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.

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.

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.