph, he rammed the shiny knob he’d looted from the workshop onto the end of the gear stick, and his creation was complete!

He leaned out the window and looked below, admiring the view from the awesome height. They’d all know such fear, he could hear the oomies panicked cries already. But first he needed to test a few things. And being a reborn greenskin, and hence being a vicious, backstabbing double-dealing son of a bitch, he aimed his gargant towards Mazdrock’s camp and stamped on the go-fasta pedal. The control room lurched, then slowly, with a lumbering grace, a huge foot swung forward and the gargant began to move.

Mozza stirred. The sun was only just rising, so he instinctively knew something was wrong. The amount of grog he drunk in the night should have kept him out cold for hours. Vaguely aware of his job as sentry, he sat up and looked around. Everything looked pretty much as it did a few hours ago when he hit the dirt. Idly picking a lump of meet from his teeth with his choppa, he struggled to his feet and wandered off to relieve himself against Looga’s hut. It wasn’t until he stopped thinking loudly and started concentrating on walking that he heard the it. A low rumble coming from somewhere outside the camp. That must have been what woke him up. He wandered unsteadily towards the large dune at the edge of the camp, the rumbling growing louder all the time.

“Who dat?” he croaked, his throat dry and begging for another drink. There was no reply other than the rising boom boom boom from over the dune. He squinted up at the top of the sand, just as the sun broke over the horizon a square head appeared in the middle. “What dat?” he uttered. Standing still, swaying slightly under the influence, he waited and watched as the shape revealed itself. The unmistakable proportions of an Ork gargant crested the dune. “We don’t got one of dem,” Mozza said, as his acute mind wound around the task. “Dat means… dat means. Er. Oh zog!”

Scrabbling down the dune as fast as his beleaguered legs would take him Mozza rushed back to da camp. “Boss!” he screamed, “boss, we’s under attack!”

The post Rebel Dawn appeared first on BlokeCrafted.

As they scrambled up the giant sandbank ahead they knew from the top they should be able to see headquarters now only one or two kilometres away. The Sergeant peaked the crest first, standing tall
in the fast dwindling amber light. Sure enough, there was HQ, bright
and shining with searchlights scouring the nearby plains.

Directly ahead at the base of the dune was a depression, approximately 500ms square. Entirely in shadow, the western dunes
blocking out the feeble glow, this was the perfect place for an ambush.
The Sergeant signalled his men to stay alert and slid softly down the
sandbank.

The ground as the base of the depression was covered in large mounds. About half a metre tall, almost completely uniform, there
must have been a hundred of them within the range of their gun lights.
It was eerily quiet. Once the suns set the desert would normally be
rife with insects and lizards, searching for food before the
temperatures dropped below freezing point, but here there was nothing.
The sun finally dropped away and took the orange highlights on the
surrounding dunes with it. Now the squad was left with nothing but
their small gun lights to see by.

The Sergeant led his squad through the darkness, picking
his way through the mounds with careful haste. By his estimate they
were halfway across when the first noise rang out. A soggy splintering,
like a wet branch snapping, followed by a heavy thud as something hit
the sand. The squad whirled, aiming their lights over the ground,
trying to locate the source of the noise. But the dune walls were
echoing the sound back and it could have come from anywhere, a hundred meters away, or from around the next mound.

The squad paused, waiting for another sound. None came and
the Sergeant moved them on once again. They’d moved on only another 20 metres when another splintering sound followed by a thud, then another.
Before they could move on the night air was filled with the same
sounds, over and over in an anonymous cacophony. The Sergeant powered up his chainsword, alerting his squad that they may need to make a stand. He took another step forward when the mound in front of him
exploded. The sand slid off, revealing a large dome made of a shiny
white substance. Pieces of this dome shattered away with the wet
cracking sound, dropping next to his feet. The dome lurched to one side and spilled its contents onto the sand with a thud. Amniotic fluid ran across the floor coming into contact with the Sergeants boot. As the liquid seeped into the ground the contact point on the boot started to steam gently.

Slowly, unsteadily, the dark form that had just appeared
began to unfold and rise up. The Sergeant lifted his lasgun up from the
ground, casting it’s light over the new form. The shape was covered in
glistening fluid, but was muscular and hard. The legs were almost
reptilian in appearance, though much longer than any native lizard of
this planet.

Time, which had been moving at a snails pace, suddenly
snapped back to reality and the scene erupted with a flurry of
activity. The Sergeants light hit the creature’s face and as
recognition dawned a spiked claw thrust straight through his stomach.
The beast roared out, provoking similar responses from it’s newly
hatched kin. As it retracted it’s claw the Sergeant watched in horror
as his intestines spilled to the floor, dissolving in the liquid
spilled from the egg. He sank to his knees and was dead before his face
hit the ground.

The rest of the squad started shouting, trying to
co-ordinate a defence before it was too late. But it already was. The
creatures, showing amazing strength and agility for newly born beasts,
leapt onto the remaining mounds surrounding the squad, hissing and
spitting at the guardsmen and each other. Half the squad dropped to
their knees, bringing their guns to bear and opened fire. They plunged
round after round into the terrifying beasts but only a single one fell
from a lucky shot to the eye.

Many of the squad were new recruits, deployed to Kataan IV
as their first mission. They had never seen Tyranid beasts in real life
before, never mind up close and personal.

Confusion reigned in their ranks as they screamed and
fired, but still the beasts just poised there, hissing. It was as if
they were vying for position with each other, wanting to establish
dominance early.

“What are they? Why won’t they die?” yelled one of the younger members as he locked another clip into his weapon.

“Hormagaunts.
They’re newly born, and separated from the Hive Mind, that’s why
they’re acting dumb. Once they figure out they’re on the same side
we’re history. Keep firing damnit,” ordered one of the older members of
the squad. He was a veteran from the early battles against the recent
Hive Fleet. He had seen what the Hormagaunts had done on Pedura XII.
He’s seen an entire company of hardened Catachan Devils fall to these
beasts. He knew they were dead already.

The beast that had killed the Sergeant reared up, screaming
above the hissing, making itself heard. All present at the scene
understood it’s intentions. It was taking control of the brood, drawing
first blood giving it first claim to leadership, at least for now.

Then it was over. The new brood leader leapt forward onto
the unwitting squad, ripping the wily veteran limb from limb,
disgorging his organs over the other guardsmen. The rest of the brood
followed suit, leaping down from the mounds, even as they hatched and
the brood’s number swelled.

In mere moments all ten members of the squad were nothing
more than dismembered limbs and blood stained sand. The beasts, hungry
to feed, set upon the corpses and those of their number still unable to
stand under their own power.

Once they finish their feast they’ll need to hunt again, driven by instinct. The instinct to kill.

The post Instinct appeared first on BlokeCrafted.

This is a historical account of the reclamation of the Kataan System for population and mining purposes.

[External References: Hive Fleet Kraken, Ork Threat, Astronimicon Rating Alpha-Phi]

Discovery

The
Kataan System was first discovered approximately 10 decades ago by
FreeCaptain Archimel Pyryte. Whilst on long distance sublight haulage
of sensitive chemical ores he happened upon an unmarked system. A quick
scan of all 5 planets showed them to be uninhabitable. As per
regulations he reported this finding to the nearest Administratum
official.

The system was officially explored 5 years later
when resources could be freed. Indepth analysis of all five planets
revealed two to be of value for mining operations. However none of the
planets were hospitable to human life.

Terraforming

The
System was designated as a test and development subject for the latest
terraforming technique, Meteorological Acceleration. Rather than adding
anything to the planet that wasn’t previously there, this technique
allows the planets ecosystem to be plunged forward a predetermined time
into it’s evolutionary future. It has been theorised that use on
inhabited worlds could produce disasterous results, the nature fauna
mutating at such a rate death is assured. However on uninhabited
planets this technique can be used to change barren rocks into
inhabitable worlds.

Terraforming began 45years after initial
discovery. The entire system was set off limits during the process,
partially due to fear of the technology falling into unpure hands,
partially because of the severe atmospherical and gravitational storms
involved. There are over 12dozen reports of small ships being destroyed
by security satellites and cruisers during this period. Whether they
stumbled into the system unaware, or whether they were there with
malicious intent was deemed inconsequential.

After half a
decade the gravitational fields settled and the Adepts were able to
sample the atmosphere from orbit. It was found to be breathable and the
process was labelled a complete success.

The Great Storms

Two
days after the first teams of explorers had landed on the planet, The
Great Storms began. Of the thirty five men who landed, only one made it
back off the planet. He gave reports of hail and sleet, rocks the size
of an Ogryns head falling from the sky. Hurricanes and tornados were
rampant, ripping up all the newly created vegetation, engulfing almost
the entire planet in one giant natural disaster.

The storms raged for twenty years, all the time the plant being monitored from orbit. On the 124^th day of the 21^st year, the storms subsided. The planet, though deeply ravaged and torn, was left inhabitable.

Again
explorers set down on the surface, and all the reports they sent back
told of arid, fallow land covering the entire Northern Hemisphere.
However the Southern Hemisphere, though devoid of life, had retained
it’s ability to support life.

Water System

Immediately
an encampment was set up in the centre of the Southern Hemisphere and
teams of geological Adepti began work on setting up a self sustaining
vegetation system. Using genetic strains from the planet soil mutated
plants were cultivated and began growing at an incredible rate.

Large
deposists of water were found under the Southern Pole. It was believed
that the off-spherical shape of the planet, combined with it’s complex
orbit, had pulled all the flood waters from the Great Storms to the
Southern most tip, where they had gathered and seeped into deep
underground caverns.

Within weeks the encampment had been
established as the access point to the sole planetary water supply, and
was marked as the future site of one of the planets larger cities.

The First Arrivals

Once
a water supply was assured and vegetation was established recruitment
for the mining operations on the other two planets of the system began.
It is unclear what methods were used by planetary governors to
influence certain members of their populations to relocate, but it is
rumoured they were offered tithe discounts for each 100 men they
dispatched to Kataan.

The first arrivals set foot on Kataan
IV just as the first city STC was delivered. It was decided that the
first city should be placed in the narrow belt between the desert
wastes and the area already abundant with local flora. Over the next 6
months the outer shell of the city was constructed, providing
protection from the sandstorms that occasionaly swept out of the
desert, and the new emerging life forms in the now fully grown jungle.

As
the final wall section was being placed the new planetary governor,
Diocyes Brast arrived on the planet. As is tradition the most senoir
Administratum representative on the planet was given the privilege of
naming the first city. And so Brast named the city, Katul.

By now a steady stream of immigrants was flowing and the
small shelters were quickly being erected around the inner perimeter of
Katul. Orders were placed for large blocks, capable of house 150,000
people. Over the next two years these arrived one by one until finally
Katul was complete, and almost fully inhabited.

Civil Unrest

As
time passed many of the miners grew dissatisfied, and this turned to
anger. They protested the way in which they were drafted into their
contracts and that the poor working conditions and excessive
commutation were hazardous to their health.

Brast was a pompous self-righteous man and he believed he
could quell the unrest by force. He requested a larger security
contingent from the regional centre, and once they arrived he invoked
curfews on pain of imprisonment and corporal punishment. He believed
that if he could stop the miners gathering he could stop any plotting
before it began.

Within six months the simple unrest and dissatisfaction
turned into small-scale rebellion. The miners, very aware of how the
Imperium treated rebellious workers were very careful in their means.
In the following six months of civil action, not one gun was raised in
anger or any harm inflicted. They simply downed tools, and through a
strict scheme of passive resistance they slowly drove Brast insane.

When his security troops wouldn’t carry out orders to fire
on unarmed, unthreatening civilians, he took matters into his own
hands. Running through the streets of the capital, he killed over 17
men and women before his own security troops shot him dead.

The local Officio Administratum realised the urgency of the
Kataan mining situation. Though even the leanest estimates gave them a
5decade cushion to mine the planets before Veyga collapsed, they did
not want future delays to put this in jeopardy. In what many regard as
a stroke of genius, Governor Jenx was withdrawn from the nearby Pegdra
system and placed in charge of Kataan IV. Jenx was not only an
intelligent man with a great deal of experience, but he was also
compassionate toward his civilians and a reputed swordsman.

With Jenx’ arrival working conditions improved vastly, the
workers returned to their duties and migration rates doubled. Within a
year of his taking the Governor’s seat, five of the current ten cities
were built and inhabited.

Hive Fleet Kraken

A few years
passed with a steady influx of civilians and an increasing export of
mined goods, when Hive Fleet Kraken struck the sector. After many
furious battles and deeds of great courage, the tendril near Kataan was
pushed back, before being destroyed. However as the Tyranids retreated
they placed within close proximity to the Kataan system.

As a cautionary act Imperial Guard troops were dispatched
to sweep every planet in the Fleets fall back corridor. Due to Kataan
IV’s unique status in the system, and vast jungle, two companies of
guardsmen were assigned there.

The first company consisted of desert specialists and
jungle fighters, both more suited to their unique terrain than the
standard guardsmen. The second company was all armoured, dispatched to
give greater mobility over the vast desert.

Captains Prakkarm and Reyjik were charged with the 1st and
2nd companies, respectively, whilst Colonel Jay B. Schneiss oversaw the
entire operation. Also amongst their number was Commissar Yensk,
deputed with ensuring every man fulfilled his duty to the Imperium.

For the next 8 months they scoured the planets surface for
alien threats. Prakkarm leading his men on foot into the Southern
jungles, Reyjik riding his tanks across the Northern deserts. Even
after prolonged and thorough searches there was no sign of the
Tyranids.

When Schneiss was satisfied the planet was clean he
transmitted his findings to the nearest HQ and began preparing his men
for departure, ready to take on their new orders. But they did not
come, and so they waited. Schneiss, not wanting to see his men idle,
set them to searching the planet once again, this time at night, as
reports of nocturnal Tyranids were beginning to come in.

After another two months Yensk left Kataan IV in his
personal cruiser, headed for the local HQ to investigate the delay. As
he left the atmosphere his ship came under heavy fire from short-range
craft. Gaudy, noisy fighters, more suited to strafing runs than space
flight, swooped and dived around his ship, letting off sharp bursts of
projectile and energy fire. Under enormous bombardment Yensk was forced
to return to the surface.

Greenskins

Even as Yensk made
his way to Katul from the site of his emergency landing, the Orks
attacked. For two days and two nights they bombed and strafed the
capital in their flying machines. Flak guns succeeded in taking out a
large number, but still they came. Yensk arrived back inside the city
walls just as the first wave of land faring Orks arrived.

The Orks rode a mass of varied and unique vehicles; each
modified to suit it riders needs. Prakkarm and his company, by sheer
fortune, were inside the capital resting up after two weeks night
scouting. Within minutes of the attack the city had defenders on the
wall.

The battle raged for two whole weeks. The Orks charged and
the defenders repelled, forcing them back. Then they simply upped camp
and left. On the morning of the 16th day of the battle they mounted
their vehicles and headed west from the city. The city had taken heavy
damage to its outer walls, and soldiers had died in the collapsing
rubble, but the gates had held strong and the thousands of civilians
were safe.

Schneiss, getting anxious waiting for the 2nd company,
still on route from the far side of the planet, dispatched a number of
his cavalry, mounted on native reptiles, after the Orks, keen to know
their destination. After 7days without word from his trackers, the 2nd
company arrived.

The Future

Since the
disappearance of the initial scouting party Schneiss has sent out many
more, with varied weaponry and transports. Some have returned, but all
on foot, delirious with heat stroke, they ramble about thousands more
Orks than were involved in the initial confrontation.

Schneiss has since put in a request for additional troops,
and unwilling to separate his companies, he has kept the entire force
at Katul. If the tales of massed Ork ranks are true, then holding the
capital, the source of communications with the rest of the galaxy, is
vital. When the Orks come again, and they will, it is not certain that
the defenders will succeed.

Combine the Orkish troubles with the almost complete halt
to mining operations due to the continued attacks by Ork ships, and the
growing number of rumours of mutated corpses appearing each dawn in the
outlying farms and the situation on Kataan IV is growing ever more
desperate.

The post Historical Account appeared first on BlokeCrafted.

His muscles screamed in anguish, forced into
estranged action after so long immobile. Cayhman ignored their grasping
pleas, gathered the manuscript and hurried from the room to deliver it
to his patron.

The castle was silent as Cayhman hurried down the corridor, manuscript
embraced in his arms. He had no idea of the time of day, only that he
must press on. As he swept off the bottom of the tower’s spiral
staircase his robes caught under his feet and he tumbled to the ground,
spilling his cargo across the corridor. Cursing heavily under his
breath he quickly gathered and resorted the papers, the final leaf
placed on top read simply Veritatis Novus Liber.

With increasing haste he burst into the dungeons and ran to the
looming altar. Placing the manuscript carefully in the centre of the
marked triangle he lit the three black candles at the points and
stepped back to the dais opposite. For silent moments he stood there,
head bowed arms folded inside his robes. He mouthed incomprehensible
words, head nodding softly in agreement with the words he spoke in his
own mind. Then the prayer was complete. With lightning speed his arms
flew wide from within his robe, a slender sacrificial dagger clutched
in his right hand. Without opening his eyes he thrust the dagger deep
into his chest, piercing his heart with cruel accuracy. His carcass
slumped to the ground, leaving the chamber standing empty.

As Cayhman’s blood seeped onto the floor a gentle wind
breezed through the sealed dungeon. The torches burning on the wall
flickered and the breeze increased to a swirling squall centred around
the altar. The candles extinguished, spiralling black smoke into the
gale above. The sides of the triangle glowed a deep red before flashing
brightly into blinding white that filled the room completely. Then it
was over, the torches burning gently as before, the wind and unnatural
light evanesced. The manuscript no longer resided in the chamber.

Lieutenant Glaussman glanced
his head quickly around the wall surveying the battle ground. They were
positioned on the east side of one of the many ruined squares in
Katrika, one of the major cities on Hamaan VIII. His trained eyes
scanned the ruins of the destroyed commerce building opposite, his
mouth moving silently as he counted his enemies.

"12 right, 19 left," he informed his platoon Sergeants. "2
and 3 right, 1 with me." The Sergeants fired off quick salutes then
returned to bark orders to their squads. Glaussman looked to his
command squad, waiting patiently in the shadow of Commissar Krieve, a
domineering form clad in black leather and black mood. "Look alive men,
pick your targets. On me." The squad formed up behind him, crouched in
the cover of the broken walls and debris.

Glaussman watched as the three infantry squads took up
positions in cover to his left, squad 1 to his right. He flicked the
switch on his chainsword feeling the familiar jerk as it ripped into
life, and stood proud above his poised troops. "For the Emperor!" he
bellowed, leading the charge around the corner into the instant hail of
lasgun fire.

Two of his command squad fell as they broke cover, but his
roaring battle cry pulled the others along with him. Squads 2 and 3
charged into the open square and began laying down a barrage of fire
into the enemy facing them. A missile roared past Glaussman’s right ear
as squad 1’s heavy weapons crew found a firing position. They were
halfway across the open square as the enemy troops leapt over their
defences and ran out to meet them. Traitor guardsmen, still wearing the
fatigues of the Hamaan PDF. The two forces crashed into each other in
the open, Glaussman driving his chainsword into the neck of the traitor
in front of him whilst thrusting the muzzle of his bolt pistol into
another and squeezing the trigger. Both forms slumped to the floor to
be replaced by others. To his left he saw 2 and 3 squads meeting
similar resistance but holding strong under the steady gaze of their
Sergeants. Krieve was as a calm sea, thrusting his power sword into
enemy after enemy with no emotion. Glaussman couldn’t help feeling
Krieve was watching his men as closely as he was the enemy.

After several moments of melee the traitors broke and ran
for cover, only to be cut down by the combined loyalist heavy weapons.
Glaussman ordered his men to tend to the wounded and make cover in the
ruins of the commerce building. He put his foot against the chest of
the traitor at his feet and flicked the reverse on his chainsword,
allowing it to slide smoothly from the corpse’s sternum. As he did so
he noticed a small black book fall from inside the dead man’s tunic. He
stooped to retrieve it, feeling the indomitable presence of Commissar
Krieve at his shoulder.

"Found something of interest, Lieutenant?" Krieve queried.
"I’m not sure," Glaussman replied, but he was sure. This was the item
that had been alluded to in his brief, he was certain of it. Such a
small book. Glaussman suddenly realise he was being spoken to. His
Sergeants were bringing in casualty reports, they were mercifully
light. "Get your men on their feet, we are leaving. Our mission is
complete."

They scrambled up the side of the collapsed tribune hall to
their LZ. Since leaving the square several hours previously Glaussman
had felt unsettled. His tunic felt heavy, he limbs lethargic. This
campaign had not been an especially arduous one, he should have felt
refreshed from the two weeks R&R. Something wasn’t right. With an
almost audible click he had a moment of clarity. It was the book, it
was speaking to him in white noise inside his head. The weight he felt
was this almost insignificant leather bound book. Perhaps if he opened
it he could understand. The drop ship blasted through the clouds in a
deafening roar of retros and broke his trail of thought. He returned to
order his Sergeants to get the men on board.

Inside the drop ship he could feel the weight starting to
press on him again. He struggled against his safety restraints and
removed the book from his tunic. It felt warm in his hand, comfortable,
familiar. Almost without will his left hand moved to open the cover,
the white noise in his head buzzing to a crescendo.

"I’ll take that, thank you Lieutenant." Glaussman’s hand
snapped away from the book as his head rose to meet the voice. Standing
eight feet tall above him was a figure that made even Krieve look
diminutive. Bedecked in massive, pitch black terminator armour loomed
Inquisitor Devault.

He leaned down and removed the book from Glaussman. He
sensed the book as it was brought on board the drop ship. It was
fortunate he was here, no doubt the Lieutenant would have succumbed to
it’s lure like so many before him. "Your mission is complete
Lieutenant, your men have done well." Humouring guardsmen was not in
Devault’s nature, but the man had proved his faith in resisting the
temptation. He turned on his immense heel and returned to the forward
cabin, leaving Glaussman in shock and with an inexplicable sense of
loss.

—-

Devault knelt patiently in
front of the psychic-projector waiting for the connection to be
established. A translucent form of another equally massive Inquisitor
appeared in front of him.
"Arise, Devault. What do you have to report?"

The
floor of the cabin shook as Devault raised his bulky armour to a
standing position. "It is as we feared Master Taylek. The uprising on
Hamaan VIII is fuelled by the accursed book."

"That makes three planets in the system," Taylek’s shadowy
form replied. "Very well, lock it down, purge the traitors and destroy
all copies of that damned text. I will instruct the navy to blockade
the system. We must ensure no copies are spread beyond Hamaan. For the
Emperor."

Devault returned the figure’s salute before the connection
was lost. Whispering the words of an ancient mantra he pointed a finger
to the book sat on his desk before it was engulfed in righteous flame.
The text flared into incandescence and crumbled to nothing moments
before the cabin’s sprinkler system kicked into action drenching the
room. Devault removed his force sword from its scabbard and began
systematically polishing the blade with a black stone. Too many planets
are being tainted by the words of this book. Something had to be done
to stem the tide.

—-

Governor Mancek reverently closed Veritatis Novus Liber.
He lifted his head from the gold studded cover to look at his people.
The thousand strong congregation had sat and listened in silence for
over an hour as he read one of his favourite passages from the text.
Many of them had simply nodded in agreement with what they already new.
Those in the congregation for the first time sat with tears streaming
down their face and a wave of comprehension washed over them. Thus was
it like for everyone, even the Governor when he first read the Book.

"Go now, my friends, and spread the word to your loved
ones, your friends, your colleagues." He stood at the lectern at the
front of the huge gathering chamber beneath the Halls of Justice. His
arms raised in a gesture of love for his people. "Tell them of the
peace of spirit and understanding that the good Book will bring them.
Tell them of how it feels to read the text and know it to be true. Tell
them, and bring them with you next time. Praise be." The crowd
responded and began leaving the chamber.

Mancek stood and watched them all file out. He watched the
exchange of love as friends hugged and made arrangements to meet again.
Casting his mind back he remembered the dark times, before the book had
arrived. The people were despondent, lost of hope. They had been
abandoned and held onto sanity with a tenuous grasp. Then that blessed
day the Book had arrived in his belonging, by good fortune or higher
will he didn’t know or care. He remembered the first night he sat and
read the book. Through tear streaked eyes he had read it cover to cover
and he understood. Everything was explained, the reasons for their
despondency, the reason why they had been abandoned. But more, the Book
had offered solutions. It showed the way to happiness, love, belonging.
It defined a path he could take, and he could lead his people upon.

And so he was leading his people. What had started as a
simple book reading amongst friends had spiralled to a congregation of
thousands each week. They came in groups, and each time they returned
they brought more with them. Before long the entire planet would
understand and feel the love they felt.

Of course there had been a few who wouldn’t accept what
they read. Mancek honestly couldn’t understand why they felt that way.
Yes they cried when they first read the Book, but they were tears of
anger, of revulsion. They were seemingly driven insane by the text.
Mancek had no alternative but the poor creatures put out of their
misery. They were spreading ill feeling amongst his people, unsettling
the settled, discomforting the comforted. The Book had explained some
would react like this, but it didn’t make their refusal to be loved any
easier to bare.

The matter should have ended there, but the damned Imperium
had to get involved. Again, with intuition beyond comprehension the
Book had predicted their intrusion into paradise and Mancek had
prepared his PDF, ready to repulse the invaders. The battle had
unfortunately escalated though, and now several cities on the southern
continent were war zones. But the non-believers would be purged. In the
past he would have settled for annihilating them, but filled with the
splendour of the good Book now he wanted more. He wanted to convert
them. Mancek was certain if he could just read to them they would
understand and see the truth. That was all he wanted. He no longer
wanted war, he wanted the peace the Book would bring, the peace it
promised.

The Governor left the Book standing on the lectern, knowing
no one would steal it, there was no sense to it. He blew out the black
candles and left the room to inspect his troops.

—-

Glaussman sat in the
briefing idly flicking the handle of his combat knife. "Lieutenant
Glaussman, are you paying attention?" Captain Pritus had spotted the
distant look in his eyes. Glaussman snapped upright. "Yes sir, of
course," he lied. He hadn’t been able to focus since the return from
Katrika a week ago. It was like something was pulling at him, drawing
his mind’s eye. He’d spent a few hours meditating, trying to focus upon
the tasks at hand, but in quietening his mind it just made the lure
stronger, unclouded by other distractions.

Pritus pounded across the briefing room, shaking the
temporary structure with each step. The loyalist forces were camped at
the edge of a large forest several kilometres from the city of Katrika.
As reports of enemy numbers were returned to Sector Command more troops
had been arriving on a daily basis. Heavy support was due any day.

The Captain stood facing his junior officers, hands on hips
and a steely look of determination in his eyes. "We have our orders,
gentlemen. Mancek, the treacherous governor of this rock is reported to
be delivering sermons to the people of Katrika. We are to assault the
city, crush resistance and capture Mancek for interrogation by the
Inquisition." Staring into the eyes of his soldiers he assessed their
reactions. When satisfied he wheeled to the map of the city and began
explaining the plan of attack.

Lieutenant Glaussman listened to the plan as Pritus laid it
out. It was a good plan, the traitors would not be expecting the
assault in strength through the intact buildings on the far side of the
city; their forces would be concentrated in the ruins where the last
assault struck. As he listened he could feel his will steady. The
nagging feelings in his mind pushed back and buried. This was what he
was trained to do and he felt his thoughts slip into line for the first
time in days.

—-

Master Inquisitor Taylek
flicked the switch on his personal log-corder and began speaking as he
flicked through the notes on his desk.

"The taint of the book has infected the Hamaan system, I
have instructed Inquisitor Devault to cleanse the eighth planet and
bring me the Governor. Perhaps if we can trace the route by which he
acquired the text we can start to locate its origins."

"In the past six months three such systems have been
infected and systematically cleansed by the Emperor’s loyal forces.
This insidious book speaks to the weak of mind and resolute equally and
must be stopped. I myself have only managed to read several pages
before I could feel my mental barriers being torn down. It is evidently
enraptured with a deep curse to support the sickening words. Perhaps it
is the content which is most unsettling of all."

"The document contains certain allegations, certain
statements about the path of righteousness that encompass the reader
with a false sense of hope. By ripping down all that we have sought to
protect in the Emperor’s name for years it offers way of explanation to
those searching for an easy solution."

"As I sit here now, reading through the notes I made as a
read those single pages I can hear the surreptitious call of the book
knocking at the walls of my mind, asking quietly for entry. If it can
act upon even my trained mind I fear that we will not be able to rely
on the stout heart of loyal men to resist."

"Until now we have only been able to perform a reactionary
solution. I hope that by interrogating this governor we can find a way
to become proactive. If we can trace the source and break the curse the
text will simply be another book of lies. Whilst still dangerous, at
least we can fight evil propaganda with hope, virtue, and above all
faith."

Taylek flicked off his log-corder and gathered the pages in
front of him. Calming his mind he took them to the sacristy adjoining
his office and opened the door. From deep within his mental barriers he
could feel the wave of temptation break over him. The blessed room, to
which he held the only key, was lined with copies of the Veritatis Novus Liber.
Each one retrieved form a different system, each one bound in a subtly
different manner. Taylek hoped eventually he would be able to read each
one to make direct comparisons without succumbing.

But that day was not today. He placed his notes on the
shelf inside the door and stepped out, closing the massive ornate door
and breathing a sigh of relief as the lure of the book was cut out.

—-

Glaussman advanced his
troops down the silent stairwell. His platoon had just negotiated the
precarious crossing between the deserted habitat buildings’ roofs and
were now moving to rendezvous with Platoon Gamma in the Senate Forum
across the square.

So far the assault had gone without hindrance. Minimal
resistance had been met in the form of sentries on patrol, but these
had been silently dispatched by the scouting parties. Now Glaussman’s
men advanced along with the main body picking their way from building
to building. Without support from heavy artillery they intended to use
the cover of the buildings all the way to the Halls of Justice where
Mancek was reported to be.

Glaussman’s attendant stumbled down the near vertical
stairs and began a hastening descent toward the beckoning window. An
arm reached around the corner and halted his progress moments before he
began his fifteen storey plummet to the Emperor. Commissar Krieve
pulled the terrified mans face to his. "Pay more attention guardsman,"
he snarled. The attendant managed a stuttered acknowledgement as
Glaussman strolled past him, patting him on the shoulder with a barely
disguised smirk.

Furniture and belongings were strewn across each hallway
they descended through. The occupants had been evacuated to the other
major cities as soon as the fighting began, but the looters had
obviously stayed a while longer. "Tighten up men, keep your eyes
peeled," Glaussman warned. The last thing they needed was some lousy
thief to blow their cover.

The lieutenant slipped by his men in the lobby and joined
Sergeant Uchek at the front door. "All clear?" he inquired of the first
squad’s sergeant. Uchek was silently surveying the terrain with a scowl
on his face. To proceed to the RV they needed to cross the desolate and
forbidding square ahead of them. Several burned out vehicles stood as
stark reminders of the civilian impacts of their jobs. More
importantly, buildings on either side afforded ample opportunity for an
ambush.
"I don’t like it, sir," Uchek replied carefully. "It just seems.."
"Too quiet?" Glaussman cut in with a sardonic grin. Uchek nodded, but humoured his Lt with a distant smile.
"C’mon, we have somewhere to be," Glaussman said, opening the door and
sliding into the cover of the hab buildings mesh fence.

In twos the guardsmen slid quickly across the square,
Glaussman waiting at the entrance to the hab building eyes repeatedly
scanning for sign of movement. Uchek led his squad across to the Halls
of Justice unfettered, the second squad was just passing the last of
the wrecked vehicles when the sentry patrol rounded into the square.
Then a brief glimpse of hell broke loose.

"Fire, Fire," bellowed Uchek, his squad the closest to the
fifteen man patrol. Catching them unaware several of the sentries were
dead before they could return fire. Second and third squad hustled to
keep up with Glaussman and his command squad as he sprinted across the
square to aid Uchek.

The hail of lasgun fire enveloped Uchek’s squad as they
sought cover amongst the pillars of the Halls of Justice. The sentry
patrol was advancing on their position, determined to remove one of the
problems and allowing them to confront one target, the advancing guard
in the square. Uchek’s heavy weapons team went down first as they
struggled to rig the missile launcher. Then went the special weapons
gunner. Uchek dropped two of the advancing sentries with his pistol
before the clip emptied. Then the sentries were upon them. Casting
aside his pistol he kicked up his chainsword and charged the nearest.

The clash of rifles being used as improvised close combat
weapons could be heard across the square, along with the raucous growl
of Uchek’s sword. Glaussman flicked his into gear and accelerated to
aid the outnumbered squad. As he hurtled up the steps of the Halls of
Justice he saw the guardsman behind Uchek fall and the sentry raise his
rifle at the sergeant’s back. Glaussman screamed in defiance,
unleashing a flurry of shots from his bolt pistol. He saw the man fall,
but not before he let fly a shot of laser energy square in Uchek’s
back. The sergeant crumpled to the floor just as the command squad
overran the remnants of the sentries and eliminated them.

Glaussman reached down and removed the whirring chainsword
from Uchek’s dead hand, flicking the switch to silence the teeth. He
allowed a moment of prayer for his fallen comrade, then quickly tossed
the chainsword to one of the three surviving members of squad one.
"Corporal, your Acting Sergeant. Take two men from my command squad and
follow us to the RV."

They left the bodies of Uchek, his men, and the sentries
laying on the steps of the Halls of Justice. There was no time now but
they would return later to collect their comrades.

—-

Inside the Halls of Justice
Pritus and the second platoon had secured the entrance hall and two of
the courts. There was no sign of the governor, but his security forces
were arriving up the stairs at the far end of the long entrance lobby.

"Lieutenant Glaussman, casualties?" Pritus inquired of the Lieutenant as he approached.
"7 dead, 1 walking wounded, sir. Any reports of Mancek?" Glaussman was
forced to shout over the explosion of a frag missile in the corridor
behind them.

"Oh he’s here alright," Pritus said with a cold smile, "I
can smell him. Take your men down the east corridor. We’ve destroyed
the north east stairwell which is why his forces are coming up down
there," he said, gesturing to the entrance lobby where his men crouched
embroiled in another brief firefight. "Get around to the far side and
flank that staircase, I want to hold the security forces at the base of
that stairwell till we find another way down."

Glaussman fired of a salute then in a rushed crouch crossed
the end of the lobby corridor to where his men waiting in cover on the
far side. "With me," he ordered, leading his men off down the east
corridor as instructed.

—-

Mancek could hear the
fighting above them and knew the Imperial forces had arrived for him.
His men were fighting bravely for their homeland though, and it would
take time before their lines were broken. He stood alone now in the
massive gathering chamber that only hours ago had held another
congregation. Fortunately the faithful had left before the Imperial
troops arrived, bringing their death and destruction with them.

He gathered up the ornately bound copy of the Book in his
hand and strode confidently down the centre of the chamber to the
stairs. Now seemed as good a time as any to begin the conversion.

On the mezzanine floor aside the chamber he met several
squads of his troops. All smiled at his approach, though obviously
harried by the situation. He read a brief paragraph from the Book and
touched each man on the shoulder in turn. They visibly steadied, their
very souls touched by the words as he spoke them.

At the base of the final flight of stairs he could see the
bodies of his soldiers, his friends, laying across the landing above.
Here was where the fighting was thickest, security forces all around
him firing into the swirling smoke above them. Debris and plaster dust
rained down the stairs like a collapsing waterfall. Such a waste that
this glorious building would be dishonoured with death like this.

Mancek opened the Book at the first page and raising his
voice to a roar he began reading, throwing his words over the exchange
of laser fire and into the midst of the forces above. If they could
only hear, he knew, they would understand. He must make them hear.

—-

Glaussman stood at the side of the stairs
leading down, in the cover of the flight above. He could see the dead
bodies of security forces laying where they had fallen. Further down
the corridor loyalist casualties were being dragged further down the
lobby to safety. Behind him Krieve and the rest of his command squad
were breathing down his neck. To his right squads two and three, to his
left on the stairs above the remnants of squad one.

Then he heard a voice carrying over the noise of
destruction. At first he couldn’t make out the words, they were faint
and broken by shell explosions and the occasional grenade. Then a
sentence was strung together and he felt it encompass him like a warm
glove. His eyes began to glaze and, disembodied, he could see his legs
extend and he rose. He took a single step forward before Krieve pulled
him to the floor. "Where the hell do you think you’re going
Lieutenant?" he bellowed into his ear, breaking the spell.

The Lieutenant looked around flustered. Obviously he was
the only one who had heard the voice, the others too far away. He
looked at Krieve, a vision of fury behind him and his men at his side.
"Grenades," he ordered simply. Gesturing at squad two he ordered them
to deliver their frag grenades down the stairwell. They tossed them
down and quickly made cover. The voice had faded now, perhaps he’d
imagined it he mused. Then the grenades exploded.

—-

Mancek closed the book as
the roar of gunfire overcame even his commanding voice. Perhaps now was
not the best time. He became even more adamant in this conclusion as
several grenades bounced down the stairs like some corrupted child’s
toy.

"Grenade!" he roared, turning to flee pushing his troops
with him. The explosions half collapsed the hallway they were standing
in, bringing down light fittings and chunks of the ceiling. The artwork
on the walls was burning, ruined beyond recognition. Mancek sneered
with fury. These Imperial forces would destroy everything beautiful to
satisfy their own blood lust.

He rose from the debris and ordered his men to hold as long
as possible, then retreat to their loved ones. Then he scurried from
the hallway back to the gathering chamber. Rushing to the lectern at
the front he could hear the security forces dying above. He silently
vowed to read the good Book to their loved ones himself, then flicked
the switch on the lectern that opened the secret hatch below. Squeezing
through the trapdoor, the Book still gripped firmly to his chest he
slid from view to the waiting subterranean escape pod below. Within a
few short minutes he would be safe within his mountain chateau. Then he
could reorganise his forces and perhaps find a better forum to read to
the Imperial heretics.

—-

Glaussman and his men broke
through the defences on the floor below, hurdling the great cracks in
the staircase and floor the engage the enemy. The minimal forces were
quickly destroyed. Pritus leapt down the stairs to Glaussman’s side.
"Good work, Lieutenant. Now spread out, sweep this building. I want
Mancek."

It was fifteen minutes later when one of Platoon Gamma
located the destroyed remains of an escape tunnel under the lectern.
Obviously someone had used it then collapsed it behind them. Mancek had
escaped.

In a flurry of swearing Pritus pulled both platoons out to
return to their base camp. They’d have to wait for more intel to
relocate Mancek.

—-

Two days after the failed
foray into Katrika the black Thunderhawk arrived at the base camp. The
retros blasting the dirt from the ground, swirling it into dozens of
miniature tornadoes, the landing claws sunk into the earth and the
immense, graceful beast came to rest.

The hatch swung silently open before hitting the ground
with a resounding thud. The vibrations ran through Pritus’ quarters
knocking his belongings over on the bunk. He flicked the flap open and
stepped out into the glaring sunlight to watch the bird expel its
contents.

Down the ramp pounded Inquisitor Devault, clad in his
familiar jet black terminator armour. Pritus realised with a silent
reproof at his lack of observation, that Devault had not been seen in
the camp since Glaussman retrieved that item from Katrika over a week
ago.

Behind Devault filled twenty men, walking in pairs. They
were clad in blue and black urban camouflage and carrying large packs
on their backs. Each carried a unique lasgun, modified by its owner to
his personal requirements. Storm Troopers, here to aid the Inquisitor
in the capture of Mancek.

Pritus watched the Storm Troopers fall out and begin
sorting their kit ready for their mission. He couldn’t help feeling
slightly chastised, the implication being that his men were
insufficient to the task.

"That is because they are proving to be," Devault spoke as
he approached. "Mancek can not be allowed to pursue his cause any
longer, we move now to remove him. He has been located in his mountain
chateau several miles from here. Move your men, Captain, we leave in
ten minutes." As the massive figure turned and strode away Pritus used
every ounce of self control he could muster to resist thinking what he
really wanted to think.

—-

The setting sun turned the
sky a golden amber behind the governor’s chateau, highlighting every
intricate tower and edifice that arose from the body of the structure.
The building was situated on a small island surrounded by a lake
designed for aesthetics rather than defensive capability. The building
was not designed to resist an assault. Never the less there were a
great many guards in position on the catwalk across the lake, and
shadows could be seen passing along the twisting walls.

Pritus lowered his binoculars. The walls were impressive
but surmountable, certainly with the added assistance of the Inquisitor
and his storm troopers. He looked at Devault who was scanning the
chateau unaided, his superior marine vision serving its purpose. With a
single word Devault moved his men forward leading a direct assault
across the catwalk. Pritus radioed the go signal to his troops
positioned around the lake, who began making their way as quickly as
possible through the waist high water.

The entire catwalk shuddered with every step Devault took.
He knew his massive frame would intimidate the guards, that was partly
it’s purpose. He strode ahead of the storm troopers assigned to him,
ready to meet whatever the heretics would throw at him. He was several
metres towards the chateau when the alarm was raised. Almost
instantaneously shots rang out striking the water and catwalk around
him. He lifted his storm bolter and returned fire, shredding the men
ahead of him with relative ease. Leaning out from behind his armour the
storm troopers were taking pot shots, sniping off the men on the wall
with brutal accuracy.

They were closing the distance to the gates with great speed when the counter attack began.

Pritus
was following the Inquisitor at a respectful distance accompanied by
his command squad. Lieutenant Glaussman and his infantry platoon were
covering the rear, waiting for the gates to be breached before
beginning their advance. It was they who spotted the crowd approaching.

Coming from the local town was a militia rabble, a hundred
or so of the townsfolk coming to the aid of their governor. They
carried stub rifles and crude hand weapons, but they were zealous and
quickly rushed toward the loyalists.

Glaussman ordered his men to form firing ranks and return
fire. The townsfolk ran into the guns like men possessed and though
taking heavy casualties ploughed into combat with the guardsmen, each
muttering incomprehensibly under their breath.

—-

Mancek heard the first shots
being fired and looked up from his papers. He had not been expecting
them to arrive quite so soon. He hurriedly rummaged through the papers,
retrieving the Book then ran from the room to join his men.

He reached the entrance hall just as the doors exploded
into a thousand splinters of wood. The doors were not designed to
withstand much more than a strong wind, never mind intensive fire form
a storm bolter. The security squads in the hall braced themselves for
the onslaught and moved to take firing positions.

A deafening crash accompanied the remnants of the door
being kicked from their hinges, a monster of a silhouette replacing
them. The figure roared in defiance and pointed straight at Mancek.
"I come for YOU."

Mancek resisted the urge to
flee, gripping the book tighter in his hands. Even this man could be
helped to see the light, it was his duty to try. He opened the book and
began reading loudly as his men hopelessly tried to assault the beast.

—-

The militia men were
ridiculously untrained, but fought with vigour and an almost insane
will. Glaussman kicked one in the mid-rift bringing his bolt pistol
down onto the man’s spine, shattering it instantly. Wheeling to his
right he avoided the desperate lunge of a plasteel bar before pivoting
to lop its bearer’s head clean off with his chainsword.

His men were holding, casualties relatively light. With
luck they could be done with these madmen and join in the hunt for the
governor. Glaussman was keen to see the man who wielded that book
almost like a weapon. Mancek had obviously listened to that nagging
feeling and so didn’t feel the loss that was once again brewing inside
the lieutenant. It did not yet distract him from his duty, but it
certainly impelled him toward the chateau.

He swung his chainsword above his head, narrowly missing his sergeant as it bit clean through one of the younger militia men.

—-

Pritus
followed the Inquisitor and his men into the chateau. The entrance hall
was already a scene of devastation only moments after they arrived.
Devault was ripping through the security forces like they were only
wraiths, ethereal figments of Pritus’ imagination. The man moved with
such awesome speed for the bulk of his armour.

Reality snapped Pritus’ attention as a security team
bypassed the monstrous Devault and headed straight for his command
squad. They engaged quickly in combat, the command squad out numbered
but standing firm against the traitors, before overpowering them and
destroying them all.

The Captain could hear shots being fired from all around
the chateau now as the other troops under his command arrived having
crossed the water. They would soon be breaking through the side gates
to meet up in this massive entrance hall.

It was then he heard the sound of one mans voice carrying
above the din of the battle. The troops with him heard it too. At first
he didn’t understand, the words incomprehensible speaking of things he
knew couldn’t be so. But then it washed over him, like the thunder
following the flash. He could feel tears swelling in his eyes as he
listened. He looked around the room and what he saw shook his soul.

The man he had looked at with awe and respect now appeared
as a monster, a massive beast intent on destroying all that was pure
and good. Those with him seemed undecided, some obviously listening to
the truth, others appeared to be screaming with rage. They were duly
hacked down by their brothers and soon all who stood in that entrance
hall understood the glorious truth. All except the monster in their
midst.

—-

With a victorious cry
Glaussman hacked down the final militia member and, after posting squad
2 to stay and watch their rear, charged toward the fray in the chateau.

Only there was no fray. As he got closer he could see them
all standing in reverent silence. Only one figure moved in their midst,
his gleaming black sword spinning round cleaving through all, loyalist
and traitor alike. Had the Inquisitor gone mad?

Glaussman slowed his men and began approaching with
caution. Then a cry rose from the hall ahead and all men, security
forces and guardsmen, charged at the figure in black. This wasn’t
right, the lieutenant knew. Something had happened to Pritus.

He pulled his men up short of the entrance and again formed
firing ranks. It wasn’t until one of the guardsman ran from the
entrance hall with the same wild look in his eyes muttering the same
incomprehensible words that he knew his suspicions were correct. They
had fallen.

"FIRE!" he roared at his assembled men. Without question
they squeezed the triggers on their rifles cutting down the lone figure
ahead and making a swathe in those in the building. Glaussman stood at
their side, picking his shots carefully with his bolt pistol, hoping
the Inquisitor would have the good sense to at least try and get out of
the way.

—-

Devault wasn’t surprised
when the first of the loyalist men attacked him. He had felt the change
in the room as Mancek had begun to read from the book. He had managed
to block it out, indulging himself with a little blood lust to focus
his thoughts.

However he was surprised when those outside began firing. A
strength of will and faith that perhaps he had not expected from the
assembled guardsmen. Their combined fire was making his task easier as
he waded through the dead and living alike.

Mancek saw him coming as he approached the stairs to where
he stood. Devault could see the look of burning zeal in his eyes and
knew the man would never surrender. Cleaving his force sword through
three men at once he stepped in front of the governor.

"You will come with me, heretic. Now is the time to beg the Emperor for forgiveness, for He knows I will give none."

Mancek stood staring up at the Inquisitor, his finger paused under the line he was reading, the words half formed in his mouth.

"He may be your emperor, you closed minded fool," Mancek spat, "but to me he is just a broken old cripple. Nothing but a.."

The
sentence hung incomplete in the air as Devault’s force sword swept a
low arc and drove through both his thighs, cleaving his legs from his
body. Mancek howled in pain briefly before passing out. Devault
sheathed his sword and roughly collected the governor and his precious
book.

The Inquisitor turned to see the loyalist guardsmen had
made good work of clearing the room of the living, their comrades, the
storm troopers under his command, and the security forces, all traitors
now of course. He merely nodded to the lieutenant as he stormed past,
eager to carry his prey to his drop ship, though the instant
cauterising effect of the force sword should help slow his victim’s
death.

Glaussman watched with unconcealed awe as the Inquisitor
strode away. Then the realisation of what had happened hit him. He had
just killed his Captain and many previously loyal guardsmen. All for a
fragging book?

The book. Glaussman suddenly heard it, it filled to room,
swirling in the lights, sweeping across the corpses, flitting around
the archways and pillars. He spun around and ordered his men to return
to the base camp. As one they turned and headed across the catwalk.
Glaussman crouched down by the nearest security trooper’s body and
rummaged quickly through the tunic. He found what he was looking for,
an innocuous black leather bound book. He slipped it inside his
waistband and rushed to rejoin his men.

—-

The drop ship came to
collect the loyalist troops later that night. On the ride to their
transport barge home none of them spoke. Inquisitor Devault had left
immediately with Mancek’s still unconscious form. The mood was even
more sombre now the giant had left, if at all possible.

Glaussman looked at his battered men. They had fought well
under extreme circumstances, no man should be asked to kill his
comrade, yet they did, like true professionals. Perhaps there is some
order left in the Imperium after all. He smiled discreetly to himself
and patted the small lump in his waistband comfortingly. He had only
read the first page before they had been picked up, but already he knew
it would change his life. Something about it felt so right, so
settling, so.. truthful.

As their transport left the Hamaan system passing through
the Imperial Navy blockade without restriction, Glaussman made a silent
vow to himself to ensure his men would too receive the solace of the
good Book. Veritatis Novus Liber indeed.

The post Veritatis Novus Liber appeared first on BlokeCrafted.

“Infidels everywhere! We are overrun, we are dying. Send help with utmost haste”

The screams of the half crazed tech priest rang out over the bridge intercom, a frantic overtone above the sounds of battle.

“Set
course, maximum velocity. Maxilus, awaken the men, we prepare for
battle!” Kruger had made his decision; the Ultramarines would rush to
the aid of the workers on the machine world Epstil VIII. Once the
heretics had been cleansed it would also provide an opportunity to
replenish their rapidly diminishing supplies.

“We are making orbit now, Commander.
Squads I through IX are aboard the thunderhawks,” announced the pilot,
almost an hour after the distress call had sounded. Nothing had been
heard from Epstil VIII since.

Kruger pounded across the bridge to the short range scanner
terminal. There were still small clusters of activity on the surface;
most likely the last vestiges of whatever defence the workers had
mounted. He pressed the screen, simultaneously activating the main
display and the thunderhawk pilot’s readouts.

“Here, here and here. We shall strike hard and fast.
Obliterate all resistance, minimise non-hostile casualties where
possible. None shall stand against us. The Emperor goes with you
Brothers.”

The airlocks of the cruiser hissed and the three
thunderhawks carrying the remnants of Kruger’s contingent along with
their heavy support catapulted out of their docking bays. In a flare of
thrusters they made for the atmosphere before splitting off on course
for their target areas.

Britus was unsettled as they dropped
from the twilight dawn sky. He’d flown his thunderhawk in a hundred
assaults and had long grown accustomed to his instinctive feelings.
This one did not feel right. They met no resistance during their
descent, the air free of anti-aircraft fire and what few ground troops
they had scanned quickly fled the landing zone. But still he couldn’t
shake the sensation.

With the expertise of decades of flight time, he touched
the hawk down with barely a shudder. Flicking the intercom switch he
leaned forward to speak. “Sergeant Publius, the area is secure,
disembark your squads. Fight well brothers.”

The cabin shook as the massive terminators shifted their
bulk down the access ramp below them. Britus’ co-pilot was glued to the
perimeter scan, checking and double checking for movement.

The proximity alarm rang out. “There, movement in the south quadrant.”

Again
Britus flicked the intercom switch, the signal automatically routing to
the Sergeant’s headset. “Publius, the perimeter is breached. Make
cover.”

The men below scattered as once again the cabin shook, this
time as the wing gun turret rotated to face the enemy threat. Britus
brought up the rear visual scanners onto the main readout. The display
showed no movement, but the perimeter scan insisted there was danger.
Both crew and gunner alike scoured the scene for the threat, but none
was forthcoming.

“Wait, there!” yelled the co-pilot, pointing frantically at
a shadow amongst the oil drums. “I don’t see it, where… by the Emperor,
gunner check your thermal scan.” The gunner flicked a switch and the
mess of rusty barrels was replaced by deep reds and purples. In the
shadow the co-pilot had pointed at was a dark, sucking void. Not only
was there the absence of heat, but it was drawing in the from the
surrounding area. A demonic aura.

“I check that, locking in.” The turret began rotating once more, as the gunner trained his sights on the shadow.

As
the twin heavy bolters mounted on the turret came to bear on the
shadow, the aura flickered on the gunner’s thermal scan. A power source
now read in the centre of the void. It was aware of their presence.

A massive thud rang out across the landing zone. All eyes
in the thunderhawk were riveted to the scanners, all the disembarked
troops waited anxiously. A second thud followed, then where there was
shadow there was form. A Chaos dreadnought. Britus had seen Chaos
dreads before, but this was unlike any of those. This was monstrous.
Each thunderous step forward caused a wave of static to run across
their scanners.

“The heavy bolters aren’t even going to scratch that thing. Fire up the thrusters, we’re getting the frag out of here.”

The
hawk’s venturi flaps spasmed as the onboard computers struggled to
control the huge blast of heat. Clouds of dust began to billow around
the hawk, compromising the vision of those on the ground. The co-pilot
was desperately flicking through the scan modes, trying to see this new
threat through the clouds of hot dust. None of them offered any better
view of the dreadnought, and so as he completed the cycle he returned
to the thermal scan. Then he saw too late their demise. The massive
plasma weapon mounted on the dreadnought’s right arm was ablaze with
white heat. The readout on the scanners was off the chart. He opened
his mouth to scream a warning to Britus, but the thump of all the
surrounding oxygen being consumed muted his cries.

Publius had a limited view from the far side of the landing
zone. His squad already in cover, moving away to secure their location.
Off to his right Sgt Calidus’ devastators were heading for the high
ground of the refinery east of the zone. Lepidus was leading his mighty
terminators in a flanking manoeuvre of the disturbance on the south
side. All three of them felt the same thump as the dreadnoughts mighty
weapon fired. A final message from Pilot Britus burst into his headset
before being drowned out by an almighty explosion at the rear of the
hawk. A chain of smaller explosions followed, debris flying clear over
his head into the depths of the city. Publius could only mouth words of
horror as the far wing combusted sending the gun turret, flailing
gunner and all, flying into the morning sky.

The flames seemed to reach the fuel tanks and the ammo
storage at the same time. The sky was illuminated for clicks around as
the thunderhawk was consumed in a cataclysmic explosion. The landing
zone was devastated, huge chunks of the concrete floor flying toward
the bunkered marines. Publius’ headset became alive, as his squad and
the devastators let slip their emotions. The terminators however were
silent.

Lepidus could see the steel beast ahead. Its giant plasma
weapon smoking, the surrounding area scorched from the intensity of the
blast. Its left arm bore a mighty hammer, crackling with barely
contained energy. The dreadnoughts head was reeling from side to side,
whether in anger, satisfaction or hysteria Lepidus could not be sure.

“Canidius, remove that repugnant beast from my scanner”

The
terminator to his right strode forward, raised its left arm and clicked
the trigger. Immediately the assault cannon he carried whirred up to
speed, then began throwing shells at the dreadnought hundreds each
second. A trail of impacts streamed across the dreadnoughts left arm,
the heavy armour repelling many of the shells, but not all.

Devastator marine Arcadius finally scrambled to the top of
the south refinery tower. The explosion of the hawk had nearly thrown
him to his death, but he hung by his right arm, clutching his lascannon
in his left. He looked down at the scene below. Off to his right
Publius and his assault squad were in heavy cover, looking on as
directly across the debris and scorched ground of the landing zone
Lepidus and his terminators gave battle with the dreadnought. His
headset clicked on, the dust below settling allowing Calidus to see the
terminators deadly duel ahead.

“Arcadius, aid our brothers. Target that power weapon. Titinius, get that heavy plasma up there and join the battery.”

Arcadius
had already drawn a bead on the dreadnoughts left arm and let loose the
first volley as Titinius settle alongside him. His first shot rang true
and the hammer fell limply at the beast’s side. Between them they
pounded round after round into the dreadnought, each exacting shot a
testament to their keen skill.

Publius could feel his blood rising, he felt impotent
crouching here, watching his brothers do battle with the monstrosity.
But no matter how finely honed his abilities with a power sword, it
would be no match for the armour of that. Perhaps it was his own lack
of foresight that he did not equip any of his squad members for
demolition? No matter, his brothers would soon see the beast slain.

As he looked on the dreadnought wheeled, letting out a
bellow of fury as the volley of heavy weapons fire wracked its shell.
The insistent whirr of the assault cannon could still be heard as
Canidius peppered every inch of the beast’s armour, scouring for a
weakness.

But even above the sounds of battle he could hear a low
hum, rising in pitch and intensity every second. The dreadnoughts
plasma weapon was fast recharging and no man on this battlefield,
tactical dreadnought armour or no, could repel a shot of that
magnitude. The time was now.

Arcadius clicked the release button and an empty cartridge
dropped to his feet. He clicked the fresh on in place and crouched to
steady his shot. This dreadnought was taking too much punishment and
without the hawk their supplies were limited. One shot was all he
needed. The gouts of steam rushing from the assault cannon wounds in
its head armour suggested that was the weakest spot.

“Titinius, I need a clear shot at the head. Can you
provide?” He momentarily drew his eyes away from the scene below to
check with his battle brother. “Check that” he replied, and began
concentrating his fire on the right hip joint of the dreadnought. It
buckled under the first volley, and took its attention from the
terminators it was intent on incinerating in a matter of seconds.

As Arcadius watched through his sights, the dreadnought
slowly turned, raising its head to bellow in defiance at Titinius and
his accurate barrage. Now. The lascannon bucked into his shoulder as
the beam flew across the landing zone, striking the head of the
dreadnought just above it’s right eye. Its howl was silenced
immediately as it doubled over forward, then rocked back to stare at
the heavens before disappearing into a blinding incandescence. Then it
was gone.

“Your shot was clearly guided by the Emperor marine,”
Lepidus’ voice clicked into Arcadius headset, “now all squads move out.
We have a mission to complete for the Imperium.”

The readout inside Philotus’ terminator helmet displayed the download from the cruiser.
“Latest orbital data shows the nearest insurgence to be 20 clicks north of our position, sir”

“Publius, Calidus, gather your squads and head due north.”

Lepidus
led his terminators away from the scene of destruction toward their
first objective. Behind him the devastators scrambled down from the
refinery towers and ran along the second level walkway. Sergeant
Calidus scanned the horizon as they moved, searching for an optimal
firing position over their object. Falvius and Flavinius darted in and
out of the pillars between the parallel walkways, scouring the eastern
side for any Chaos activity. Titinius and Arcadius lugged their heavy
weapons along the western walkway behind Calidus.

Ahead of both squads Publius and his assault marines
touched down on an abandoned landing pad. Atop some large factory it
afforded a good view of the surrounding terrain. Even at this distance
the sounds of battle could be heard. Screams of terror as the factory
workers came face to face with the horrors of Chaos. Publius signalled
their next destination to his squad, a small clearing next to a storage
bunker, then kicked into the air, his jet pack propelling him at high
velocity.

Though some way behind the assault squad Lepidus to could
hear the cries of the workers in his ears. He pressed on, picking up as
quick a pace as the bulky armour allowed. At intermittent junctures
Saturninus would wheel to face a dark alleyway, before cleansing it
with his heavy flamer. The taints of Chaos were fainter here, but even
so a stray cultist or Chaos Marine stumbled into view and were promptly
engulfed in righteous flame.

Up ahead the walkway cut across at 90 degrees. Calidus
signalled Falvius to accompany the two heavy gunners across the
walkway. This would run them closer to the terminators and the security
that provided until they could bring their weapons to bear. He and
Flavinius continued directly ahead, moving at a faster pace without the
arsenal to slow their plight. In the distance they saw Publius and his
men touch down in a clearing. Their headsets then exploded with
activity. The clearing was filled with smoke and the assault squad
disappeared from sight. Calidus and Flavinius picked up the pace
immediately.

Severus had seen the cultists just as he was coming in to
land. As always he was at Publius’ side, they had fought many campaigns
together and he never once abandoned his Sergeant. So it was that he
adjusted his trajectory and touched down between Publius and the
incoming threat. Before the rest of the squad had broke the skyline
behind them the clearing was full of cultists. The worst kind of Chaos
scum. Their outdated weaponry would be no match for power armour, but
they all carried bandoliers adorned with frag grenades. Then the air
turned thick with smoke and explosions pounded all around. The nearest
caught Severus clean in the chest and threw him backwards. Shouting a
mantra of defiance Publius charged into the cultists, a dozen strong
band of diseased minds.

The remaining three squad members touched down, Fulvius
rushing to Severus’ aid whilst Sempronius and the youngest member of
the squad Antoninius charged through the clouds of smoke to join
battle. Kneeling over the stricken Severus, Fulvius could hear the
crackling of power weapons and the haphazard firing of laspistols, and
even one grenade explosion.

The three men returned moments later, Publius’ power sword dripping with Chaos blood, his power armour splattered.

“Secure
the area,” Publius barked to the three standing marines. As they rushed
off he knelt at Severus’ side. “How are you, old friend?”

Severus did not reply, but slowly raised his head and
grasped Publius shoulder. “Just get me to my feet and show me the
traitors. Faith will do the rest brother.”

Publius heaved the wounded marine to his feet. “Somehow
brother, I think this has less to do with faith and more to do with
stubbornness. Some people just won’t admit when they’re dead.”

Lepidus checked his scanner again. The objective was just
behind the warehouse up ahead. When Calidus went charging off to aid
the assault squad the three devastators became his charge, so he gave
them the order to head for high ground. He then approached the corner
of the building with judged caution.

Titinius led Arcadius up an access ladder on the side of a
water purification tower as Falvius moved around the base to secure
their position. When he finally lugged the bulky weapon over the ridge
of the tower he was as startled as the Chaos Sorcerer he disturbed. The
vile fiend was enraptured in some twisted sacrifice to his god, the
mutilated corpses of several workers laid at his feet. The sound of the
heavy plasma gun hitting the metal roof of the tower made the sorcerer
spin around, one hand grasping the sacrificial knife, the other moving
to his temple to focus his powers. Titinius ducked down below the rim
struggling to draw his combat knife, not an action he had performed
since he joined the devastator squad many decades prior. The sorcerer
slowly approached. Unless his gods had granted him the boon of heavy
weaponry, there must surely be a child of the false god near by. A much
more fitting sacrifice.

Calidus and Flavinius rounded the corner as Severus and
Publius were preparing to move out. “Secure?” Calidus inquired. “All is
in hand Sergeant,” replied Publius, a little begrudged at his comrade’s
lack of faith. Publius and Calidus had also fought many campaigns
together, though whilst always fighting for the purity of souls, they
often engaged in a little personal competition. Even though aware of
the others outstanding skills, Calidus did tend toward over
protectiveness of his fellow Sgt. “Who would I compete with if you got
yourself killed,” was his usual justification to Publius.

However this time his over eager attempts to aid his battle
brother had left the remnants of his squad in mortal peril. Flavinius
was scanning the far side of the walkway when he spotted the two
devastators on the ladder. And the sorcerer closing in above.
“Sergeant, Titinius is in trouble.” He pointed at the water tower.

“This one is on me Calidus,” offered Publius, then without
waiting for response leaned Severus against an oil barrel and kicked
into the air.

The air currents were disturbed near the water tower, the
heat from the compressors below causing vicious spirals. As Publius
struggled for control of his velocity and trajectory he raised his
power sword, flicking the switch and setting the lightning crackling
down its blade. As he closed on the water tower the sorcerer was too
engrossed in his encroachment upon the marines to notice him.

Titinius drew his combat knife at last and signalled to
Arcadius to stay low. Steeling himself with a prayer to the Emperor he
grasped the top rung of the ladder and heaved himself to the top of the
tower. Landing in a crouched position, legs spread wide for balance,
knife presented ahead, he faced down the sorcerer, who merely laughed
at this bravado.

“Now my dark gods will taste your soul.” A flick of his
wrist and Titinius’ combat knife flew from his grasp. “Where is your
Emperor now, pathetic one?” spat the sorcerer as he closed in for the
kill.

“He sends ME to deliver your death,” roared Publius as he
touched down in a hiss of thrusters. The sorcerer ducked down and
around, wielding his knife in a defensive posture. Publius was upon him
immediately, power sword arcing down upon the Chaos fiend. The long
slender sacrificial knife parried the blow, glistening, reinforced with
the sorcerer’s psychic powers. Publius was undeterred, his sword
spinning around in a furious frenzy. The sorcerer rose to his feet
parrying each blow, thrusting at each opportunity, only to have his
blow parried in return. The top of the water tower glowed against the
crimson sky as the exchange of energies continued in this deadly dance.

Calidus and Flavinius reached the base of the tower on foot,
finding Falvius crouched in a defensive posture, unaware of the
activities above. This time putting his faith in Publius’ exceptional
melee skills he waited in position, reporting the situation to Lepidus.

Lepidus received the status report just as he was matching
his visual reconnoitre to his scanner readouts. The workers were
bunkered down on the far side of the large square. They didn’t look
like they could hold out much longer, the square was strewn with the
bodies of those not fast enough to make cover, or those pulled free
from it.

“Calidus, we cannot hold. The workers need our assistance.
Chaos forces are strong, but I believe we can repel them until your
situation is dealt with,” he spoke into his headset, before gesturing
his squad to split. He would accompany Saturninus down the east side of
the warehouse, whilst Philotus, Lucilius and Canidius with his assault
cannon would take the west side. It was risky splitting his squad
against the overwhelming odds, but a wider firing arc would increase
their chances of scattering the Chaos troops before they could mount
resistance. As they would not be expecting an assault from the rear a
two pronged attack would increase the panic. He once again cautiously
approached the corner of the building.

“We’re in position Sergeant,” came Lucilius’ voice over his
headset after a few moments. “Suppressive fire, break the cultists. We
shall deal with that berzerker squad. Now!” Immediately he heard the
familiar whirr of the assault cannon spinning up, then the square ahead
burst into a frenzied scene. The cultists who were lurking behind the
original assault on the workers suddenly found themselves in the firing
line of a few thousand shells. Bodies exploding all down their line,
they quickly gave in to panic and scattered. Many ran straight into the
guns, others into the paths of the berzerkers, mown down by their own
masters.

“Now Saturninus, purify those Khornate heretics.”
Saturninus stepped around his sergeant and let loose with a gout of
cleansing flame. The berzerkers left their assault on the now
insignificant workers and set their sights on the new, worthier
targets. Many caught alight but still they joined the charge. With the
cultists all but obliterated Canidius drew his attention to the
berzerkers and gave them another target to focus on. Fully thirty Chaos
troops now advanced across the square, screaming their battle chants,
chain axes whirring over their heads. All five terminators plugged
round after round against the onslaught, but not enough of the
berzerkers were dying. Hand to hand combat was inevitable.

Publius reeled from the psychic punch against his chest,
but still deftly ducked as the knife swung at his head. He rolled
across the tower, flipping off his jet pack onto his feet and spinning
around to meet another blow with his sword. The sorcerer was proving to
be more adept than he appeared. But Publius revelled in the challenge
and knew his faith would see him triumphant. Another psychic blow hit
him, this time pushing his legs from under him and he collapsed face
first to the metal. “No,” shouted an awe struck Titinius, still
watching from the rim of the tower, unarmed and impotent to help. The
sorcerer glanced in his direction for just a second, but it was long
enough. Publius whipped his sword around at ankle height, the clean
blow slicing straight through the sorcerer’s legs. Screaming in pain
and fury the sorcerer fell to the metal, blood pouring from his ankles.
Publius raised to his feet and parried a final blow as the sorcerer
launched the knife at him. “I send you back to your gods, wretched
scum,” snarled Publius as his power sword arced over his head and
cleaved the sorcerer in two.

As Publius kicked into the air to rejoin his squad,
Titinius retrieved his heavy plasma and finally took up his firing
position. Arcadius scrambled onto the tower, limbs strained from the
delay on the ladder. Once they were both at the north rim they could
see the battle taking place in the square. The terminators were being
rushed by a huge squad of Khorne berzerkers. Even their mighty armour
would not save them against those odds. “Sergeant Calidus, Sergeant
Lepidus’ squad needs assistance immediately.”

Calidus acknowledged, and with Falvius and Flavinius
following he ran on towards the battle, his gunners now safe in their
nest. “Publius, your squad is required in the square. Lepidus won’t
last long, so make haste.”

The terminators’ storm bolters were smoking with the heat
exchange. The berzerkers were quickly covering the large square, and
would soon be upon them. Then the whirr of the assault cannon suddenly
ceased. “Canidius, report,” urged Lepidus, fearing their position
breached. “Weapon jammed Sergeant, attempting to clear,” came the
anxious reply. “Attempt fast, marine.” Without the assault cannon they
really were in trouble.

The assault squad was already prepared to move out when
Publius once again touched down in the square. Severus, though injured,
was once again standing tall ready to join his brothers in battle. As
one they engaged their power weapons and leapt forward, thrusters
billowing the dust behind them. They skimmed over a line of oil tanks
and the battle scene in the square came into view. Many berzerkers lay
dead, but many more were still rushing forth toward the terminators.
The distance separating the two was now vastly reduced and Publius
prayed they would be in time.

Arcadius nodded with satisfaction as the berzerker slumped
to the floor, a gaping void replacing his mid-rift. At his side
Titinius was pouring plasma shots toward the battle, but with less
success. The heavy plasma was not as accurate over such a long range,
and many shots exploded against the rear of the huge warehouse. To
their right they saw Publius and his squad burst over the horizon and
begin their descent into the square. “Titinius, look there,” called
Arcadius over the hum of the charging plasma gun. A squad of Khorne
marines in ancient corrupted terminator armour rounded the workers
entrenchment just as the assault marines touched down. It was a trap.

“Covering fire, we have to hold off those terminators.”
Arcadius let loose another beam of energy, shooting across the dawn sky
striking the nearest terminator on the shoulder plate. The shot merely
glanced off, destroying a computer terminal some distance behind.
Titinius waited impatiently. With loyal troops in the battle his shots
must now be accurate, and waiting for a full charge was the only way to
guarantee this. The hum intensified in his ear and the weapon began to
shake. Almost, almost. The red light in front of his eye clicked green
and he loosed the starfire at the Khorne warrior he’d marked out. The
incandescent blast flew over the heads of Lepidus and his men, over the
berzerkers and struck its mark full in the chest and helmet. The
terminator all but vaporised immediately, only extruding limbs and a
smouldering crater remaining. And then Titinius waited for the charge
once more.

The assault cannon would not clear. The intensive use over
an extended period had wedged its mechanisms solid. Only the tech
priest would make this weapon function again. Canidius reported the
status to Lepidus.

“Very well,” Lepidus replied, facing the inevitable,
“engage chain-fists and advance upon the enemy. Give no quarter, for
the Emperor!” He knocked the oil drums out of his path and led the
charge. The ponderous suits slowing their progress, but the ground
between the two squads closed fast. It was then that Publius’ squad
touched down behind the berzerkers. Some Khornate warriors turned to
face the new threat, but most were drawn by the promised glory of
slaying a space marine veteran.

Publius engaged the berzerkers first. Their screams of fury
ringing in his ears, the chain-axe whirring incessantly. He parried the
first blow with his power sword then fired his plasma pistol at point
blank range into the traitor’s face. Before the carcass hit the floor
he was on the back foot, repelling an aspiring champion. The rest of
the squad advanced but met more resistance, the berzerkers enraged by
the taste of battle. They had succeeded in distracting some of the
remaining Khornate warriors; Lepidus should be able to handle the rest.
Now just to stay alive.

Marcullius howled inside his tainted terminator armour,
enraged at the loss on one of his number. Those loyalist fools would
rather hide far from battle than face them in true combat. And now more
had arrived, slaying the proud berzerkers. “Enough,” he cried, leading
his remaining men into the battle. They would crush these would be
attackers then deal with the snipers on the water tower.

Arcadius clipped his final cartridge into the lascannon and
began firing once again. After several deflected shots and one
penetrating shot on the lumbering chaos scum, his ammo was depleted.
Now all he could do was spectate and play spotter for Titinius. The
heavy plasma too was running low on charges; soon the battle would be
left to those in the square.

Philotus was the first to crash into the berzerkers, his
chain fist clashing violently with a chain-axe. He was forced to parry
another blow with his storm bolter until Lucilius was at his side to
deal the traitors’ death. The berzerkers fought with an intensity that
warranted their name, but the power of the terminators, and the
strength of their armour, proved their equal. With their attention
split between the terminators and the assault squad they had lost their
massive number advantage and it would only be a matter of time.

Severus punched his power glove through the berzerkers
attempted block and collapsed his chest plate, ribs and all. He glanced
around him. Publius was surrounded by berzerkers, many dead at his feet
but two engaging him in combat. Fulvius ran to his side and aided the
Sergeant. Antoninius was smashing through a berzerkers armour on the
far side of the melee, his power axe crackling. Sempronius had
disappeared from sight as he charged the flank to link the two Imperial
contingents. Then Severus looked over his shoulder and came face to
face with four advancing Chaos terminators. “Publius, they are not
alone,” he called over the headset, but the other squad members were
occupied. If the terminators entered combat now his squad would be
slaughtered from behind. Crying out in defiance Severus raised his
power fist high in the air and charged the leading terminator.

The plasma ammo was expended. Titinius dropped the heavy
plasma to his side and joined Arcadius in watching the battle. Lepidus
and his men were holding their own; the assault squad had disappeared
from their sight amongst whirling red bodies. At the far side of the
confrontation a lone blue figure was charging at the advancing Chaos
terminators. The two devastators watched in silence as the valiant
assault played out.

Lepidus was forced to step backwards, the pile of bodies in
front of him was giving those still assaulting too much of a height
advantage. Saturninus was still at his side, although he had taken a
nasty wound to his left arm and his helmet was cracked in two. The rest
of the squad also appeared battered, but still they held and they would
succeed this day.

Publius finally cleared his locality of screaming
berzerkers long enough to assess the situation. The berzerker squad was
vastly depleted and the terminators could probably assault the remnants
on their own. He scanned his men quickly, taking note of their
condition and location. All where healthy, though Antoninius had been
surprised from the flank and his left arm was hanging limp at his side.
Severus. Where was Severus? A bass voice resonated in fury behind him.
Wheeling around, he saw Severus charging full steam into a massive
Chaos terminator. The power fist would improve his chances, but in his
wounded condition.
Publius broke combat and charged toward his brother’s side.

Severus
crashed into combat with Marcullius. The traitors’ ancient power axe
deflected his first blow. He raised his hand flamer level to the
terminator’s head, but the whirring bayonet on its combi-weapon sliced
clean through his wrist. He yelled out in pain and slumped to one knee,
deflecting the rain of axe blows with his power fist. Lurching
backwards he put a couple of metres between the two, then barrel rolled
backwards until he was on his hand and knees. He raised his head to the
oncoming terminator, then cried out again, this time in defiance and
fury. Engaging his jet pack he shot forward, fist raised, angled up
toward the terminator’s face.

Marcullius could feel victory once the marine broke combat.
He had already wounded this pathetic boy, now he would crush him
beneath his heels. But then suddenly the fool was powering straight for
his helmet. He swung his axe up to block, and felt it connect
satisfyingly with the marine’s shoulder before the power fist crushed
into his face and blackness took him to his god.

Publius arrived as Severus dropped to the floor. The
remaining three terminators were closing quickly and he stood
protectively over his stricken brother. He may die today, but he would
not abandon his fallen comrade.

Lepidus and his squad cleared the last of the berzerkers
from their path with the help of the assault marines. Battered and
tired, but they were alive and they had succeeded. A short distance
away he saw Publius facing down three approaching terminators. “Fire,”
he barked out. His squad did not need further direction and both
Philotus and Lucilius joined their Sergeant in pouring bolter fire into
the terminators. Saturninus began advancing to find a firing position
for his flamer, flanked by Canidius looking to melee assault.

The three remaining assault marines saw their Sergeant in
trouble and as one leaped into the air, relying on their jet packs to
cover the ground rapidly. As they flew over the scene they saw first
one, then two terminators fall to Lepidus’ fire. Then the third smashed
into combat with Publius. His power sword darted and parried the mighty
axe, but could not penetrate the thick armour.

The remaining Chaos terminator knew he would not survive
this field, but that was not his intent. He was focused solely on
destroying this marine that would dare challenge him. He swung his
massive power axe in vicious arcs, but never made contact as the marine
ducked and dived out of the way. Then he finally saw his opening; the
marine had dropped his shoulder, instinctively raising his plasma
pistol. He swung his axe down in a huge arc and could see it speeding
through his opponent. Then two massive blows rained down upon his face.

Fulvius landed almost atop the Chaos scum, his power fist
thumping down through its’ helmet crushing the head beneath. The
terminator toppled backwards, a silent hulk.

Publius scrambled to his feet and returned to Severus’
side. His battle brother of many decades was dead. “One fight too many,
my old friend,” Publius whispered softly. He raised his head and spoke
to the remaining Ultramarines. “Let it be known that on this day
Ultramarine Severus willingly gave his life so that his brothers may
live. He will not be forgotten.”

Staggering to his feet, Publius lifted Severus’ limp form
in his arms and joined his squad as they left the square. They headed
for the second hawk’s rendezvous point. With their’s a smouldering
crater they would need transport off this forsaken machine world.

Then square was silent. The
Ultramarines gone, the Chaos troops all obliterated. The barricades
crashed to the floor and the last survivors of the workers defence
staggered out into the daylight. Staring in disbelief at the scenes of
devastation around them they stood in silence.

Then as one man they turned and exited the square, physically and mentally ravaged, but alive.

The post Distress Call appeared first on BlokeCrafted.

Not me though. I don’t fear what’s to come. I await it with
anticipation. Curiosity, if you will. I have fought on many planets
during my time in the service, and I’ve killed a lot of strange alien
beasts. But nothing quite piques your interest like the Khornate ones.
They’re human after all. I have killed more men than is right for
another human. I’ve seen my compatriots take fixed bayonets and combat
knives to mindless cultists and unknowing fools, simply because it was
"right". We slaughter maim and destroy, but because our cause is "just"
and "true" we’re heroes. Khorne’s soldiers though, they kill for the
purity, blood for blood sake, and they are the monsters?

I have seen the Khorne warriors in action before. They
strike terror into all that oppose them. Those too foolish or afraid to
run are cut down. Those that run are cut down shortly after. They revel
in the battle; they swim in their opponents’ blood. They know their
purpose. Ours is not so well defined.

We landed on this stinking rock 23hours ago as part of a
"Belaying Action". What a crock! We’re here because the fat governor in
the next system got scared and pulled a few strings. It’s our job to
put our lives on the line so some over paid idiot doesn’t have to spend
his money on defences. We fight because we’re told to. How can men with
no true cause stand against the ferocious simplicity of Blood for the
Blood God?

There! Off in the distance there is movement. These ruined
walls don’t afford much protection, but serve to block our lines of
sight beautifully. Another choice tactic from our divine overlord no
doubt.

I don’t know why we must wait. The only chance against
Berzerkers is to charge them, take them by surprise and overwhelm them
with numbers. If we wait for them we’re all dead men. And look. My
brothers in arms. Pitiful! I have seen these few men perform acts of
such unbridled fury, of such awesome destruction, yet they wait here
like the sacrificial lamb awaiting the knife. We should be moving.

The Sergeant is scared, I can see it in his eyes. He is
weak like the rest of them. No real leader of men would show fear. I
bet a Khorne warrior would never show fear before his enemy. The
Sergeant is a small man in a large frame. He is no hero. He’s another
mindless animal following the will of his masters. Heeding their
bidding. It’s pathetic.

They’re all getting anxious now, shuffling their feet, and
checking their weapons twice a minute. They have no fortitude. They
will fight, but not with passion deserving of a Battle. They will fight
because they are told to. It is wrong.

I know these men. They were once strong men, but now they
are weak. They know not the forces they face unheeding. They cannot
hope to survive when they cannot dedicate their souls to the love of
the battle. But I can save them. Yes. I can save them. They are lost,
awash in a sea of petty bureaucrats and fat politicians, but I have
their life raft. I can save them all. I must save them all. They cannot
be led like lambs to their deaths.

My knife is in my hand. I could draw this and save another
soul. Yes. Another soul saved, given to the purity of the Battle;
another soul for the one that deserves them; another soul for that
which I must serve. He sees me. There is fear and confusion in his
eyes. How sad he looks, what sorrow is in his heart. I am human, I am
only human, and I must do this for my fellow man. It would be inhuman
to do anything else.

The blade slides so gently into his throat. He gasps and
claws at me, but I think in the last few seconds he understands that
which I know. The look of fear fades and his eyes blaze with a fire.
His soul goes to the Blood God; his soul is set free.

The others are panicking. They too do not understand. The
Sergeant is weak, as I knew. He fumbles and hesitates. There, another,
he too can be set free. The blade flows through his veins, spraying
forth his blood, letting him die so that he can live.

Finally the Sergeant draws his rifle to me, I expected as
much. A true warrior would engage in combat first, but he hides behind
his sight. So be it. A flick of my wrist and my dagger flies true, the
metal blade cutting through the sight into the Sergeants eye cavity. He
falls to his knees, not understanding the pain. He fears death. Weak
fool.

The disruption is coming to an end and the other members of
the squad are coming to me. They do not comprehend. They are screaming
at me, calling me a traitor, calling me insane. Ironic somewhat, as for
the first time ever I am thinking clearly. The thoughts are aligned, my
mind focused to the task at hand.

As they encroach the first of the mighty Berzerkers hits
the position. He bellows his death roar as the pathetic men scramble
for cover. His squad arrives, crushing the skulls of those too slow to
move, destroying the defences of those who try to fight.

They cannot stand against the true lords of battle. These
brave, noble warriors are the epitome of war. They are death incarnate,
the walking weapon. He sees me. The powerful, mighty soldier casts his
eyes upon me. He knows my heart is pure and soul cleansed.

I bend and retrieve my knife from the stricken corpse of
the Sergeant. Whilst the magnificent Berzerker watches over me, I carve
the sign of our god into my very skull, bone chipping to the floor,
blood gushing freely. Before I delay the warrior too long, I kneel
forward, raise my arms to my sides and bow my head.

As he raises aloft his chainsword and prepares to speed my
soul to my God I chant the sacred words. My Lord knows I am coming, he
has called me, chosen me. I go to a better place, a place of war and
blood. A place of Order amongst true Chaos. My Lord I come to thee.

"Blood for the Blood God. Skulls for the thr…"

The post The Call appeared first on BlokeCrafted.

The cultists had pushed hard in this sector and it was up to the 27^th Platoon’s 4^th
Infantry Squad to push back. They had lost their fire support, they’d
lost their armoured support and their command squad had been reduced to
one man. Out of the three platoons positioned to cover this compound,
only 11 men remained.

With a chorus of praise to their vile gods, the cultists broke from the tree line and charged the open ground toward the 4^th‘s
trench. Levelling their laspistols and firing countless shots the
cultists ran headlong into the minefield ahead. Though at least one
fifth of their number were liquidated by the plasma mines, they carried
on heedless. Sense and logic suppressed by the burning desire to fulfil
their god’s demands. The guardsmen must fall.

As the Sergeant bellowed orders to retreat the first of the
chaos followers fell upon them. With a deft slash of his chainsword the
Sergeant sliced the fiend in two. Falling back through the network of
trenches the guardsmen provided covering fire for each other, hoping to
make it to the battle bunker at the rear of their lines before it was
too late.

They rounded a corner into the temporary infirmary to be
confronted by the most terrifying sight. They stood agog as the
recumbent form of their dying Primaris Psyker twisted and contorted
into a horrific Khornate demon. The last of the guards blundered into
the infirmary before the others could come to their senses and issue a
warning.

The Bloodletter rose to it’s feet, snarling horrifically,
running it’s claw along the length of it’s enormous sword. The cultists
shambled in behind the guardsmen, blocking off all hope of escape and
survival.

With a silent prayer to the Emperor, the Sergeant stepped
forward from his men, issuing the unspoken challenge to the beast. The
demon reared back its head, howled with unrestrained blood lust and
charged the brave guardsmen. As the creature’s blade arced down the
Sergeant raised his chainsword in an attempt to parry the blow. The
demonic weapon sliced straight through the sword and the Sergeant with
fearsome ease. Before the two halves of the stricken Sergeants body had
even hit the ground the Bloodletter had eviscerated two more and the
cultists pressed forward, pushing the doomed guardsmen as an offering.

In a matter of moments the 4^th were no more than
body parts and the cultists, now led by the demonic swordsman, swept on
having obliterated the first line of resistance.

The post The Swordsman appeared first on BlokeCrafted.

The other spike slams into the rock and he shuffles another
metre closer to his target. The climb is a long and arduous one, but
well within his capabilities. His rifle, heavy and cumbersome in
another mans hands, feels natural slung across his back. Without it
there he would very likely unbalance and lose his grip, so much a part
of him has it become.

As day breaks he completes the climb, slipping into the
position he will retain until his mission is complete. The top of the
rock spire is no more than a metre wide in either direction, precarious
and unfathomable for any recreational climber. But it affords the best
view of the imminent battlefield, and he is not up here for recreation.

For two hours he waits. His body immobile, his breathing
slow. Any movement that may belie his presence is subdued, any sound
stifled. The time draws near, the battle ever closer.

Almost three hours following his ascent the rumble of the
Armoured Company moving into position echoes from behind him. He does
not turn to look, for he already knows their movements. The battle
tanks form up in a spearhead formation; the APCs disgorge their
contents; the bikers race around the flanks, keeping mobile, keeping
ready.

From ahead comes the sound he has been awaiting. The gut
wrenching screams of agony and the pre-battle sacrifices are slain, the
slow pounding chant that rises into an almighty demonic cacophony.

"Blood for the Blood God, Skulls for the throne of Khorne"

They
are here. He can sense the fear and discomfort from the Imperial ranks.
The Imperium has gone to war with Khornate worshipers many times over,
but the shear intensity and vigour with which they fight strikes fear
into the heart of every trooper.

The Chaos battle line forms up, a wall of whirring chain
weapons and enormous axes. Below the insistent chanting can be heard
the snarls and growls of the obligatory daemons.

Slowly, millimetre by millimetre he moves his scope across
the front of the Khorne troops. If the intelligence reports were
correct, it would only be a matter of time before he found him. The
close up view of the disciples of the Blood God made even this hardened
veterans skin shine with sweat.

There! Right were he was supposed to be, in the middle of a
huge rabble of Berzerkers he stood, a full head taller than his
soldiers, his ferocity evident even from this great distance; Kharn the
Betrayer; Slayer of men; Epitome of Khornate. Above his head he swings
Gorechild, his ancient and deadly chain axe. His eagerness for the
slaughter and desire to honour the name of his god makes him all the
more deadly.

Kharn was the reason he was here. Many attempts on The
Betrayers life had been made, but none successful, his competence in
battle and the undying devotion of his followers making him
impenetrable in hand to hand combat. And so the Imperium had dictated a
more underhand method be used. That, of course, was him. A sniper
raised from the ranks many years ago, trained in the Vindicare Temple
he learned the things that turn a simple gunman into a machine for
annulment. Though he lacked Kharn’s lust for the kill, his aptitude was
more than equal.

As the chosen of Khorne began their advance he readies
himself. His rifle loaded, his sights checked to the point of
perfection. There is nothing to do but wait for the opportunity to
present itself. Once the perfect shot lets itself be seen, he will
ensure the Imperium would never again be threatened by the blood soaked
terror.

The initial bombardment from the Imperial Guard forces
begins. Pummelling the Khorne troops with their mortars and artillery,
softening them up before they are close enough to charge. Once the
charge begins the battle will be a fragile thing for the guardsmen. To
repel the assault of the swarming Berzerkers they will need the
blessing of the Emperor and a miracle. More likely the infantry will be
swept aside, hopefully delaying the assault long enough for the tanks
to begin the counter attack. This was one fight he was glad to be out
of.

And then the chanting stops, made ever more notable by its
absence. The Berzerkers pause, then as one unified mass charge forward,
screaming their curses and praises to their God. Impatient with his
squad’s advance Kharn charges, swinging Gorechild and cutting a swathe
through his own men. Then he is presented with his opportunity. Kharn
is in the front line of the charge, providing the perfect target.

Muttering the ancient mantras he squeezes the feather
trigger. The rifle rocks back against him, but the muted shot is
drowned out by the screams from the battlefield below. The bullet soars
through the air towards its target. Kharn, still running, can only be
oblivious that with each step he takes he moves closer to his
rendezvous with death.

He lives for this. He doesn’t enjoy the killing, nor does
he desire it, but it was what his life has become. One long series of
names crossed out in a data file. This was who he is. He is Kharn’s
death.

Still the bullet soars, still Kharn runs.

This
will be a memorable annulment. There will be no victory celebration, no
pat on the back, no hearty handshake. There will just be another
assignment, another name.

And still the bullet flies. And still Kharn charges.

The
first of the Khorne troops are almost upon the Imperial Guard battle
line. Even in this unreal slow motion they Berzerkers advance seems
relentless. For an instant he wishes he could help the Guardsmen. But
to draw attention to his presence would jeopardise his next mission.
That could not be allowed to happen; the next mission was always the
most important one.

Then time catches up and the battle is flung back into real
time. Khorne’s chosen son is "blessed" more than any other. The Blood
God would not allow his favourite to fall so easily. The bullet stops.
No armour contact, no kill, just a bullet. Kharn doesn’t even raise his
head to acknowledge the levitating bullet in front of him, he just
charges on and into the beleaguered guardsmen.

He looks on with disbelief. He has annulled a great many
names, he has travelled the galaxy and seen many things, but for a high
velocity shell to just stop in mid air is.. is.. He doesn’t know what
it is.

Then the air begins to crackle, the hairs on the back of
his neck pressing against his body suit. Breaking every instinct
embedded into him through years of training, he slowly turns around,
risking revealing his position. One metre away from the top of the rock
spire, directly behind him, the air is shining. The sky turns white,
then deep blue, before a black dot appears at the centre. This dot
becomes a fist-sized hole, and then a body sized hole until it is about
a metre across. Inside is nothing. Not light, not dark, just the
absence of.

Slowly he moves his hand to his side, drawing his pistol
ready to face whatever danger may appear. Before he can remove the
pistol from its holster an ungodly roar deafens him, blasting out of
the void with the force of a hurricane. He flattens himself to the
spire to keep from falling to his death. In a few moments he will
reflect how that would have been preferable.

An indistinguishable shape forms in the centre of the void,
a swirling mass of dark reds and browns. As his curiosity piques, he
leans slightly forward drawn by natural tendencies. The mass extends
into a crude hand and wraps around his torso.

For the first time since leaving the ranks, he screams. He
screams in pain, in desperation, but mostly in terror. The hand is
crushing him, but not killing him. It’s restricting his breathing, but
not breaking him. It is so cold to the touch, sending shivers up and
down his body.

As his breathing strains and slows he becomes faint,
letting his weapons slip from his grasp. The nakedness he feels as his
rifle leaves his side is almost as terrifying as the demonic claw
wrapped around his midst.

Then, without another sound the hand withdraws, dragging him through the void, screaming and thrashing into the unknown.

The
battle is all but over. Kharn stands atop a pile of slain guardsmen,
the Imperial tanks mostly burning wreckage. The survivors are fleeing,
but the daemon hounds will soon chase them down and all would be lost.
Kharn casts his eye to the heavens, the heightened blood lust subsiding
to his more normal levels, blood of his victims running down his body.
As he stares he sees a portal sealing, and two objects falling from the
spire to the west of the battlefield. With what could almost be
described as a smile, Kharn turns away to seek more skulls, knowing his
god had claimed another lost soul.

The post Waiting appeared first on BlokeCrafted.

Hooks and claws wrenching limbs from bodies, and piercing
thrusts spilling intestinal tracks in the mud and turf. Never before
have I seen such a fearsome sight. The intensity of these creatures is
unparalleled in any other species; their thirst for the kill, their
unemotional necessity to spill blood. It’s inhuman.

Yet still the battle line held. I could not believe that
mere men could receive such a charge and still stand their ground.
Where a man fell another took his place, rebuffing the assaults and
holding the line firm. This wasn’t the desperate struggle of a man
fighting for his life, nor was it the impeccable resilience exhibited
by the Adeptus Astartes. This was two platoons of men doing everything
they can to protect their homes, their families. They would not break.
They could not break.

As I stand here recording this entry, some two hundred
metres behind the battle line, the smell of blood and sweat is
overpowering. The screams fill my ears, screams of death, of defiance,
and the ever-present chatter of the bugs.

The other side of the battle line, stretching away across
the plains and into the desert beyond is a sea of tyranids. A swarming
mass of destruction, pushing forward relentlessly. Surrounded by
hundreds of smaller bugs the larger creatures present themselves; the
terrifying Carnifex rolling back it’s head and letting out the most
twisted scream I’ve ever heard; the unnaturally intelligent Hive
Tyrant, directing the flow of the swarm, pausing only to fire it’s vile
bioweapon into the centre of the line; the hideous beast name the Red
Terror, stalking down the left flank, pushing on towards the brave
defenders. What could possibly stop these vile monstrosities?

From behind me a squadron of armoured transports, Chimerax
class I believe, roll past and form a secondary line midway between
myself and the wall of death. The rear doors drop down and out pour the
heavy support squads. Two men teams lugging their unwieldy weapons up
the small embankment. After scant moments checking their equipment the
first shot rings out. A short burst from an autocannon taking down one
of the larger warriors. Other shots follow; a lascannon blast rips the
head from a lictor and then the most glorious sight I’ve seen since my
arrival on this forsaken planet. One guardsmen, heavy set with hair far
longer than regulations permit rocks back with recoil. The krak missile
sears over the heads of the guardsmen and bugs alike, striking the
Tyrant full in the chest. The creature reels back with the blast,
knocked off its’ feet and crushing two termagants who were skulking
behind.

The heavy weapons squads let out a mighty cheer. Their
comrades to involved in combat to see the shot, but the cries of their
brothers spur them on and they redouble their efforts.

But still the bugs come. How can this be? If the tyrant is
dead who is co-ordinating the attack? It is known that the tyranid
forces have strong instincts that can direct their actions when they
are not in contact with the hive mind, but they still move as a single
unit. The termagants and hormagants at the front of the fighting are
strafing apart, leaving a large wedge in the centre of the battle line.
The Lieutenant holds his men steady, to charge into the gap would mean
certain death, but why have they parted? Then the answer comes. From
the very rear of the swarm charging down the centre at tremendous
speeds come the Stealers.

They dwarf a normal man. Even the mighty Battle Brothers of
the Space Marine Legions would have to look up to face these beasts.
Four arms waving wildly, all tipped in three pronged claws, all
beckoning the guardsmen to their inevitable death. No ordinary man
could survive the impending onslaught.

“There!” calls out one of the missile launcher loaders. His
arm pointing to the right of the swarm. And true enough, there in the
trees at the edge of the plain, surrounded by some sort of entourage is
another Tyrant. All four lascannons draw beads on the beast and open
fire. Their shots all flail wild, but they fire again and again.
Meanwhile the autocannons, heavy bolters and missile launchers are
directing their fire at the Genestealers. If they hit the line full
strength it’s over. The Colonel is running across the back of the line
from his position on the left flank, where the fighting is thickest.
He’s screaming at the Chimerax drivers, pointing at the centre of the
battle line. With a mighty roar all three transports burst into life
and roll down the embankment to the battle line.

They won’t last long against the claws of the stealers, but
they’ll last a lot longer than flak armour. If those lascannons can
take out the tyrant maybe the swarm will be disorientated enough for
the reserves to move in and push them back.

On the right the tyrant’s retinue has been whittled down to
only a couple. The tyrant would be long dead but those cursed guards
keep throwing themselves into the line of fire, sacrificing their lives
so the tyrant survives. It’s a curious trait in these killers. It’s
almost a nurturing characteristic, as if they were evolved to defend
rather than attack. However their evolution proves inadequate against
the mighty firepower of the Imperial Guard and the last one falls to
the ground, a smoking hole in it’s chest cavity. All four lascannons
mark their targets and fire simultaneously. The Hive Tyrant veritably
explodes, showering the trees with purple ichor.

Immediately the loss presents itself in the swarm. The bugs
at the rear start to mill around, too far from the fighting to be drawn
in, most begin attacking each other. Instinctive animosity shows as the
termagants and hormagaunts begins attacking each other.

The Genestealer threat is now only metres from the front
line. The massed heavy weaponry has reduced the swarm size by half, but
still they come, and still they pose a great danger. The first five
crash into the Chimerax squadron, sinking their claws into the armoured
hull, ripping away the heavy bolters and access hatches. I was correct;
these transports will only last a matter of moments before they are
shredded.

“NOW” yells the Colonel. Again he’s waving in my general
direction, this time at the heavy weapons crews. Acting on orders I was
not privy to, all nine heavy weapons open fire, but not at the now
obscured tyranid threat. This time they’re targeting their own
transports! The combined fire soon penetrates the soft rear armour of
the vehicles and within seconds of the Colonel’s order a massive
explosion marks the simultaneous destruction of all three Chimera
variants.

When the smoke has cleared not only are the three wrecks
wracked with flames, they are also covered in alien blood. All twenty
stealers were caught in the explosion and not one is left standing.
Again the heavy weapons teams let out a cheer. I look for the Colonel
to catch his reaction, but he’s already embedded in the middle of the
left flank, his power sword swinging over his head as he cleaves apart
the aliens with relative ease.

At last the reserve squads charge forward, bolstering both
flanks, the centre of the battle line now protected by three smoking
Chimerax. With the extra surge the remaining tyranids are actually
being forced back. I find it incomprehensible. These men are going hand
to hand with tyranid monsters and actually showing a possibility of
winning.

Again a rumbling over my left shoulder catches my
attention. It’s the 8th armoured division. Great news, for this surely
means they were successful on the south ridge. The squadrons of Leman
Russ battle tanks form an assault line and open fire. The huge battle
cannons lob shells the size of a tyranid warrior’s head into the midst
of the swarm. The constant bombardment soon begins to scatter the
swarm; huge holes are opening in their numbers. Where once a vicious
group of hormagaunts stood is now only a crater.

Within only a few minutes the remnants of a once foreboding
hive swarm is scattered, fleeing towards the desert. Those embedded in
the action too overcome by the heat of the battle to comprehend fight
on, taking down many a good soldier in the process.

22 minutes after the arrival of the 8th the ominous task of
counting the dead can begin. The battle is over. The guardsmen were
victorious, though I use that word only in the sense that they are
still alive. Out of the three platoons involved in this battle, I think
I can see only one or two men walking upright. The rest are crawling or
hobbling away from the plains, using their lasguns as crutches where
possible. The death toll is tremendous on either side, approximately
80% on our side.

However today I have witnessed a great display of the
indomitable strength of the human spirit. Though outnumbered and out
classed in hand to hand, these men fought bravely, or maybe
foolhardily, against a fearsome foe and survived. Their homes are safe
and their families alive.

Of all the men present today I have three men to recommend
for honours. The Colonel obviously must once again receive the highest
commendation for his leadership and skill. The lascannon operator, one
Pvt F. Jayden, is recommended for marksmanship befitting guardsman.
Without his excellence this battle may well have gone to a rather more
sinister outcome. Finally I suggest that the missile loader, Pvt T.
Harke, is transferred to the nearest training school to be inducted
into a scout company. His keen observation under the heat of an intense
battle should be duly noted and I believe his talents could be better
used elsewhere.

Thus I conclude this report, a testament to the fighting men of the 7th Kataan Division, Kataan IV.

J. Defst, Honours Commission, Imperial Guard Division.

The post Making Heroes of Men appeared first on BlokeCrafted.

Background

Determined as the least hostile of the Dead System of Kataan, the 4^th planet was reclaimed with a prototypal meteorological acceleration technique.

The plant now hosts the systems entire population, providing residence for the mining operations on Kataan II and V.

Population

The
population of Kataan IV is comprised mostly of the miners and their
families. A small number of administrative and security forces were
issued upon reclamation of the planet. Now supports 2 Imperial Guard
Companys, one infantry, one armoured.

The civilian
population is concentrated mainly in the ten major cities of the
planet, Katul being the largest and the planetary Capital.

Meteorological Status

The
terraforming techniques required to reclaim the dead barren world were
so severe that the planet suffers from a somewhat unstable weather
system. Known daily hazards include tremendous sand storms, extreme
temperatures which fall to well below zero after suns-set, and regional
gravitational shifts varying throughout the year.

The last
recorded precipitation on Kataan IV was over three decades ago. The
terraforming cycle took over ten years, ending only five decades
previously. For twenty years after the completion of the cycle the
planet was ravaged by terrible storms, hurricanes, and tornados. At the
end of this time the weather shifted over a period of one month to it’s
current situation.

Geographical Status

There
are no oceans on Kataan IV. The planet is covered by 60% desert and 40%
jungle. The planetary orbit is such that the Northern Hemisphere is
closer to the larger sun, Alpha, all year round. This has caused it to
stay an arid, desolate desert. The Southern Hemisphere, however
receives the majority of it’s light and heat from the smaller, and
cooler Veyga. This has, combined with the large deposits of water under
the Southern pole, has resulted in a lucious, but deadly, hemisphere
spanning jungle.

The violent contrast of terrain meet in a
strip only 100kms wide in which crops will grow (with sufficient
artificial irrigation), and the weather is relatively moderate. It is
along this belt that 9 of the 10 cities are located. The tenth city,
Peruvia, is set deep in the Southern Hemisphere’s Jungle, positioned to
provide a water supply for the rest of the planet.

Urbanisation Status

Urbanisation
on Kataan IV has reach peak profficiency. The limited amounts of
sustainable crops and purifiable water have restricted population
expansion. Families have been restricted from having offspring. Those
who procreate, by choice or otherwise, are summarily exiled from the
planet.

The ten cities all fit the STC for planets of this
class. They are surrounded by 20 metre high, 5 metre thick plasteel
walls. Small residential dwellings are built three high around the
inner permiter, whilst the large taller blocks form an inner ring
around the adminstration building.

The administration
building houses not only the security division and administrative
workers, but presently the emergency barracks are overflowing with the
honourary Planetary Defence Force.

Military Status

Initially
Kataan IV was assigned security forces at the rate of .02 squads per
capita. However the recent events regarding the Tyranid Hive Fleet [see attached historical account for full details] have meant that 2 Imperial Guard Companies currently reside.

Once
unthreatened, Kataan IV has become the target of repeated assaults by
Orkish raiders. It is believed these greenskins may even have had the
audacity to establish a beachhead in the Northern Hemispherical Desert.
These reports are as yet unsubstantiated.

Kataan System Summary

The Kataan System is composed of five planets orbiting on a complex helical path around the twin suns, Alpha and Veyga.

The Planets

All five planets were originally classed delta (Death World), however due to enormous mining potential in the system, the 4^th planet was subjected to a five decade reclamation plan.

The 2^nd
planet is completely covered in a mildly acidic liquid. The floor of
this planet spanning ocean is riddled with undersea mining operations
to remove the natural flora that is the source of the acidity. The
plants are fitted with a self defence mechanism which sprays a strong
acid into the local vicinity. Over time this has made the entire ocean
toxic to all other forms of life. The plants are gathered to provide a
powerful toxicant and chemical base for the surrounding systems.

The 5^th
planets’ orbital path takes it between the twin suns three times each
planetary month. The intense gravitational forces and extreme heat
scours the surface of all matter. The planet is a barren rock,
compressed to 80% of it’s size upon discovery three centuries ago. It
is predicted within another half millennium the planet will
disintegrate from the incredible pressures. However under the
plasteel-like surface valuable ore carrying rocks were discovered,
calling for mining operations. The miners work to a strict schedule,
leaving the planet just days before it’s intrastar movment, and
arriving again 8 days after. Scientists estimate that every year of
mining reduces the planets life by one decade. However this is deemed
inconsequential as the planet is unable to support life.

The Stars

The
larger star, Alpha, has been classed alpha-phi by The Astronomican, and
as such all warp travel through the system is done so under the
strictest of controls. The huge gravitational effects combat the
formation of warp fields, and as such sublight ships are used to ferry
travellers and product to the depature station currently on a wide
orbit of the system.

The smaller star, Veyga, has been
classed gamma-delta, and is currently thought to be in it’s final
stages of decay. Current estimates, however, predict all product of
worth will be removed from the system long before the sun collapses. It
is also predicted this collapse will cause the Super Nova of Alpha,
which may disturb warp travel in the sector for up to two years. This
is just postulation at present, and cannot be substantiated until
measurements can be made of Veygas final core temperatures.

The Departure Station

The
Departure Station is a huge wide orbiting space station, designed as a
way point between sublight and warp travel to and from the Kataan
System.

It can simultaneously dock up to twelve Warp
Cruisers, and over one hundred Sublight Frigates. It has a crew
compliment of 1242, approximately half that number being fully trained
by a representative of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

At present it has zero fire power, but if the rumours of an Ork Stronghold on the 4^th planet are confirmed, this will be upgraded to carry System Orbitary Batteries.

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