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Post by aeonian on Apr 28, 2009 17:01:30 GMT -5
The planet Vorum VI...constantly undersiege by the forces of chaos. Heretical cults, chaos space marines of the Iron Warriors legion, daemons...a never ending war rages across the hives.
But one hive out of them all held the most importance for the Imperial Guard forces on Vorum: Hive Kalimus.
It's signifcance lied solely with its vast richness of metal ores. Here, raw materials are mined and shipped off world to be transformed into valuable weapons and munitions.
That was long ago, and now over twelve legions of Imperial Guard have been sent to Hive Kalimus to liberate it. Seventy million men in all, but amongst them, the most elite of them were but a mere team of hardened individuals - Delta Team, a group of the craziest, wildest, and most battle experienced veterans from several different regiments.
Delta Team was already caught in a thick barrage of autocannon fire, however, as the regiment they were attached to advanced through the Hive. From up ahead, the heretic cultists poured solid slug rounds at them. All around the Delta Team members, guardsmen without prior combat knowledge were jerked to the grouned as large bore shots tore through their bodies.
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Post by Srgt. Master on Apr 28, 2009 17:59:42 GMT -5
Jack quickly glanced over the lip of the snadbags, ducking back down just as fast when the cultist fired another salvo of slugs at thier line. Making sure his plasma gun was handy, Jack braced himself as one of the heretic autocannons spreyed the area with high-explosive shells, killing two unfourtunate conscripts who did not move fast enough.
As soon at the auto cannon's focus moved on to the next section of the line, Jack rose to a kneeling possition and begun firing shot after shot into the emplacement he had spoted earlier. Rolling to the left, he just managed to keep ahead of the slugs comming from the traitor's weapons. Finally finding sutable cover, Jack dived headfirst into the crater, grunting as a slug cliped his shoulder guard.
After regaining his breath, Jack turned to see one of delta team's members. Ignoring the death and flying bullets and las-fire, Jack only mumbled "Bothersome cultists, right?" just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the battle.
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Post by Cadian 117 on Apr 29, 2009 0:34:56 GMT -5
Noticing, the guy named Jack looking at him and hearing his comment on cultist, Jason replied, "Yeah no kidding." Jason stood up and looked over the lip of the crater he was in. Two autocannon teams. Interesting... he thought to himself. Ok then if thats how the bastards want it then thats how they will get it!
Jason moved to a crouch, poking the muzzle of his rifle barely over the top, fired a few shots toward the crew across from him on a rooftop, and ducked back down. He barely had time to notice the beautiful headshot he had gotten on the loader, before the gunner redoployed and fired on him.
"Can someone take care of the bastard, I cant get a shot!" Jason said rolling to escape the slugs raining down on his position.
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Post by aeonian on Apr 29, 2009 9:26:11 GMT -5
Harrik was nearby, and heard the call from his team member. He spat at their apparent incompetance and lack of courage. But what was courage to him? The Inquisition and the Adeptus Munitorium were convinced he was a scum. Harrik knew he wasn't a scum - he was the best damned knife fighter, gunman and killer on the entire planett!
He pulled open the slot to his underslung grenade launcher and shoved in a 40milimeter fragmetation grenade. Time to show them who was in charge here, he thought to himself.
Popping up from the trenches, he quickly located a gun next - four heretics manning a pair of crude autocannons. Their shots decapitated a trio of Cadian whiteshields before they could duck back into cover. Fools.
Harrik lept back down to the ground, moving to his left to obtain a better firing position.
Leaning up against the trench walls, Harrik inhaled, then exhaled. This was insane. He shot upwards, and brought the rifle to his shoulder. Finger on the trigger, he clamped it down. Thee shot tore through the air.
A mighty erruption ensued, as all four of the traitor soldiers flew into the air, some of them with detached body parts. Bloody mist frazzled in the dim light of the hive.
"Ha! That's how you bloody well should do it!" he exclaimed, glancing over at the other two Delta Team members with an insane grin spread across his face.
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Post by xorl on Apr 29, 2009 11:19:29 GMT -5
Tyron watched Harrik completely destroy the heretics, a look of amusement on his face.
"Nicely done," Tyron said as he walked towards Harrik. He had to stay low from the shots coming at him. He brought his hellgun to bear, got up. He shot into the crowd of cultists, saying nothing at all, merely concentrating on killing as many of the bastards as he could before they started firing on him.
Soon enough autocannon fire sprayed in his direction and he dropped to the ground. "Well, that was fun," he said, looking up at Harrik. Mud covered their armor. "How many do you reckon I got?" He looked at the readout on the hellgun as he got back into a crouch. '99%' the hellgun displayed. Plenty of shots. The words 'Hope' were inscribed on his gun. His mind was racing. He was still in shock from his entire squad being massacred by Khornes followers in power armor. Somehow he was the only survivor, although to this day he wishes the Khornates had ripped his organs out too. Maybe thats why Tyron had been taking so many risks lately. 'You'd better f***ing snap out of it,' he thought, 'This has been nothing compared to the catacombs.' Tyron fired more shots and took delight in the blood being splattered from the cultist wounds he was inflicting.
"Jack, you're a man of action," Tyron yelled, "We should bring the fight to them."
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Post by Inquisitor Lord Graenis on Apr 29, 2009 11:20:31 GMT -5
The ruins were his home. High, in the rafters of one of the Munitorum buildings, lay death. The rubble was strewn around desks, in some places small fires raged, but this, this was his place. Crawling through the darkness of the rafters, Jesden hunted his prey. He had seen a traitor officer earlier, and he had an inkling of where to find him. Because, for some reason, unlike the officers of the Imperial Guard, some of the traitors lead from the front.
The dark blue of a dress uniform caught his eye. 'Got You' he thought to himself, Pulling his rifle out from it's case, he lowered the bipod, and rested it against a fallen piece of masonry. The darkness was good enough to hide movement, but any light reflecting off of some gun metal meant that his prey would most likely be alerted to where he was. In the half gloom of the battle, Jesden wrapped some cameleoline cloth arround his rifle's barrel, and rubbed some dirt and dust into it. He did the same for his drab grey fatigues he wore underneath his carapace armour, and again for his cloak. He was a hunter. He was death.
Starting his breathing exercises, Jesden closed his eyes. The target had moved. Adjusting his aim slightly, Jesden repeated the steps at least seven times before he was just right. Above the right eye, and below the hairline, the crosshairs were alligned. The range was correct, and Jesden let out a half breath, before releasing the trigger. With a wet thud, the head of the officer exploded, the high velocity round punching through his skull and brain, and being released the other side. Red gore and brain matter showered the walls and the people around him, painting a grim picture. Staying completely still for five seconds, Jesden slowly backed up. He would begin his hunt anew, this time for a new victim.
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Apr 29, 2009 12:46:14 GMT -5
With the sudden, shattering violence of a burst of thunder, a heavy stubber opened up- not from the traitor lines, but from the shattered wreck of the Imperial Guard forces, the distinctive magnesium-white blaze of it's muzzle lighting up like a flare in the swirling, dusty shadows.
Eight second burst....pause....six sexond burst....pause...eight.... thought Laeretes Pfeil, as he sighted down the long, dark barrel of his stubber, the continous, metallic rattle of spent cartridges a softer undertone to the blazing snarl of the stubber. Eight...pause....si-
With a hideous, metallic screech the firing bolt slid forward and locked in place, the blue-steel belt jammed in the mechanism at an oblique angle.
"Frakking sloth!" he snapped, cursing his loader even as the man lay, face up to the sky as the blood trickled from his open, gasping mouth, dark against flesh as white and dead as chalk. Leaning over, looked over and saw where shrapnel had torn a bloody gouge in the fool's chest, the flesh near-black with blood, ribcage brilliant white against the gore and mangled pulp.
"You'll live, you sap" he muttered, placing a preassure bandage over the wound. "That's your ticket out of this little maelstrom. If I come back, and some bastard's nicked my stubber- well, I know where to find you, worm" he growled, rising to a hunched, predatory crouch, and then dissappearing into the thickening smoke.
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Post by Srgt. Master on Apr 29, 2009 12:48:49 GMT -5
Looking over to wards the man called tyron, Jack only bothered to grunt an affirmative before hoisting his plasma gun over the ridge. Closing his right eye, Jack shot twice, the two hyper-heated rounds hitting another team manning an auto cannon and causing the ammunition to cook off in the heat. Jumping back down, Jack lowered his plasma gun to the floor. Ignoring the look coming from a white shield nearby, Jack pulled out his las pistol and begun snapping off shots at the hoard of cultists.
The conscript, obviously not knowing the dangers of a glowing plasma gun, quickly dived at the clearly overheated weapon, scorching his hands as soon as they touched the heated metal of the gun. Howling in pain, the conscripted called for a medic, clutching his burned hands.
Noticing the conscript's accident, Jack snatched his customized weapon up from the mud, adding an insulting "Bothersome heroes" before resuming his duties at the crater's lip.
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Post by Colonel-Commissar, (M.I.A) on Apr 29, 2009 14:00:50 GMT -5
Steven liked cultist as much as the next 5 guardsmen in line,but these guys were just plain annoying. He wanted to use his missile launcher,but there wasnt anything worth shooting with a full tube. Holding his laspistol in a tight grip,Steven looked over the edge of the rubble and ducked back down as three of the heretics ran past yelling in some damnable tounge unknown to humanity. "Yeah,screw you too" He said under his breath and stood up to fire at them from behind. Two fell instantly,the third dived into cover with his autogun firing. Ducking back into cover himself,Steven reached into his kit and pulled out his boltpistol. Cocking it and aiming carefully with both,he got up and started to slowly walk forward with his eyes on the cover occupied by the cultist. "You fail" He yelled and went around nailing the heretic three times in the chest. Putting his boltpistol back into his pack.He began to move forward in the ragged formation that Delta team was in.
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Post by knight (M.I.A) on Apr 29, 2009 15:48:35 GMT -5
Hark had taken position a bit besides the main battle and the autocannons, not because he was afraid of the fighting but those crude firefights weren't made for him. He needed the close encounter and the thrill of a kill eye to eye. He was calmly watching the trenches from the 2nd floor of a ruined building. Like a predator from his homeworld he was waiting for some traitors, stupid enough to leave the rest of their group, trying to assault the flank he was waiting on.
Suddenly a quick movement caught his eyes. He had been sure there had been a movement in that old ruin directly ahead of him.
He calmly waited and there it was again. A movement, coming closer towards him and now he could see what caused it. Five traitors armed with crude autoguns, wearing old hockey masks, just showing their either bald heads or grimy hair. Wearing dark red and tan fatigues they were now sprinting over to their doom.
Get closer you little fools, and see what a Barking Toad can do to you. Darran thought. And now they were closing in fast. They sprinted over the free place directly in the same ruin Hark was hiding in, by now he had moved down one level and was right above the only way through this god forsaken ruin. Waiting patiently next to a hole in the floor above the lobby.
The traitors started to move in the lobby by now. Amateurs, even a Catachan Devil is more silent than those beginners, thinking this he draw his two Adeptus Astartes Combat Knives. He had taken them from two fallen Marines on Asfaloth VII when they had been fighting there together with several Imperial Guard Regiments.
Hark dropped down in the lobby and before the traitors could react he was already rolling up and had cut the legs of two of the traitors who slumped to the floor as all the important muscles had been severed in their legs. With a swift movement he cut up the two fallen traitors and rammed the knives in the throats of two of the others. The leader of the traitors seemed to be shocked that 4 of his troopers had died in less then 15 seconds without being able to say anything or defend. He tried to ready his gun but it was too late for that already.
Damn!!! the officer thought while he tried to pull up his gun. This colossus had just killed all his men and was now getting towards him. His attempts to pull up his gun had been too late. That thing already grabbed him by the throat and raised him to face level, before giving him a headbutt that made his vision get blurry.
Darran did let the officer drop to the ground who tried to get up again right away but only got back in range of Hark's arms, punching directly against his hockey mask which started to crack under the force of the impact. Stumbling backwards and nearly falling unconscious of the mighty blow the traitor came to rest on an old desk. He tried to draw his combat knife, but he was too slow now and he felt like he had been hit by a sledgehammer. Suddenly he could feel how his masked splintered along with the desk sinking his head into it before his vision went black and more of those punches hit his face, turning it into a red mess barely recognisable as a face anymore.
The officer stopped breathing after the third hit already, but that didn't stop Hark to smash the traitor into the desk.
Darran stopped beating the dead officer after a few moments and wiped his hand clean on the uniform before turning around to get his two beloved combat knives back, accidently touching and noticing that he had still been carrying his trusted and silenced boltpistol on his belt. He grabbed his knives and jumped up again and grabbed hold of the first floor and pulled himself up, leaving the five dead traitors behind
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Post by Ymmot (M.I.A) on Apr 29, 2009 15:54:06 GMT -5
The bullets whizzed all around him as he crouched behind a small bit of wrecked metal that made a rather sorry excuse for cover, he could make out shapes advancing in the smoke, their bodies clearly outlined thanks to the auspex equipment built into the jumble of red lensed sensors that bulged from the socked where his right eye had once been. The amount of damage he suffered over the years made this little assault seem like a stroll through the observation deck on the orbital where he'd spent all of his childhood that he could remember. His built in targeter counted down the distance of the cultist who randomly fired their weapons as they ran for the imperial lines... "White Shields, stand and fire on my command!" he was surrounded by conscripts, many of them already dead or dying...the rest held in place by the terror of a Commissar in their midst.
They were brave but young and unexperienced, it was a pity but he did not expect them to live through the afternoon. This was only the first wave and the fighting was sure to get fiercer from here on out. He looked into the faces of the young men and women around him, and though his features remained stern he felt a touch of sympathy, ahead now the heretics where closing fast, they'd be in optimum range in moments. Commissar Sterben loosed his power sword from its elaborate scabbard and squeezed the grip of his laspistol in anticipation as he began to stand up and draw his sword while bellowing the order to fire.
The conscripts bunched together around him all stood up and fired in a hammering rapid volley right into the faces of the cultists. The torrent of searing red lasbolts filled the air with cracking bursts of sound as they lanced through the relatively unprotected bodies of the traitors and cut them all to pieces. Not all of them fell right away however and as the conscripts fired they too fell with gaping wounds from solid slug ammunition.
"Forward, forward for the Emperor, remember your homes and your families, remember the steep price of failure!" he waved his swords and the white shields roared and pushed themselves on the enemy with rifle and bayonet, pushing the tide back with bodies and blood as the Commissar moved up into the gap created in their wake. Switching on his commlink the Commissar sent the word out to Delta team "keep the pressure up, we must exploit this push forward if we want to advance from this position." He said as he fired into a group of heretics with his laspistol then raised his power sword and let out a yell as he charged head long into combat.
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Post by xorl on Apr 30, 2009 10:16:59 GMT -5
Tyron looked around through all of the smoke, fire, and blood. He could see that the conscript army that they had been assigned to was wavering. However he could also see that the Commissar was doing the boys good, as he spurred them onto the attack. Thats the fight i want to get into, Tyron thought.
He jumped up out of the trench and ran headlong towards the Commissar and his men. "Commissar! Let's show these boys how its done!" He hopped over bodies and wounded men and quickly stepped up onto the cover that the Commissar was hiding behind earlier. He leaped off of it, gripping his power sword in his hand as he landed on a feeble cultist. The traitor spiraled onto the ground, feeling the weight of a fully equipped Joker hit him full force. Tyron loomed over him, hatred on his face. "Disgusting excuse for a man..." he muttered as he drove the sword deep into the traitors chest.
A roar was let out from the broken man Tyron as he charged into the combat amidst the conscripts, who looks genuinely terrified at Tyron as he charged the cultist scum. "Come on men, these scum have nothing!" He sliced a cultist. "Nothing, you hear me?!" another cultist fell to Tyrons blade. "NOTHING!" He pulled out his hell pistol, and with that word shot a traitor in the face.
The conscripts yelled and shouted, turning their fear into courage as Tyron slaughtered the heretics who ran screaming mad into his sword. They pushed forward with an even greater intensity, taking full forward steps into the smoke. Tyron smiled, they are young men, he thought, easy to inspire. We can win this battle yet. And with that thought he decapitated a wounded cultist.
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Post by Count Elakor on Apr 30, 2009 12:11:58 GMT -5
He felt a burning pain in his left hand, his first tought was "how the hell did they see me?". The burning in his arm didnt stop so he probed the wound, it was big, biger than he tought. Looking over to see it he saw nothing, then he realised his arm was gone. He found it tough, down with his feet. Using his remaining hand to aim his rifle, he tought nothing of it. He knew he saw the flash, searching, he finaly found the enemy marksman. Strange, he did not use an ordinary sniper rifle, only some semi auto thing with a scope on it. Then he saw the grin, The plesant grin of the enemy, than a flash, searing pain and nothing.
The round had folowed the spine, not tuching it, but revealing it to the world around. Content with his work Deamlimn slid back of the rock and inspected his own lines. Some twenty metres down the line some conscripts was fending of an enemy assault, there was a commissar among them. rigth then a figure leapt out of the trench, like some big wolf it pounded at the nearest heretic ripping him apart. Slaugther in its most brutal form. Motion, just at the edge of his vision. A heavy stubber setting up for firing, probably aimed at the beast. Shifting his aim, towards them, waiting for them to sett it up. High explosive amonition, Deamlimn had worked with that earlier, made a hell of a noice, lots of ligth. The traitor just ramed home the ammo drum, then he fired. The bolt ripping trough first the enemys hand, into the ammo drum. The gunner hadnt noticed, he just started firing, but nothing happened, the firing pin was jammed, then his loader slumped over the gun barrel, puling it down, he didnt even have time to wonder why before the gun exploded.
Another target gone, Deamlimn started walking. He had stayed there for to long. finding his way back to the Delta Team, he slund his rifle over his back and pulled his hand gun and headed towards the enemy lines.
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Post by aeonian on Apr 30, 2009 12:45:50 GMT -5
Where had the stubberman gone? Harrik wondered. He had just been there a moment ago, then the sound had stopped.
It didn't truley matter to Harrik, though, because he knew he could handle himself. He slid another grenade into his launcher, and moved left towards the Commissar and his mob of conscript cannon fodder. Despite Harrik's hate for the Commissariat and off world soldiers, he did not wish to be killed for something pointless.
"You! Commissar! Ain't I supposed to stay close to you?!" Harrik yelled at the top of his lung, so as for the Commissar to hear him over the din of cannon fire.
Suddenly a previously hidden cultist leapt from a nearby pile of rubble and twisted metal girders, all stained with blood and sizzling with black, charcoal-like smoke. The assailant lept at the commissar.
"Gak you, sonofab***h!" Harrik howled as he dived forwards towards the enemy combatant. The Commissar turned around to notice the fight, but was more preoccupied with keeping the conscripts in line. Hopefully that meant that he trusted Harrik, but the Samurai didn't put much faith in that notion. There was simply too much going on for anyone to think about anything except for survival and death-dealing.
The cultist fell to the ground, as did the Aeonian. As they both got back up, they drew their melee weapons: The heretic produced an enormous, rusty and notched kitchen knife.
Harrick unsheathed his custome designed Katana
The blade hissed as the its flawless steel blade slid from the sheath. Now Harrik could take on his hostile without fear of death by cannon - they had rolled back into the small trenches, he noticed.
The combatant bolted forward madly, knife poised to strike. Harriks coffed at the futile attempt to strike fear into his heart: The traitor didn't know the meaning fear. Now he would learn.
With both gauntleted hands wrapped around the haft of the weapon, Harrik parried the first strike - a jab. The knife almost flew from the attacker's hands but he kept the grip.
A follow up attack, a barely visible motion from the Samurai's blade, saw the bastard's right leg lopped off at the knee. It took him a moment to realize what had happened as he flopped to the ground, blood spraying.
Harrik finished him off with a downward thrust. A brutal coup-de-grace. Gore splashed up into Harrik's masked face. An image of Death itself.
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on Apr 30, 2009 12:53:13 GMT -5
The building echoed with history. Memories, images, all etched into the walls. Walls now blackened with the marring of conflict. Most of the paintings were hardly recognisable, some of the furniture was so mangled it was unclear what their origonal purpose was.
The monian sergeant dived to avoid a cascade of the small rockets that simply punched its way through the wall. Korianne was the last monian soldier to go down. Her torso just dissappeared in a fine red mist.
Chaz drew his wraithbane and caught the sound of maddened garbling and nonsense somewhere in the building. He pressed against his vox bead. "Dammit! This is sergeant Chaz Kellion of the monian 37th! Does anyone read me?! We've got a falk load of armour heading straight for our defenses in sector 5-I! My squad is wiped out! Is anyone faking there?!!!"
The monian was interrupted as he eyed a grey clad cultist, armed with two very big machetes. He didn't even hesitate, Chaz just brought up his wraithbane and sidestepped the madmans blow. The cultist simply stumbled onto his wraithbane.
Sergeant Kellion barely had enough time to remove the longblade before the next one was there, preparing to shoot his face off at point blanc range. It wasn't a thing you get used to, but it had happened to the monian more times in his career than he could count.
The wraithbane gracefully glided through the air, slicing the cultists hand off before his finger met the trigger. He was so blood crazed however he seemed unfrazed and prepared to strike with his bloody bayonet, guard issue by the look of it.
As a monian, among the best bladesmen in the eastern fringe, he saw this coming before he too off the madmans hand. Chaz batted the crude blade away effortlessly and his laspistol was out of his holster and primed in his hand. The cultist lurched back as the lasbolt fried his brain.
When the body hit the dust strewn floor he saw another group of cultists appeared at the end of the charred corridor. He was trapped beyond imperial lines, facing a whole bloody army of madmen. His team was dead and he needed to get news of the armoured push to the imperial defenders.
He tried again. "I said, this is Chaz Kellion, a sergeant in the monian 37th regiment! I am hailing any imperial forces! We have a s**tload of armour heading for sector 5-I! My squad is dead, need urgent assistance!!!"
A full third of the wall on the right side of the corridor several metres ahead dissappeared in a puff of white smoke as plaster and mortar burst out into the building interior. The hulking, clanking frame emerged, weilding a gun the size of the sergeants torso. His bulky armour was adorned with spikes, skulls and slapped on symbols that gave you headaches when you gazed at them.
He was through the window and on the cobbles of the street just as the corridor was obliterated in a hail of mass reactive shells. Chaz suddenly realised how exposed he was out here. Several gibbling screams told him his presence was still felt. The building he'd just escaped from transformed into a cloud of fire and a shower of bricks and glass. A boxy shape of a traitor russ was visible at the end of the street. The cobbles around him jumped and skipped as heavy stubber rounds chased the tall, lean figure's progress.
The monian sergeant made for the shadows of the nearest manufactorium. "I am heading west! Hello! Is anyone recieving me?!!!"
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Post by Cadian 117 on Apr 30, 2009 15:43:44 GMT -5
'Keirn here, I receive you Kellion. You need to find a way to the old Arbite station, slightly south of you, and I will see if I can meet you there. I can make it in 10 or less if I don't run into too much trouble but I don't need a Commissar-ARGH-"
Jason following Tyron as he said his words got into a knife fight with a cultist. He ducked a heavy swing from the crude axe and grabbed the cultist by the collar not expecting the cultist, to try to bite him. Dropping him he hit him with the knuckled grip of his knife, square in the nose. Blood came pouring out of him but he didn't seem to care. He swung downward this time with extreme strength and Jason sidestepped it. He brought the knife down into the base of hit skull while the heretic attempted to straighten up and fight. He failed. Blood gushed from the wound and Jason pulled the knife free.
'Sorry about that, ran into a slight problem...Ack!" Jason go hit in the leg with a las shot set to stunned. "You too you dumb bastard!" Jason said pulling his sidearm free of its drop holster and shooting the cultist square between the eyes. "Anyways what I am getting at is lemme talk to the commissar and get back to you in just a bit...." Jason yelled in between dodging a sick looking sword and shooting a cultist in the groin.
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Post by Srgt. Master on Apr 30, 2009 16:05:01 GMT -5
Following Jason through the battle, Jack overheard most of his conversation with the monaian. Sprinting to catch up to the slightly faster man, Jack called out "Jason, I might be able to contact the Commissar! cover me!" Focusing on his prayers, Jack begun searching for a frequency that the Commissar could receive, all the while fighting for his life.
Ducking a cultist's blade, Jack found the frequency and contacted the commissar.
"Commissar Sterben! We have contacted a unit in need of aid, but we must leave the current area-" Sidestepping another traitor's machete,Jack shot him various time with his las pistol before continuing, "Permission to proceed to the stranded unit?!"
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Post by Ymmot (M.I.A) on Apr 30, 2009 18:57:48 GMT -5
Commissar Sterben moved with grace rarely seen on the battlefield, swaying and dodging between the clumsy blows of cultists and striking at them with lethal precision as they left themselves open following their fumbled attacks. He was like smoke, or a phantom, his swirling coat obscuring his movements in a shapeless mass of black only punctuated by a swift and dramatic killing blow topped off with the artsy flourish of a trained swordsman then narrowly dodged another attack and killed his new attacker with a subtle flick of his wrist, the deadly edge of his powersword cutting through bodies with hardly any effort. When they came in pairs or more he used his pistol, just as deadly in close combat with the light weight las weapon in his off hand as he was accurate at long range, the short distance making aiming almost unesscery.
"Try to keep up Harrik!" Sterben responded to the so called samurai, and be damned if the mangy old wolf of a commissar wasn't smiling from ear to ear with feral exhilaration, that is before he almost got rushed from the side and Harrik jumped in to save the day. Sterben watched with a slight tilt of his head then brought the basket hilt of his powersword up and nodded to Harrik in an informal salute, perhaps the trouble maker would be worth keeping alive after all.
"Press onward, teach these traitor scum a lesson, press onward for victory and the glory of the Imperium!" Sterben urged the conscripts onward and though the fighting was brutal and many died the Imperial lines were advancing and the traitors looked as if they might actually break, but just as things seemed hopeful Sterben's voxbead chirped with bad news.
"Enemy armor to the west heading to our sector...damn. Tyrok...do you or Keirn have anything that can handle it?"
Sterben switched his channel to talk directly with the Monian Sergeant "This is Commissar Heinrich Sterben, I need full details on your situation, how many tanks and what kind of support?"
Broadcasting to all team members Sterben issued his next command "this will all be for nothing if those tanks arrive, I need you to make a coordinated strike Delta team. No heroics."
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Post by Kaikelx on Apr 30, 2009 21:14:06 GMT -5
Meanwhile, in space...........
"Wait. Don't tell me. We're lost"
"Um....yes sir....."
"Well, at least we're the only ones who got separated......"
The second figure merely shrugged.
"Sir, do you want me to follow the usual procedure?"
"Yeah, go ahead. Oh, and ask them where they would like some air support."
"Yes sir."
"Oh and one more thing."
"Sir?"
"Why the hell do we always get lost in the warp?"
"Sir, um......"
"That was a rhetorical question."
"Oh.....sorry sir."
"Meh, forget it. I'll go get ready. Give me the call when you're ready."
"Yes sir."
Kaikel Xiang then turned away. Mentally, he added one more reason why he hated warp travel.
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Post by Count Elakor on May 1, 2009 6:47:56 GMT -5
Tanks, aparently somone was having some truble with some tanks. What could he do. He bendt down and started firing into the enemy lines. One more kill, two more, three, four, five, six, seven, eigth, click. Disapointed Deamlimn reloaded his side arm and started firing again.
The shouting was geting anoying, wasent somone going for those tanks yet? They were so close he could hear them. Whatever, taking them down cant be so hard. In a full run towards the noice Deamlimn burst from cover to cover. He even got hit once, not that he nited the impact, but one of the smal shields covering his body went down. There, armour. Now, what to do. Drawing his sniper and setting it to full power, Deamlimn fired at the front track. Draving a full power shot expended his entire clip, but it also blew out the tracks. One tank dead in the water. It was still firing tough.
Runing for the main hull of the tank, taking down heretics on the way. Headshot, headshot, bodyshot. Damn. But that didnt matter any more, already on topp of the tank, he drew his knife, an ordinary powersword could not do anything here, not withouth being damaged. On the other hand, a disruptor knife would ruin the hach just by pasing trough. Bending the steel, Deamlimn finaly manaegd to get it open. Then he only needed to drop a grenade into it, to bad he didn't bring any grenades here. So, pulling his hand gun, he just started firing into the compartment, withouth aiming properly. Not what he would normaly do, but most of his shots hit, and the crew barely had time to notice somone could se them before they died.
Still, people were going to notice somone had been there, and withouth proper cover close by, Deamlimn had no choice but to drop into the cupola. From there he actualy had a perfect line of sigth to everything close by, an officer, sudenly withouth a head, a tank commander in his cupola then, now a tank commander draped over the barrel.
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Post by knight (M.I.A) on May 1, 2009 7:06:30 GMT -5
After getting back in the first floor Hark heard another noise on the ground floor. That was a vox. One of those traitors had a vox. Hark had lost his own some time ago and until then he had none left anymore and was cut off the Imperial communication, but suddenly he felt how the building started shaking. Something was getting closer, something big.
Darran quickly got up two more floors to his lookout point and there he saw them tanks, lots of them, less than three blocks away and getting closer towards him, but what had that been. Hark wasn't sure but hasn't been there someone running over the streets now trying to hide in the old factory? Hark had no time to think of that. The tanks were getting closer and one of the tank commanders were suspiciously looking at the top of the builing he was hiding it. Hark quickly dropped down to ground level when a battle cannon shell destroyed the top of the building already. Wow that was close, a little bit later and I'd have been dead Darran thought when he safely reached to ground levels again. He quickly grabbed on of the autoguns and some spare magazines and searched for the vox and found it the officer with the smashed face. He quickly adjusted it to Guard frequencies and started talking.
This is Catachan Guardsman Hark, can anyone reach me. Several tank are approaching the main lines, I repeat several tanks approaching the main lines. They just opened fire on me. I'm going to fall back as I don't have any weapons to stop their advance., he added a Catachan curse when the building started to crumble from the first tanks driving it it. Hark started running, looking for a good place to hide and perhaps even destroy a tank with a flame bomb
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Post by Inquisitor Lord Graenis on May 1, 2009 9:07:16 GMT -5
Jesden was prone against the another rafter in his building when he got the message about enemy armour over the commlink. Damn it. 'Can they not do anything without me. I mean, we even have dedicated heavy troopers to deal with this.' he thought to himself as he settled down with his rifle. Switching to his thermal mode on his scope, he panned around.
There, several large blocks of multicoloured heat. Switching to normal mode, he switched on the hud on his full face plated helmet. the targeting reticule locked on to several indistinct shapes. The armour. The ranges to each one hovering just above the target. looking down his scope again, he increased to zoom and elevation of it to compensate for the range and began his breathing exercises. There. A driving slit. After a second of breathing, a different tank slewed around as a lance of full powered las energy hit a track section. There was at least another sniper in the team, He knew that, but laser weapons gave away the position too easily compared to his solid round weapon. After another second, he fired, the high velocity round cleanly going through the driving slit, and the tank lurched forwards. He had scored a hit, and it seemed the driver had slumped over the controls. It was now out of control. But that was a worry of those on the ground. crawled along some rubble until he came to the next window. He took aim at the next tank along.
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on May 1, 2009 10:59:01 GMT -5
The monian sergeant was showered with dusty plaster as he exited another domicile, his air tight, monian speed and reflexes almost carried him through the rubble. It was as if he wasn't even in control of his own movement, his mind seemed to go into automatic drive as he concentrated on avoiding tank stubber rounds, cannon shells and enemy las bolts.
He caught the voice in his vox bead. It sounded like a cadian accent. He was familiar with the sort. Not like monians though, diciplined, rigid in the way their kit was kept in order. Monians weren't like that, two monians rarely had exactly the same kit. Due to the nature of their founding in the mist of the Tau's rapid advance into imperial space, they had no time to alocate hangmen.
The next transmission was from a commissar attatched to the Vorum PDF forces. "You know what commissar! You know what!? Do'ya want me to take a strole and count them?!!! Hey! I'll admire the quality of their falking bullets as they wizz past my head while i'm at it! I estimate it at around a s**tload commissar, no, ten s**tloads!!!"
As if the emperor himself cursed Chaz a lasbolt barely missed his ear. The monian sergeant knew it'd probably be his head for those words, but monians by nature were rabble rousers, they only showed true respect to their own. They were like catachans in that respect. He expected the two would get on like a house on fire, although he was yet to meet one.
He saw a big building up ahead, it stood out from the rest. In both stature and archetecture. It was adorned with a few statues, rendered unrecognisable by war and pillars, only 2 out of 5 still stood. The structure also sported an arial on the roof, probably for transmitting imperial propaganda.
Burst of flame and debris hounded him as his feet glided the open ground. It was a split second decision, it was either open ground or wait for the tanks to come smashing through the walls. The damn madmen were determined to eliminate the scout in their ranks.
The head blasted his back as the distance separating him and the arbites station grew ever shorter.
200 metres...150...100...50... His mind raced as he smelt sweet sanctuary and shelter from the hell storm.
The sergeant shoulder charged the iron door, the hinges so rusty and weak the metal barrier caved in under his mass.
Sounds that sounded so hellishly loud in his ears ceased as dust was kicked up and the traitors lost his scent, the sudden silence so sureal.
Chaz Kellion slung his lasgun across his back and drew his sidearm and wraithbane.
The darkness enclosed around him, only the grey light entering through the open door peirced the pitch darkness. If this cadian wasn't here, the monian sergeant might still be able to used the arial to contact the rest of the regiment.
Sergeant Kellion descended into the gloom, his warblade ready to counter anything that lurked in the dark...
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Post by Cadian 117 on May 1, 2009 15:41:28 GMT -5
Jason took a hold of his grenade launcher and standing amistd the the melee loaded 3 hellfire and 3 krak rounds, one after the other in patter, hellfire first. "You, you and you, on my mark with grenades!" Jason said pointing at a few of the conscripts taking cover around him.
"Die you fraggin heretics!" Jason yelled before firing first a hellfire and then a krak into the front of a Leman Russ. The hellfire melting the front plate and weakening it, the krak going straight through and, on the first one straight through the back gutting it. Then some of the braver conscripts charged with frag grenade ready and one was blown clear in two by a n autocannon slug but the others made it and threw the frags. the tank detonated for the inside out as the ammo cooked, and with it a loader verion Chimera next to it, and its ammo cooked as well. Now the street was clogged with burning wrecks and crews were attempting to escape but the Commissars precise orders were keeping them from running, and gunning them down with las fire.
"Well, now that thats over, I am gonna go link up with the monian and meet you here sir. Be right back, dont get your panties in a bunch!" Jason said through the comm bead as he took off towards the direction of the Arbite command, half a block away. "Be there in 5 or less Kellion, stay cool." He said ducking under a blown out hole into a basement.
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Post by Srgt. Master on May 1, 2009 21:44:31 GMT -5
Dashing from cover to cover, Jack ran for the location the monaian had reported. Sprinting between a wreck and a building's shell, Jack saw the soldier ramming through the front door. Diving forward, Jack rolled over a daed conscript's corpse, reaching the next piece of cover just as the autoweapon slugs caught up to him. Unslinging his plasma gun, he he quickly fired a quick burst in the direction of his attackers.
Feeling the impacts on his cover lessen, Jack jumped out of cover, sprinting towards the ruined Arbite building. Dodging a few slugs, Jack managed to reach the doorway of the ruin.
Just as a slug hit him in the back.
Falling forward, Jack grunted as the impact on his armour forced the breath from his lungs. Rolling into the building, Jack fired a volley before hiding from view. With the cooling coil's dissapating heat, Jack coild see clearly into the room he had entered. Just like any Arbites command, there were high arches, and few statues dipicting the emporer or some hero of old.
Remembering his mission, Jack called out through the vox network "Sergent Kellion? Corporal Jack Tyrok here. I was sent to help you out." Cautiously walking through the entrance, Jack made sure to keep an eye on the entrance, in case any cultists attempted to swarm them.
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