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Post by that1guy on Mar 15, 2015 18:43:18 GMT -5
Here in the dim red light of his squad's chimera, Pvt. Dahker pulled the short straw again. Sgt. Rove passed him the Plasma rifle & Dahker began to hyper ventilate. Just like last time he drew the short straw back in this very chimera during the beach head landing of Ebaimus Prime's eastern main continent. Dahker remembered the indignity in his voice when he begged not to get stuck with the plasma rifle and pleaded with Pvt. Disdun to take his turn. There at that beach head they couldn't make the first 80 meter's with out walking over the corpses of dead loyalist's and Bug Hunter 1, their chimera, had it's tread blown off at the shore.
There the heretical emplacements held the guard at bay while the Imperial Navy co-ordinated gun ship ordinance against the Emperor's foe's from the sea. As dusk approached heretical masses of mutant's and traitor charged down the beach as the sky turned red with the setting sun, multi laser's, lascannon's and the mass volley's of lasgun's and it stayed red long into the night as vox-valorous officer's called for a rally. Soon they walked over the dead in the red night, orange and yellow tracer fire from heavy bolter's and auto cannon's supported their push. A demonic war machine rose from the emplacement's smoldering wreckage and the white-blue flash of Disdun's plasma rifle laid the beast down crippled. It crawled forward stubber's chattering into their platoon gut shot squad mates fell, men lost limbs and Disdun smot the beast again with a bolt of white-blue plasma, shambling forward the beast clawed it's way toward them and Disdun exploded in the blue-white flash. They fell back with granades at that point, stumbling backwards dragging wounded (or not) and fragging and kragging all the way in the red of night to the beach head. It stayed red through the night, in the morning they made pyres to screen the battle field with smoke and recharge las packs. Then it was just the sea that stayed red.
The embarrassment kept him up at nights, the heckling from his squadmates afterwards sank the feeling in. But that wasn't as bad as the feeling Dahker had when he saw that the Commander had ordered a new plasma rifle for his squad from the Departmeno Ministorum.
"You're going to--" Sgt. Rove began
"Alright, I'll take it! The Emperor will watch over me." he wet his pants as soon as he took the volatile rifle, "The Emperor watch over me. Fear is naught, my faith is strong. Fear is naught, my faith is strong. Fear is not, my faith is strong."
Nobody in bug hunter 1 was looking at Pvt. Dahker now.
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Post by that1guy on Mar 26, 2015 13:38:45 GMT -5
The vetran's of the 83rd circled around camp fires after a quiet day on the line as Sgt. Victor would call it. A 12 hour shift in the trench under fire from Gretchen sharp shooter's. Standard Operating procedure would have seen them handed an 8 hour shift but Victor didn't care to dwell on the schedule stapled in the barracks when the officer's came to rally before dawn broke the Crescent mountain range. He cared to put on his last pair of fresh socks, bought from the dispossessed women evacuating to the make shift space port that was still under construction north.
Hours later on the line Victor was joking under mortar fire how he had stolen from the Major's personal liquor stock when word came down that the 407th had broken under a rush of an Ork Trukk packed full of large orks carrying large junk gun's. Heavy weapon's teams opened up when Victor poked his head over the trench cautious not to telegraph with his bayonet as he poked his skull over the edge of the trench and liked what he saw. Scouting probes of the green tide couldn't under stand why the line had held. They had marched to reinforce the trenches after his new Lieutenant led his command with red squad & countered the Nob offensive from Chimera and Salamander.
When Victor and his brother's showed up the situation appeared well in hand, though you never can tell with Orks. Bayonetting every corpse they came crossed his squad managed to locate many grots hidden under corpse's, wreckage & far more creative hiding spots. The grenades were not spared, any suspicious hole, any piece of wreckage that looked even remotely recoverable was demolished with explosives of one type or another. They had not occupied the trenches long enough for day light to rise before they encountered Gretchin construction crews in vehicles that rolled over their trenches and began building. Victor chuckled lightly with his brothers as they rose up to decimate the unsuspecting construction crews, it was clear the little grots had very bad intelligence reported to them on this spot. The looks on their faces were nothing short of sheer surprise and horror long after their corpses went cold.
That evening, as the sun set in the swamplands the 83rd set blaze to the ork equipment and supplies now off the line, cooking their tea and beans on the remains... which where not much more than remains before the Gretchin got "issued" them.
His fingers caressed the barrel of his muzzle loaded lasrifle, a relic of the days before the Immortal God Emperor deployed advanced technologies from stars he had never heard of to Ebaimus Prime. The day he first saw lemans Russ tanks and Valkyrie transports loaded with men carrying equipment and weapon's "new" & "Advanced" as the men of Ebaimus prime knew the definition of the words. Those forces drove off the 37 day siege back home, during the long grueling battle he destroyed a Chaos war machine from the forges of Mars in Winter Square by dumping a pot of boiling hot tar down the open turret hatch from on top of the chapel. He had bested an ancient traitor Astartes heavy support force that day.
Crossed the camp ground, Sgt. Victor could barely hear that tale being spun at the new Lieutenant's fire. Sipping on his tea, Sgt. Victor couldn't bring himself to admit a small part of him wanted to like the new officer. 'It doesn't matter.' he told himself 'He'll be dead by tomorrow... maybe I'll be dead tomorrow too.' he tried to ignore the officer's child like eye's when he receive his ration of beans and hogs feet.
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Post by that1guy on Apr 25, 2015 10:56:40 GMT -5
When Leutenant Paquette first met his 1stSgt. Dekarius he was in awe of the man's grizzled face. Heroic awe over came the young officer as he approached his command squad for the first time on the docks of the command ship Tyranicus Beta. Dekarius saluted his young lieutenant briskly and proceeded to confer with the command retinue as if it was absent of Leutenant Paquette. A bald Sgt. Mezcaquez bellowed something about requisitioning medical supplies in the huddle and dismissed himself with a quick appraisal of the new commander.
"Don't we have to board the... the Valkyries to land soon?" Leutenant Paquette asked feeling as if he sounded as a child.
"Huh?!?" Grunted the 1st. Sgt. "The Valkyries! Aren't they leaving soon!?!" the Lieutenant managed with a bit more fortitude.
"Huh!?!" the 1st Sgt. grunted again leaning in to hear over the engine's warming up or cooling down in the docks.
A radio operator leaned over to speak between the men, "Sir he's lost a lot of hearing! Been in a few too many artillery barrages!!" punctuated with a push toppling the 1st. Sgt off balance, the 1st Sgt playfully pushed the young radio operator on his rear end with his prosthetic arm.
"You go ahead and wait on the bird we'll be right behind you!" the radio operator said with a smile from his seat on the deck.
Lieutenant Paquette nodded and about faced nearly running into his assistant completely forgetting he was there. The officer and his adjunct loaded their bags on board the craft and waited... and waited... and waited...
When his command joined him with their own bags the Lt. was furious at being duped so. Yet he did not have the bravado to confront them about it in the presence of the 1st. Sgt.
The 1st. Sgt. banged on the hatch into the cockpit and at his signal the bird closed up and lifted off. The man carried an air of command that a commission simply did not hold. As the bird took out of the hanger the Lt's stomach sank even deeper when he noticed one of his men's bags was moving.
"What do you have in there!?!" the Lt. asked creeping back in his seat.
Sgt. Mazcaquez leaned over to unzip the bag revealing a Navel medical menial with a swollen black eye bound and gagged with medical tape swimming in the bag with bandages and other medical paraphernalia.
"Medical supplies!" Mazcaquez smiled. Mazcaquez ripped the tap off of the man's mouth.
"Ow!" cried the medicade adept. "Where am I!?! Where are you taking me!?!"
"Welcome to the 83rd princess!" Mazcaquez laughed and playfully slapped the man's cheek.
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Post by that1guy on Apr 30, 2015 20:34:42 GMT -5
Lt. Paquette sat in awe as he listen to the tale of Sgt. Victor's defeat of a Traitor tank. His eyes flickered a crossed the camp ground at other hero's who had held that damned trench this day for 15 hours mentioned in that same tale. Like Corporal Dread who led the bait into the trap laid for that traitor Astartes warmachine. A war machine that stalked their feudal lands for weeks, chasing prey into the city walls before siege artillery blew open a hole wide enough to run a murderous and bloody rampage upon a people loyal unto the Emperor.
Corporal Dread carried the flag that charged that tank and when the tanks swept through their ranks of halberds and great swords leaning into the heavy bolter fire like men against the rain of a vicious storm. The wave of violence that met them was unlike anything they had known before and Corporal Dread lost both his arms, many had lost so much more. The auto cannon fire blew through bodies of that assault and into the Riflemen positioned behind them covering with muzzle loaded Lasrifle that was equally ineffective as the Halibards and Great Swords had proven. Before the flag could even hit the cobble stoned road of Winter Square they broke formation and ran for the safety of the chapel falling over each other's corpses to seek refuge with in.
When the warmachine ground Imperial meat under it's tread crushing more still in a berserker charge that saw it awash with boiling tar from the chapel above. Over the choke, clogging the exhaust flooding the passenger compartment the Predator ceased to operate. The Legionary with his head out the hatch burned and slowly succumbed to the regrouped halibards. In the end he had no hips or legs and was bolted in there so long ago he couldn't remember. The driver frantically drowned in boiling petroleum trying to restart the engines which proved completely futile.
The field hospital Sgt. Victor visited Cpl. Dread in days later the men cried joyously as news that the Emperor was going to bring Cpl Dread so much more than salvation for his valor but new arms. It took high command and the commissariat weeks to convince the pious citizen's of Ebaimus Prime that it was not heresy to receive prostetics from the "Omnissiah" once the tech priests and other toys of mars started retrofitting men with new pieces to raise enough guardsmen to take the planet back.
Today Cpl Dread can't drop the flag unless the take this arm too, the laurel crowned skull at the top of the banner. It can retract the flag and the flag pole into septer size. The tech priests of mars took complete control of their forges and retrofitted both them and the smeltries to set up for the blessings of the Omnissiah. Like his arms their design was beyond the questioning of Command.
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Post by that1guy on May 2, 2015 22:15:18 GMT -5
Private First Class Remedius was in Red Squad when Lt. Paquette "led" the counter charge in response to the 407th breaking before the 83rds shift that morning. Special weapons squad; Red rallied in the Lt's command bunker as radio communications from a Sentinel squad reporting vital intelligence back to the reserve. Every firing slit of the structure was occupied by the rifleman veteran's of the 83rd and those men certainly looked like they had their hands full. Lasrifle's cycling through power packs melta's and grenade launcher's firing off from where ever a soldier of the Emperor could squeeze into the pack.
Members of Red squad filled the tanks of their flame throwers from drums with pumps tapped into the top. They were looking to each other as the dialogue of those communications took place and their adrenaline started to surge. From what they could hear the Sentinel's were harassing the orks all the member's of the squad agreed the whole damn area should be leveled by artillery but high command wouldn't draw artillery away from the southern pass.
Lt. Paquette cheered when the Sentinel reported back destroying the ork trukk, nobody cheered with him. PFC Remedius watch the naïve Lt. from under hooded eye's with in the anonymity of the early morning dark command bunker. Hefting the flame thrower on his back the Lt. had already drawn his pistol and followed out his command retinue into a chimera and Red squad loaded into the chimera next to them.
When PFC. Remedius looked out the back of the transport as the rear raised secure. There were figures scrambling out in the fog of war, their shadow's caught in glimpses when lit up by flashing furious lasrifle's. The short ride to the front was punctuated by the couple grenade launcher's positioned out of the open hatch. Soon after the back gate dropped and Red squad was out and charging on the trench. Big orks poked their heads out into the supporting fire of multi-laser's and heavy bolter's the chimera's fired in support of the assault. Lt. Paquette could barely keep up the melta gunner of his command squad charging the center walk way into the trench dropping the first brute to charge the corner with a well placed gut shot.
The Leutenant fired off lots of accurate controlled fire from his las pistol with little effect. The new officer grew increasingly aggravated each time he finished a magazine. By the time they swept the trench in flame PFC. Remedius gave Lt. Paquette a look with a little more respect than back in the dark of the bunker and it was more for the fact that the Lt. stood there with them now in that trench with out a shot left in any of his power packs than the fact that he no longer had the dark to mask the look of distain on his face.
Sheathing his laspistol in the holster on his belt, Lt. Paquette reached for the chainsword dropped by the poor Sgt. who fell in defence of this line. Seething with anger the Lt. wrenched the teeth of the weapon out of the duck board furious with his performance on the battle field. He swore he'd aimed true but couldn't seem to fell one foe. When the chainsword tore free and the Lt. managed to fire it up he felt possessed by purpose and humiliated in front of his men.
1st. Sgt. Dekarius sent one chimera back for reinforcement's and guided the other chimera into position to provide supporting fire. The heavy bolter and multi-laser finding great effect on what little they could locate in the pre-dawn haze choked by their flame thrower's. The chimera returned shortly with heavy weapon's team's and soon after that relief with a lasrifleman squad to take the trench over for them. PFC. Remedius saw Sgt. Victor the hero of Winter Square in the squad relieving Red squad. Sgt. Victor didn't know Remedius and he knew it, but the burn boy felt better leaving the trench to a tough old grunt like that. Even if he did prefer that muzzle loaded lasrifle over the cadian assault variant.
Lost of those 'antique' Ebaimus Primer's still carried the muzzle loaded lasrifles. Didn't seem to slow those dogs of war any.
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Post by that1guy on May 9, 2015 12:26:51 GMT -5
Lt. Paquette wasn't sure why the lowest ranking member of the sentinel squad was the one reporting the findings of an earlier patrol and at this point he was too afraid to ask. Private 'Dash' as the 83rd called him had a uniform that looked like a hive ganger's fashion statement, roughly stitched together trouser's with patches and his blouse had the sleeves cut with a large decorative patch on the back of a beautiful woman seductively perched on the barrel of a multi-laser.
"The commander of the heretics sir, he's an Astartes. One of the Emperor's fallen. N'these waves of mutant's and heathen's he's throwing at us are nothing. Absolutely nothing."
1st Sgt leaned in tightly to the huddle blinking a daft expression as he leaned an ear toward Pvt. Dash. "And where did you find him?" Paquette asked
"Well he's certainly not there any more, but we found him on the western peak of the northern Crescent mountain. He's using the peak to shelter his elite from our artillery."
"And what capabilities make these forces elite?" Paquette drew upon out of desperate yearning for clarification.
"The capabilities to chase us out of their bloody sites! Beast's and Machine's, I mean sir... they are building... THINGS!" Pvt. Dash punctuated with the sign of the aquilla. "I hate to say it but that side of the mountain is his and he ain't sharing it with us."
"Well he isn't sharing it with the Orks," 1st. Sgt interjected.
"Oh mercy no!" Pvt. Dash laughed "No he certainly is not! The trouble that Xenos beast has given him has yielded us some significant opportunities."
"What kind of opportunities?" Lt. Paquette asked with a raised eye brow.
"We've hit him." said one of Pvt. Dash's squadmates from the background. Leaning against the wall taking a long drag from his ihostick.
"Yes, we temporarily engaged him. Nobody has time to swat a fly away from their ear when fending off a dragon." Dash expanded "And we'll hit him again!"
"Now what of the Ork commander? Where is that beast?" the Lt. asked leaning over the map on the table in the middle of the bunker.
"We can't find him," Dash reported disappointedly. "The river's that feed the swamp they are literally swimming with the orks and the farther south you go the thicker they get with each crossing! Filthy monger's are dug in right and tight, wreckage and loot thicker and piled higher the deeper you venture."
"That explains why I dropped to this planet for a heretical uprising and seen not a damn thing but brutish green Xenos and there wreck salvaged malgamations," Lt. Paquette deduced.
Laughing Sgt. Mazcaquez switch hands on the sling of his meltagun to check his wrist chronometer, "Sir you've been planet side for less than 38 hours!"
"Yes, well..." the Platoon Commander trailed off feigning near out right insubordination once again from his command retinue. "Perhaps if I could pull a favor with the artillery regiment and draw a little more fire power on the orks that over ran us,"
"Then the heretics will over run us, again." Sgt. Mazcaquez laughed looking at the new medic he had dragged down from orbit who glared at him menacingly over blood soaked hands and uniform.
"Yes but that may lure the Commanding Traitor into expanding himself to allow for Pvt. Dash here to get a better shot at him,"
Dash laughed looking back at his squadmates with a smirk and pulled a tooth pick from his breast pocket. "You're going to requisition artillery? ...sir?" he ended almost forgetting the 'Sir' maybe even on purpose and decided better of it at this point.
"I may be able to pull something," the Lt. blinked unsure of his own resources and capabilities.
1st. Sgt's bearing refrained him from out right laughing into his platoon commander's face out of disbelief. But he still doubted the untested officer, on the trench line shortly after collecting the replacement Lt., Paquette barely kept up and literally needed to be dragged and held up right when stumbling over the corpses filling the trench they seized back for the Imperium. 1st. Sgt. leaned back less than concerned with the map or the situation. This boy officer was going to die faster than the last one and the one before that. The man honestly didn't care if the Lt. got them killed with him, after 3 winters on this coast he was ready to answer the Emperor for his life.
Clenching his teeth around that tooth pick Pvt. Dash looked the Platoon Commander up and down, "Alright, you get that artillery and we'll hunt down that bastard. Hell, you don't get that artillery and we'll still lay our sites on him!"
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Post by that1guy on May 23, 2015 20:30:36 GMT -5
1st Sgt Dekarius hefted the 83rds banner for both squads on either flank to see. Command stood shoulder to shoulder with real flesh and blood soldiers of the imperium.
"Throne above!" the boy officer exclaimed unbeknownst to himself. Before them two enemies met in ignorance of the imperium despite controlled accurate fire from a sizable Astra Militarium force that the 83rd belonged to.
Savage red orks possessed by something not of nature led the chaos assault against the green tide. Shoota fire slowed the savages before trukks reinforced and Defiler's closed range. More fire power deployed from the trukks that survived the heavy weapon's dug into the platue elevated above their north flank.
When the Larger Orks deployed under the chaos artillery and held the red orks at bay as walking malgamations limped and lumbered into assault against the vile forces of the warp who counter attacked with rhino's and Land raider's loaded with mutant's and heretics who swept through into the green xenos ranks. A Prince of hell marched into the woods off in the distance, his mass visible at great distance.
"Oh mercy! We're all going to die!! Mercy above I shouldn't be here!!" Whimpered the new medic clutching his medical bag. "I shouldn't be here, I should be in orbit above closer to the Emperor!" the Lt. back handed the poor fool knocking him on his rear just as the 83rd started cycling through the first empty magazine in the cadian issue lasrifles amongst themselves. Heavy weapons alternated targets between either side but it made little difference in comparison to the lemans russ tanks that rolled up just now.
The Lt. grasped the fool by his collar and stood him up slaming him into the back of the trench, "You can stowe that rubbish sailor! I won't have any crying in the '83rd, do you hear me?!?"
Nobody heard him over the heavy salvo those lemans russ tanks unleashed, heavy bolters accenting the over pressure of those powerful turrets. 1st. Sgt chuckled at the scene these lemans russ tanks had a good reputation around the camp fire, glory hunter squad they called them selves on the radio. The Lt. was more entertaining to him for some reason. Maybe because he had seen the Glory hunter's perform their schtick many times before, but this new Lt. wasn't proving half as worthless as he had originally estimated.
Shockingly the artillery had come in that the Lt. had promised before in the command bunker, it was certainly effective. This anomaly before them was evidence of that. To what effect was yet to reach fruition at this point and the grizzled 1st Sgt. wasn't sure he wanted to see. When the shells first whinned over head at dawn he could not believe the Lt. had come through none of them. Not even the Lt. if looks told the truth, and 1st. Sgt. was sure they were. Even Sgt. Mazcaquez was absent of the mocking grin he had been brandishing in the boy officer's face before they made planet fall together.
No the shorn scalp of Sgt. Mazcaquez was sweating the shooting gallery. He'd lived through the Cadian reinforcement of Ebaimus Prime, back when he was a white shield. Firing off his melta carefully so as not to tip the balance of the battle in any particular favor. Rhino's and Killa kan's suffering sucker shots during the mad double cross. He chuckled remembering making orbit 2 years ago, he was disappointed he wouldn't be able to join the fight to retake Cadia like his Father and Mother and their line before them. He was sorry to see his father send him off, (his mother died in honors years before. But he felt there was less glory to be had here, the notion of glory was laughable at this point.
The cultist's had their flank withered fiercely by the Imperial Guard but over the course of hours they finaly turned the green tide. The traitor Astartes used squad after squad of land speeder skimmer's to harass ork foot soldiers as the land raider left the cultist's to the clutches of killa can's and hunted down Trukk after trukk some destroyed before they could fully emerge from the forrest the green tide turned. Defiler's poured into the melee with the killa can's what was left of that engagement furiously charged into the forrest too with out pausing to celebrate in the Glory hunter's barrage that annihilated both parties.
Now the cultist's pressed the Imperial as a dancer in need of a new partner. The field was their's, missile launcher's and granade launcher's churned the mutant's ranks, freaks tripping over their wounded and worse racing for the trench line if not for hatred than for desperation of the cover the trench would provide from the Glory hunter's once they could get a knife fight in the trench with the 83rd.
Before they knew it the elevated platue to thier northern flank took crippling casualties from a flock of heldrakes, what remained attempted to fend off the feindish beasts with skyfire missiles.
"GENTLEMAN!!" roared the Lt. in a voice his command didn't recognize. "FIX BAYONETTE'S!!"
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Post by that1guy on May 31, 2015 17:58:05 GMT -5
"We have heretics in our ranks, there are heretics amongst us!" cried PFC. Tetsno falling back behind his trusted 1st Sgt.
The waves of chaos finally poured into trench after a long bayonette fight on the razor wire. The vets on both Commands flanks spent their granades till dire need for refit. Webing buckles cut loose, blades falling, sticking into the duck boards of the trench, shell casings liberally sprinkling the debris and spent lasrifle magazines buried under dead and wounded over a time lost to panic later.
"Here he comes again!!" Screamed Sgt. Mascaquez pointing into the air where the Helldrake came circling in for another attack.
Lt. Paquette had been slashing his chainsword and pistol whipping next to 1st Sgt at the walkway into the 83rd's trench. The exhilaration of delivering the Emperor's devine justice through his chainsword satiated the boy officer in a way his laspistol could not. If in fact he grew drunk off the blood shed the mechanical horror that gave truth to Sgt. Mascaquez's warning was instantly sobering.
"Move! Move! MOVE!!", the boy officer screamed. 1st. Sgt wasn't sure he heard the Lt. call the retreat but the hand and arm signal was clear. Survival over came the men of the 83rd and as often in the grim darkness of the 41st Millennium man broke in the face of the adversity. Horrific, abominable adversity. Some climed over the back of the trench, more poured through the path out now held open by Lt. Paquette's Command to cover the retreat, ever more were laid unto an honorless death from behind in the attempt.
The hell drake immolated the grenadier's, a few men from Red squad and almost a full squad off of his left flank. Pfc. Tetsno gave the report over all channels that the line had broken. The glory hunter's slowly reversed knowing all too well their place. If they didn't get a head start now there would be difficulties not becoming the front when they had to worry about backing over some poor fool.
Bug hunter 1 raced forward flanked by another tracked vehicle the boy officer couldn't recognize when heavy bolter and auto cannon supports drew his attention to the arrival of reinforcements. Another officer deployed from the small tracked vehicle with barking bolt rifle, regrouping the broken left flank and taking flame throwers of his command squad up to purge the trench as Bug hunter 1 pulled much farther forward before deploying Veteran's in a winter kit armed with shotgun's when it parked close enough to the trench to let its hull mounted flame thrower washing forth over the trench.
The 83rd's right flank rallied back to the shotgunner's after they cleared the trench for them as the left huddled in around the new command. Glory hunter's parked their tanks but as they say, 'big gun's' never tire. All sponson's, all cannon's, all guns continuously pummeled the enemy well with in range to support and watch the rally, over the radio they helped Bug hunter 1 reposition to optimize and protect its self as they rolled back up assuming new positions.
Shot gunner's crawled back the chimera Bug Hunter1 under the blanket of fire. 1st Sgt. raised the 83rd Banner high pushing a cultist's body out of the tangle of razor wire for him to tumble down the front of the their trench. His Commrade Sgt. Mazcaquez sit dead just into the trench, PFC. Tetsno could scarcely keep the despair out of his voice as he reported in. They watched the new medic work on this man he once despised, the man who dragged him into this forsaken trenchline. No one in command was under any illusion's that the Medic would be of any help. Except for the medic.
"Get onto someone who can use your help!" First Sgt. ordered nudging the 83rd's new medic and he looked up over whelmed with tears before walking off to search through those lost in the trench.
"Sir!" PFC Tetsno said tapping the boy officer's shoulder, "We need to hold the right flank!"
Lt. Paquette noticed a new chimera pulling up with a new squad of grenadiers firing out of the hatch. He instinctively new this radio order came from that transport and dreaded that he maybe in trouble.
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Post by that1guy on Jul 6, 2015 15:30:51 GMT -5
Inquisitor Stalk'e floated effortlessly amongst his precog's, face sunk down as per artificial gravity engine's dictated in his crystal bottomed pool engineered in the belly of the great ship he called 'Mako Titanicus', the pool had been engineered there by a xeno's race he had long since put to extinction. It's original name had not out lived it's usefulness as Stalk'e had deemed via his authority granted unto him by the ordo xenos.
Beautiful pre-cog's, hand picked psyker's drifted about the pool lounging about inflatable beds that held formation, spinning endlessly around the Inquisitor. He watched ebaimus prime through the full view of the crystal bottom. Contemplating his move not as a man watching a planet declining in population at over eight hundred loyalist lives per minute, but as a player of a board game attempting to concern himself more with the end game.
"Only the Ultra Marines and the will not abandon your efforts as soon as it is convenient for their personal agenda's," although the inquisitor did not need psyker's to tell him as much. These... blood angel off shoot was a force of nature the inquisitor had never intended to control & the dark angles drew suspicion immediately from the Inquisitor BOTH inquisitor's in the sector actually. Surfacing for air the inquisitor wiped water from his eyes. "Doesn't a game often become more complicated when more players enter?" the inquisitor asked rhetorically for his pre-cog's were lost in the song of destiny.
"The guard shall fraye like a strong rope that can shed fiber's and still hold significant weight." chimed in another precog.
"And of my enemies?!?" called out the Inquisitor looking at a particular precog who had no yet spoke willing her to answer and he did not like it. "I see a wedding, a perverted sick wedding... an... an abomination!" pre cogs close by supportively placed their hands upon the temporary vocalist calming her into a drozy malaze where she cast her feet into the cool waters.
"The Necron, your enemies & the tyranid, the enemies of your enemies are not your friends," yawned another precog twirling her finger in the pool.
"Do tell," the inquisitor sighed sardonically "although the forces of chaos are not exactly my friends." the inquisitor spoke aloud before taking a deep breath an resubmerging for the view. To his left the ultramarines were currently having an interesting exchange that Stalk'e had failed to inform the ordo hereticus about. Below their western orbit the ultramarines fleet and their sucessor chapter have driven the xeno's threat's to the winds as they were conveniently pre-occupied savaging each other. Opposite orbit, the ordo hereticus had forged the eastern wall. The eastern wall was actually Imperial naval fleet so large it was unlike was anything Stalk'e had ever seen. Unaware however that there were two chapters of Guliman's stalk'e's fellow inquisitor was more likely to focus upon his own specialty, and the dark angel's... and even this rabid blood angels successor.
"The inquisitor is hiding secret's from you just as you are hiding secret's from him." spoke precog's in chorus to his brooding mind. Interesting story the ultra marine's were trying to hid.
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Post by that1guy on Oct 9, 2015 14:52:54 GMT -5
The ultra marines thunderhawk docked in the gut of a renagade battle cruiser Titanicus Lazeratus. They disembarked weapons at the ready despite orders not to engage if unless necessary.
Like wise the renagade's cheif librarian was given orders not to taunt the ultramarines apothecary on board or the honor guard assigned to him deploying now in standard fashion as per the codex astartes.
Under normal context one could say that these orders were strict orders, but were there any other sort among the sons of Gulliman?
The Ultra Marines fingers itch with valor on the trigger's of their weapons but staring back at them was a vastly more powerful defense. A tense pause seemed to take the very breath from even super human lungs.
"Well let's not stand on ceremony," Grunted the Renegade captian to his Librarian and strode away command squad in tow. They brought a casing of gene to the Ultra Marines just as the apothecary disembarked the thunderhawk to receive it. The timing that brought these two hands into exchange at synch had more to do with vox communications than coincidence.
Upon receiving the gene seed from the Renegades the Ultra Marines Apothecary could not stop staring at the Captains champion, Shield at the ready, power sword sheathed, helmet under his free arm relaxed. "I.... I know you," the apothecary said to the Champion.
"Yes, you do," grunted his reply.
"where are our scouts?" the Apothecary dismissed.
"When you release YOUR prisoners," the Renegade Captain added firmly.
Several Astartes walked from the Thunderhawk's hold, hands bound and wearing spartan tunics. The captain looked back to his ranks and waved forward the release of seven scouts, also bound.
"I was able to subdue them, their big brother's will not afford us the opportunity to return them to you," The Captain said watching his prisoners walk home.
"A valor your own men seem to lack," spat the Sgt. assigned the Thunderhawk and the mission to bring back the future of the chapter.
"Under order's!" The captain returned with a glare "Do not think we play so civil with the forces of chaos or xenos filth that infest this land!"
The squad tensed zeroing in on possible targets. "We do not have enough ammunition to suppress the enemies the Emperor has delivered into our hands brother's. Let us not waste it here, let us return with the future of the chapter." Pleaded the Ultramarines Apothecay too weary of watching battle brothers die. Surely that was the better part of valor here, "It honors the chapter more to return this gene-seed,"
"Our Rhino," pointed the Renegade Captain to the captured Rhino rumored to contain the weapons and armor that had fallen into the hands of the XIIIth. The APC was dropped uncerimoniously and both forces parted ways. The Thunderhawk returned unharmed as promised.
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Post by that1guy on Oct 25, 2015 21:37:27 GMT -5
Lt. Paquette sipped the tea served to him by the little boy from the refugee camp behind official lines. Slouching in his chair he read through the casualty reports recognizing some names as martyrs who fell next to him. He set his hot mug on the map table shuffling through the papers to find his reinforcements were not in equilibrium with what high command referred to as his "Body count deficit," it was difficult for the Lieutenant to grasp the calloused nature of the term but he was starting to appreciate it.
The staff officer's who issued him this paperwork were quick to appeal for some sense of optimism deep within him pointing out that his supplies were in some what respectable order, in fact he had too many grenade launchers and looking out through his dark gloomy bunkers firing slits, watching the dead being pulled out of the trenches during a lull from the enemy, he could honestly think of worse problems to have than too many granade launchers in the armory.
The sound of artillery fire drew the Leutenant from his bunker, emerging from the bunker squinting under the light grey sky with his hot mug in one hand and the other checking a pocket chronometer.
"Like clock work," he told himself as the shells rushed over head. 1st Sgt. could be heard barking orders to the stretcher teams he threatened any man who wasn't on the line for the next rush as they dashed off with the corpses to fill the chimera's.
Lt. Paquette trusted the 1st. Sgt's intuition, this artillery was going to stir something from the jungles. As if sent by the Emperor himself as a sign the command salamander came to the 83rds trenches. Churning muddy sod in its tracks the open topped command vehicle drove past the Lt's position towards the front line where the troops cheered the vehicle's arrival. Lurching to a halt before Commissar Vulkavitch strode from the back spoiling his perfectly polished boots with out care. The political officer walked the length of the front line calling many soldiers by name Commissar Vulkavitch received a welcome seldom enjoyed by a commissar. The Lieutenant rallied his command squad with quick glances about his post who all watched him B-line for the Commissar.
"Commissair!" called out lt. Paquette command squad in tow.
The Commissair looked on guard watching the platoon commander approach. A look of distrust flashed acrossed his handsome clean shaven features.
"Leutenant, good morning!" the Commissair snapped a salute and removed his gloves before the platoon commander could return his salute and shake hands. "I trust this line will hold today, with my moral support we won't be having any more episodes of faltering leadership," the remark had venom as did the distrustful gaze the commissair cast down his nose.
"Yes commissair," the leutenant all but stammered, "the men crave leadership," he continued trying to repeat something he read in the Imperial Guardsmans handbook and feeling instantly as a stupid child for the attempt.
"Indeed..." Commissair Vulkavitch added before changing the concept. "You have 3 special weapons teams intermingled with two squads," the leutentant hesitated almost expecting the Commissar to finish with, 'do you think that is wise?'
"--well, we, uh, ...many of the backworlders were never trained on the lasrifle. This was just the way the Platoon was set up before I arrived," he explained with out confidence. "We do have the veteran's squad to back them up, and there should have been conscripts here to reinforce them... high command promised me them yesterday,"
"If high command told you they would be here then I am sure the will be any moment," the Commissar said with words dripping in sarcasm.
The cold wind seemed to thicken with tension or frost bitten moisture. This conversation took a long uncomfortable pause where the Leutenant felt the 1st. Sgt's gaze turn on him to what he always felt was contempt the man held against him for some reason.
"You are going to be holding this flank, I'll be watching you from that flank," Commissair Volkavitch said looking back towards his command vehicle. "Company command is going to be nestled in with his heavy weapons on your high flank," He added looking towards the ridge emplacements wiped out by that flying hellcraft. "Warlord is in the rear with the mortars holding contact with naval support assets,"
The Lt's head was spinning with all of this information and before he could understand that he didn't understand a nother transport arrived.
The Commissair directed the platoon commanders attention to the Lazcannons being unloaded from the back of the chimera. "Officially its not my place to say Leutenant Paquette," catching him off guard because the Lt. didn't even think the Commissair knew his name. " But you should dig your new lazcannons in here, where you're making your stand," and with that the Commissair drew the scabbard & sword off of his belt released from the knot that kept it sheathed trusted at his side. The Commissair drew out the positions for the heavy weapons teams to build.
Soon the line was a buzz with excitement, an mechanized ork rush was closing on their ranks and Company commands heavy weapons were giving them hell. Soldiers activated fresh power cells in their lasrifles, drank nervously from canteens and bottles, the passed around iho sticks and ran to position. The Lt. drew his las pistol and approached the rear of the trench watching buggies and trukks stumble over each other enroute. Missil launcher operators lobbed their own marks towards the vehicles. Lt. Paquette looked over his shoulder at the las cannon teams just setting up. With out a verbal order he pointed out a trukk and gunners focused fire on that scrap heap while their assissant gunners pulled stones and shoveled dirt to pile up cover. When the trukk exploded orks scrambled from its burning wreckage only to be met by a volley of lazrifles and granade launchers. The Lt. jumped below into the trench with his men pistol over the burm.
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Post by that1guy on Oct 31, 2015 18:42:16 GMT -5
Opposite the the Crescent mountains the warlord of the traitor astartes forces had ordered the plows of his vindicators to put their plows to the edges of the valley in his control. There his engineer's fortified himself a medicae factorium twisted and horrific as one could not imagine.
Here lay one heretic nameless for if anyone cared to ask his name he could not answer for the horrific injuries sustained crossing over the mountains. The charnel house workers strapped him down and amputated liberaly. He screamed few more of his bloody teeth from his face hole mangled by Imperial Artillery before passing out unconscious.
Wretched servitors brought forth a perservation reliquary, belching cold froth when exposed to room tempurature. Waving the cloud away from the container the dark surgeon pulled forth the arm of an astartes who parted with it in service to the dark gods. Shattered & wrecked at the shoulder & pauldron. The gauntlet, elbow plate, pistol still clutched in its grip & the arm inside all appeared in tolerable condition if not out of scale with the cursed mortal to receive it. Scavenger teams of mutant's and renegades brought forth any median for the Medicae Factorium's dark arts. Senior officer's representing the Warlord would check in on their progress regularly. Making bloody and unspeakable examples of those hopeless scum working inside when they complain there isn't enough usable materials. When that worked then they made bloody and unspeakable examples of those who failed to make the unusable materials usable. Then they always had plenty of victims to satiate their very intimate desire to exact sadistic discipline upon the weak boot licks. The warlord himself occationally visited himself, but more often to investigate medicae factorium personell who attempt excape. With out so much as an introduction he barks one order; "Here you shall die so that they may be reborn!" and they do, they most certainly do often in increments and often after they have forgotten who they once were.
Servitor teams tucked a gas tube into the mortals wreckage before the surgeon teams had really bled the fool, feeding tubes and solutions refilled his veins. A slab burst into the room rolling into place next to the walking casualty on it a Tyranid lay shackled down feeding tubes and drugs already fed into the xeno's circulatory system comatosing it into compliance.
"Ah, more transplant's have arrived!" hissed a figure from dark robes hovering about the edge of the room.
"The skull must be sheered open to complete the eye transplant, would you do the honor's?" called one surgeon attatching arteries and veins to the astartes arm.
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Post by that1guy on Dec 13, 2015 10:25:01 GMT -5
Inquisitor Dexter huddled in his leather chair, cold in the gloom of his secret library. There aboard the heretical vessel he had seized ages ago and cleansed of taint (less than effectively but who was to question such an inquisitor as he?) he had built a tiny secluded library in a space fit for a large closet. The light source of the monitors built into the back wall glowed blue against the cold unforgiving darkness.
"We have heretics in our ranks, there are heretics amongst us!" played the recording received from surface.
Clasping his fingers before his face he scowled with concern at this clip and played it once more by pressing the corresponding button with his elbow. "We have heretics in our ranks, there are heretics amongst us!" the clip came from the radio issued to a Private First Class Tetsno although at the rate mortals fell on Ebaimus prime it may have well just been some other ignorant fool grabbing the radio off of Tetsno's corpse or some other fool grabbing the radio off of the corpse of the fool who grabbed the radio off of Tetsno's corpse or some other fool who had inherited the radio off of the corpse of some other poor fool who inherited the radio off of the corpse of some other fool who took what he felt was responsiblility.
The radio operator who sent the transmission was irrelevant and probably dead. What was relevant was the unit the radio was in, this '83rd bits'n'peices had under gone investigation for heresy at the begining of the campaign for their defeat at the pyramid stronghold at Martyr's crossing and investigated again after the mysterious death of Commissar Gallows.
"We have heretics in our ranks, there are heretics amongst us!" the recording repeated. This '83rd was drawing a little too much of his attention as far as Inquisitor Dexter was concerned and he pondered how he would remedy this conundrum.
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Post by that1guy on Feb 1, 2016 17:43:19 GMT -5
"Pull yourself together whelp!" 1st. Sgt punctuated to Lieutenant Paquette with a slap to the face. He had never spoken to the young officer like this infront of the men, gulping the Lt. Hoped he never would again. "You've got to report to the Major and you can't be stuttering about the dead!" 1st Sgt. barked yanking the Lt. up by the collar and shaking him violently.
With a lurch the rusty hatch into the musty command bunker swung open Commissar Vulkavitch rushing inside as if sniffing for the scene, "Is something wrong?" The Commissar prompted with a raised eyebrow.
The Lt. vomited down the front of his shirt.
"Nothing at all Commissar, everything is just peachy," Growled 1st. Sgt.
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Post by that1guy on Feb 3, 2016 22:27:40 GMT -5
"Commissar! Are these the kinds of officer's you maintain in my command!?!" Barked Major Brutus spitting food out of his mouth over the map display table he made his officer's gather around. Commisare Vulkavitch could just keep the look of disgust off of his face. He prided himself on his reputation. The enlisted men had seen him relieve officer's of command sometimes out of necessity, sometimes out of ambition, sometimes out of spite.
The officer's had to respect his tactical awareness based upon his victories. Even if they were seized from officer's not necessarily unfit for the glory. Grand Commissar Kutlup mentioned something after coaxed with a few drinks before departing for orbit, said something about how high command often accuse him of stealing those victories. Through several sources the commissar had found in the darker alley's of the refugee center, Commissar Vulkavitch halted in his over zealous tracks when the Major's own political connection's came to light.
Aside from his penchant of blaming insubordinate's for his short coming's, his obese appearance and his vulgar table manner's Major Brutus was a solid tactician and better yet a brilliant logistics officer.
"Leutenant Paquette is a fine officer, sir." The Commissar began. Lt. Paquette gulped down the taste of vomit in his mouth upon hearing his own name mentioned, he didn't feel like a fine officer and he turned his head bewildered at what redeeming quality he held. "He lead's from the front, he's stood next to his men for days Major and he's seen the casualties--"
"Yes, yes the casualty list. Never bother spoils the appetite," the Major interrupted.
"A shave, shower, hot meal & change of clothes and this officer's post will stand another three days Major," the Commissar said with a wink to Paquette. The Commissar shifted his smile to the Major trying not to laugh at the fact that Sgt. Victor was in his personal quarters this very moment looting his liquor supply.
Later the Commissar would catch Victor with bottles in the barracks and confiscate one.
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Post by that1guy on Feb 16, 2016 18:29:16 GMT -5
Lt. Paquette lay exhausted in a heap of pack, canteen's, ammo crates & the boots of his men with his helmet as a pillow. 1st. Sgt. Snored in seat with his helmet slumped tossed about like a rag doll among other rag dolls that dressed like guardsmen of the Emperor.
Commisare Vulkavitch took the scene in the cast in the red light of Bug Hunter 1's troop compartment. Foot propped up on the rear hatch he leaned against the hull as the Chimera bound through the mud tracked streets carved by Major Brutus himself. With the very stylus in his hand from orbit said the propaganda he spread. Not the plow of this beast and other's some lossing their machine spirit's under enemy fire before the infantry dug in & reinforced & dug in & reinforced, again. And again.
The Commisare had not even been on Ebayimus Prime for a full solar year now and he lost track of the dead by now. There were time's in his quarter's that he drank to the Emperor for that blessing. But he could count how many fellow political officer's had died in this engagement and he wished he could drink enough to the emperor to forget that number. Sometimes if he drank enough he could forget how many men he had personally executed which helped ease the burden of those he actually regretted. Certainly not that child molester Sneedus.
There were times when a good drunk couldn't snap the Commissar's eye lid's sober enough to obscure the realization that he may be killing more Guardsmen just to raise the number beyond counting.
At times during this campaign, he doubted that they could hold with out the clock work artillery and naval barrages. Integrating the local loyalist fighting forces had gone far better than he could have hoped for. He specifically remembered laughing about the idea with his colleges in the officer's mess. But those who couldn't fire a cadian lasrifle weren't even afforded out of necessity. Instead they were taught with special weapon's which worked out to some success and even a surprising young Cpl. Thatcher who got promoted for just having a natural affinity with the hand held auspex a complete fluke that sent shockwaves of thought through the Guard sent from the Emperor to save the faithful. In the down time they tried teaching them vox communications to varying degrees of success. They had surprised the Commisare so much he rebuked his peers until they no longer laughed at the ignorantly faithful. The back worlder's bodies where piling up with the Cadian's and Catachan's and all the rest of those registered into the 83rd.
With a lurch of the Chimera's tracks the men embarked began to stir, except for Lt. Paquette. 1st Sgt along with the Commisair drug the sleeping Leutenant out unconscious, a crossed the top of the Rear most trench of check point Mud pit. In the trench below the men making soup and recaff helped take the Lt. into the Command bunker's. 1st Sgt offered Commisair Vulkavitch a ihostick before following his platoon commander inside.
"Get him a shower, a hot meal and tell him to relieve Captain Buzzcut in Twelve hours!!" the Commisair shouted to the artillery deaf 1st. Sgt. who gave a curt nod, brisk salute and took into the bunker almost before the Commisair could return salute.
In the rear trench Commissair Vulkavitch walked about the men with their little fire's, they offered him coffee & soup with bread and he accepted them all with a dashing smile. Soon after receiving them the Commisair took the the parascope watching the front line hold.
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Post by that1guy on Mar 12, 2016 18:09:35 GMT -5
Captian Draco "Buzz cut" Karther gently craddled his bolter in the massive palm of his power fist. With the natural flesh right hand he squeezed off the trigger into the targets pouring from the southern forest's tree line. Captain Karther and what was left of his catachan's fought with a bitter vengance to redeem their honor. It would take a life time to atone for their unit's betrayal in that forrest. There wasn't a day that went by he didn't think back to what he could have done given the gift of precognition.
Months ago the Catachan's where deployed into that forrest to infiltrate the Orks who called it home. There in the woods they became like the orks, too much like them. Then some of them joined the xeno's filth. Dekkitus found himself slaying men he called brother before the reality had set into his skull. Looking back he knew for a fact he even killed men who were not truly traitor's but only in hindsight was there time to be sure.
When he rallied the remains of the 106th Catachan's into a fighting withdrawl they abandoned their mission. The sin of defeat just one delicacy on the buffet of regret they would feast upon for ever after. Emerging from the forest with their weapons held high fire base Brutus took them in and sent them to the '83rd, into this trench where they held the northern most end of the woods of shame.
Every shot numbed the pain, every spend bolt shell hushed the nagging shame, every attack was sweet redemtion.
The '83rd was beyond diverse, it was rag tag, miss matched uniforms which some how only seemed to blend together with blood & mud on the duck boards of the trench line. His jungle fighter's, their tattoo's, their piercings, their self mutilations where not as out of place as he had originally feared.
Today the line held under his bolt rifle, today his men's lasrifles pushed back wave after wave of Orks, Bugs, heretic's & somehow freakish mixes of the three that were so horrific they all forgot their shame.
To the north of his line the hill "death bunker" exploded. Again. Predictably. Almost like clockwork. Heavy weapon's teams pouring down with their missile launcher's & rubble.
"Death bunker is down, say again, death bunker IS down. Again!" his insolent vox operator informed executive command. Fortunately the rock foundation Death bunker was constantly rebuilt upon rarely left that flank open. If only it could give the heavy weapon's teams sentenced to set up there better odds of survival. Or any odds of survival, ever, at all.
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Post by that1guy on Mar 18, 2016 20:37:37 GMT -5
1st. Sgt Dekarius brought the paper roster's to the Command Bunker, "More Cadian's sir," he growled droping the papers on the table infront of the boy officer Paquette. Taking a shot of fine liqour Commissar Vulkavitch offered over the table, the young Lt. grimaced the liqour down tightening his gut when it seemed difficult to keep down.
The Lieutenant took the roster with more enthusiasm than he received the casualty reports, a duty he could no longer begrudge high command. He was starting to understand too damn well why Major Brutus derillect in his reception of daily casualty reports.
"Praise the Emperor!" rejoiced the Commissar with an enthusiasm the boy officer found to have more bite than his liquor. "They make fine soldier's,"
"Indeed," Gulped Lt. Paquette.
With a deep breath he made to exit his bunker, squinting in the daylight. Bug Hunter 1 and the new black chimera Commissar Vulkavitch 'confiscated', had arrived transporting Cadian's of two uniform types. Grey ash & Snow from the 77th grenadier's and the standard olive drab & brown of the 801st.
Lt. Paquette maneuvered through the trenches in order to receive them drawing salutes beyond every corner. In the rear trench they rallied into less than four squads.
"At ease!!" the Lt. Barked before the new arrivals knew he was commanding officer on scene. "Where'd you come from soldier? To what do I owe the 'blessing' of these reinforcements?"
The corporal hefted a missile launcher over one shoulder and held his right in a sling. Smiling at the Lt's grim sarcasm he looked back at his brother's in arms before replying.
"We came from the northern line, the motor gate," the Corporal replied.
"What happened up there?" the Lt replied curious to what had broken two companies of Cadian's especially when he knew they had an Armored collumn in support.
The Corporal held the boy officer's gaze with cold, hopeless, uncaring misery, "Death,"
Cocking his head less impressed with death than he hoped the Cadian expected, "And what sowed this death unto you?"
"Death," The soldier replied morbidly once more.
"Good, since you're so familiar with this 'death' you can pick 5 of your friends to take your shovels and a pack of sandbags to rebuild death bunker," The boy officer replied coldly thumbing in the direction over his shoulder where the still smoldering remains of Death bunker crested the horizon from it's elevated position atop it's rock formation.
"Why do they call it death bunker?" the soldier winced suddenly broken of his once resolute grimness.
"I believe you are questioning the Platoon Commander's order's!" Commissar Vulkavitch roared to announce his entrance.
"N-no, No sir! Reporting to death bunker immediately," the Soldier replied looking over his shoulder picking picking men who could guess their fate.
"The rest of you grab all of the ammunition you can carry and report to Major Buzzcut on the forward line," Lt. Paquette ordered now that his authority had been enforced.
"Don't actually call him Buzzcut!" the Commissar barked slapping his own face.
The Lt. and 1st. Sgt shared a chuckle at the prank, when the boy officer had the audacity to chuckle at the Commissar too which made Vulkavitch think differently about shooting the Lt. ...maybe.
"Tell Buzzcut I'll relieve him in a few hours," the Lt. said dismissing himself saluting the good Commissar by his leave.
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Post by that1guy on Mar 21, 2016 17:20:22 GMT -5
Bravo Platoon formed up in command of Lt. Paquette with the sun at their backs facing Commissar Vulkavitch. Over head they could hear Naval gun fire arcing towards the crescent mountains. Far behind they could hear Grot sniper's testing the forward line either spent from their contribution to the day's wave assaults or biding their time until nightfall depending upon what school of gossip you subscribed to in the trenches.
Squinting into the sunset Commissar Vulkavitch unfurled the paper scroll sealed under Major Brutus' upper command bunker. Behind him the men watched in silence the Giant troop carrier's that had brought most of them to ebaimus prime evacuating the civilian population. Many of them prayed silently to the Emperor they would return with reinforcements soon.
"Attention!" barked Lt. Paquette with the punctuation of Bravo Platoon's cracking heels.
"On the afternoon of 5.327.989.M41 Corporal Mattesse Died a credit to his beloved Cadia and a bold honor upon the banner's of the 83rd! For Seven hour's this faithful servant of the Emperor held off multiple waves from his northern flank. Under Mortar and Rocket fire he directed his heavy weapon's team fire for devastating effect against vile armored targets justly delivering the Emperor's divine judgement upon those who fall from His holy light and choose to consort with perverse Xeno filth! When his ammunition ran dry Corporal Mattesse rained hand grenades upon the tide of filth rushing against entrenched command bunker north of his position. This stemmed the tide seeking to flank and flood the trenches of the 83rd allowing them to maintain a steady field of fire on the primary frontal assault. Almost crippled and with little left of the squad he commanded upon death bunker Corporal Mattesse leaped from the peak with a demolition charge decimating a heretical heavy transport and crippling the vile beast's within for Bravo squad to finish off under quick direction."
Commissar Vulkavitch licked his lips before proceeding.
"Corporal Mattesse may not have been able to rebuild death bunker as ordered, but he has earned a place on the banner of Martyr's. His commondation's will be sang in the halls of Cadia, he was a man of duty and I believe the Emperor will have mercy upon his soul."
"Order Arms!" Lt. Paquette shouted and Bravo platoon or what was left of it snapped to salute with their rifles. Corporal Mattesse's squad was given a Mortar salute firing at suspected ork positions deep into the woods. In times of peace some of them imagined they would be more selective about the types of firing salutes used to pay last respects to their hero's, but they didn't know much about that. Here in the '83rd they made every round count, every rifle might not have been of cadian design but they all fired on the same enemies of the Emperor.
1st. Sgt Dekarius held his salute his dull ears trained on the naval gun fire roaring over head. The past couple weeks had been what he would call a vacation. For some miracle the boy officer Paquette had been able to pull some sort of favor directly from the artillery regiment receiving regularly scheduled artillery bombardments that shielded the '83rd bits'n'pieces from what their enemies could truly do. His gut sank with a feeling when the intensity and regularity of the Basilisk's fire had become less intense and regular over the past 3 days.
Vox chatter in the trench had the vet's confirm that the basilisk's were focusing fire north, where the 801st Cadian's & the 77th Grenadier's fell back from. The Naval gun fire focused on the slopes of the crescent mountain's, and while they did it surpressed the entire heretic advancement. With out it the whole fire base would have been over run. But it did little for the orks deploying south of the river that boardered between the Ork and Heretical forces... if there was still a difference, some days they fought each other, other days not so much.
In his gut it felt like the boy officer had run out of luck, it felt like they all had run out of luck.
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Post by that1guy on Mar 23, 2016 17:16:55 GMT -5
"FALL BACK!!!" Screamed Commissar Vulkavitch back pedaling into a counter slash with his Sabre cutting clean through an Ork nearly twice his bulk carrying a bludgeoning pipe. "!!In the name of the Emperor fall back!!"
Guardsmen who couldn't make it to the duck board paths back into the 2nd line poured over the 1st trench scrambling low to avoid friendly fire. Crude makeshift axe's were buried into many a back as Bravo squad fell to ruin.
1st Sgt. pinned an Ork into the trench impaling the great beast with the Banner and pulled the boy officer out of the trench with his natural right hand hacking and slashing left and right to defend Lt. Paquette. His platoon commander screamed in pain at the enemy firing his laspistol at an overwhelming number of targets to no effect either of them could see.
A bloody stump dragged a dark trail of gore where Lt. Paquette's left leg had just been cleaved at the knee 1st. Sgt struggled to keep up with the Orks who bound after them. Counter attacking in quick succession, pulling the Platoon Commander out of harm, Parry, pull the Platoon Commander out of harm, Counter attack.
Suddenly the forward trench exploded, throwing guardsmen into the secondary trench. Killa Can's waded through the dust before they could even settle. In the secondary trench Lt. Paquette lost consciousness. Though he would remember fading in and out.
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Post by that1guy on Mar 30, 2016 19:20:00 GMT -5
Lt. Paquette insisted on being in the rear most trench seated at a desk at dawn. Refusing the rest recommended by the medicae hospitalier. He couldn't sleep a wink with the whaling of the wounded in that tent city. Between that and the naval gun fire traveling over head, he tried to judge how far he was from his post at the base command of Death bunker.
The boy officer previously believed death bunker was an acursed position. He wanted to believe it may have just been gossiping veteran's leading him on ghost errand's as some other sick joke this one seemed infinitely sicker than the previous jest's they had performed. After seeing the fate of the soldier's in that tent city he knew it was just that. Gossip.
He would take back death bunker he vowed to him self in the confines of Bug Hunter 1 to what he assumed to be a sleeping Commissar. His was not an acursed position he told him self thinking back to the broken men who screamed of Death just as the Martyr Mattesse. One man flayed alive moaned that these metal incantations of death had stolen his skin. Mummified. Often begging for mercy.
Then in the sleepless of the night his nightmares came. Lord Commissar Krutzburg and his merciless masterwork bolt pistol. It blasted over, and over, and over until the magazine was empty.
"I WILL NOT TOLERATE THESE DEFEATIST RUMOR'S!!" He barked loud enough for all of the tents to hear. "FIRE BASE BRUTUS WILL HOLD INDEFINITELY UNTIL IT SWELLS WITH THE OVERWHELMING MIGHT OF THE ASTRAMILITARUM!!!" Dropping the empty magazine from his bolt pistol the Lord Commissar caught it in his free hand storing it in his coat pocket. "!!INDEFATIGABLE PURPOSE AND IRON RESOLVE SHALL BRING GLORY TO THE ALMIGHTY GOD EMPEROR!!!" He reached for a fresh magazine and the men began to scramble out of their beds "!!OUR ARTILLERY SHALL NOT FALTER!!" dropping the chamber closed on a fresh magazine the Lord Commissar put a man out of his misery who had no arms or legs. "...and if you falter gentlemen, you shall find me waiting!"
"Lord Commissar Kurtzburg," the lord Commissar swung his pistol on the voice calling him pointing his merciless pistol at the cool calm freshly shaven face of Commissar Vulkavitch staring unblinking into the wrong end of those sites. "By your leave m'lord I'm going to need a few of those men left to reinforce the iron will of Major Brutus."
The Lord Commissar raised his eye brow at Vulkavitch's audacity. He made his contempt plain to all but the distracted, the most oblivious, and the deaf&blind.
When Commissar Vulkavitch returned with the boy officer and some walking wounded to swell what was left of the 83rd's ranks the mist was rolling off of the ridge line and pouring through the forest. Bug Hunter 1 pressed over the remaining trenches held by the 83rd pouring its heavy flamer over what was left of the forward trench.
It's heavy bolter turret chattering at shadow's dancing in the mists of the Ork forrest. Lt. Paquette was helped out of Bug Hunter 1 by the veteran's of the 83rd. Cpl Dread held out his gauntleted augmentated arm with the banner retracted to the length of a billy club. The boy officer held onto the arm lowering himself into the secondary trench hobbling on the duck board before 1st Sgt handed him a crutch. He wondered how soon he could expect to receive an augmented limb like these brave men.
For now they escorted him through the pathways back into the reserve trench behind his command bunker. There a make shift desk was set up for him with breakfast and coffee. He thanked them breathlessly taking his seat. Going over the paper's it was hard to focus on the names, the thought of Major Brutus refusing this duty. Finding both the list of the dead and those reinforcing never ending.
Men reported in-file passed his desk reporting past as he docketed their entry into the bits'n'peices. More Cadian's, a few Moridian's of mismatched uniforms who carried tales of the fall at Cresent Ridge's embasy fortress seized in the opening phases of Major Brutus' rush to the ridge. His Green eye's glistened with hope as he saw another leman's Russ was initiated into the Glory Hunter's.
Logistical glitches beyond the boy officer's understanding was seeing him delivered Voystrian's from some campaign acrossed the Varo sea upon some western continent beyond the horizon.
He was filling what he had left of his trenches with capable sodlier's and they had held those trenches so far and died in miserable failure to see the enemy never held them. Though he had no direct order to acheive this it was the tone set here at his station.
"Are you in charge here!?!" Barked a gravely voice, snapping the Lt's gaze from his paper print scolls. Above him stood an amazing sodlier who radiated renoun to what Paquette found to be stunning effect. A massive beast of a man covered in scars and tatto's over every inch of his exposed flesh. Hefting a melta over his should one handed the impressive figure lean into over shadow the Platoon Commander in his seat.
"You're.... You're not mortal," 1st Sgt said in disbelief walking into the scene.
The figure sneered over his necklace of scalps, "Finally, a guardsman with a tongue!" turned to face 1st. Sgt. "Who is in command here?" he demanded with two cloaked men also impressively tall and built but obviously not as seasoned or intimidating despite their silenced sniper rifles.
"He's just a platoon commander the command bunker is occupied by Captain Zephyre, he's under command of Major Brutus in rear command." 1st Sgt. informed "--and you are?" he continued with raised eye brow.
"I am Hardrada of Fenris,"
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Post by that1guy on Jun 29, 2016 21:23:54 GMT -5
Word of the Astartes spread like wild fire. The lounging of old world '83rd's trench line crawled from their favorite napping places in the Reserve trench encircling Hardrada and the two Angels at his flanks holding heavy caliber sniper rifles wearing camo cloaks. Hardrada hefted his melta high over his shoulder glairing back the mortals seeking to touch one of the Emperor's finest. Could they hope to obtain blessing by touching one with a direct line to the Immortal God Emperor? Possibly seeking some favor of fate that could brush off of him, some just came for what they thought looked like hope.
With out word but majestic stride Hardrada parted the crowd in the direction of the command bunker pointed out by Cpl. Thatcher when the boy officer couldn't answer the Astartes failing to find his tounge in a studdering slouch.
"BACK IN LINE SOLDIER'S!!" barked 1st Sgt down the steps, baying all who followed the 3 scout's with hardened Cadian discipline, "to the front! Corporal, what excuse to you have to be napping back here?"
"vox pack's broke," Cpl Thatcher offered with a shrug.
"Very well, as you were," the grizzled veteran smirked almost out of character.
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Post by that1guy on Oct 28, 2016 19:57:36 GMT -5
Dash and the new guy shared iho sticks laying on bed rolls laid upon the tarmac of the evacuation port. In the whipping wind of sun set stired fresh sea breeze to air our the dank interior's of their Armored Sentinel's. They lost a squad mate since being reassigned as tank hunter's to the interior of fire base Brutus. They probably weren't going to get to reinforce before another breech in the defences faults. They were probably going to loose another squad member in the next 5 hours too.
Dash remained curt with the new guy, he offered him a cigarette but not his full name or back story. He didn't want to hear this guy's story either. When Pvt. Dash had come back from using the new platoon commander as an excuse to go scouting command had barked but what were they going to do to him? March him back over the mountain into hell it's self? Or up into the dead lands scorched black glass by the green lightning that had collapsed the armored collumns advanced north and sent it reeling back into fire base Brutus with it's tail between it's legs and a lot of losses. Not the losses of human life as far as command was concerned but of the loss of armor which on the planes of ebayimus prime. "Irredeemable losses," he believe was the quote in the official Imperial propaganda "Reassigned to interior reinforcement". Guess the men weren't doing a good enough job of throwing themselves in between the enemies weapons and our armor.
Puffing on the stub of iho stick, Dash bit his lip thinking about the Defiler that had dogged him back over the mountain's. He no longer felt the confidence in his ability to track down the Traitor's command like he had before leaving, before the Moridian embassy fell on the ridge, before the northern collapse. What they had seen over there, the swore never to speak about it again. That was only 2 days ago & now he's the only one left who knows about it. The Lord Commissar definitely didn't want to hear about it.
Vox crackled for them.
"Awww.... already?!" whinned the new guy.
"Mount up young blood," ordered Dash hoping into his Sentinel. Firing up his preferred starting sequence.
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Post by that1guy on Oct 28, 2016 20:23:16 GMT -5
"You always said the Space Marines weren't coming!" they teased Captain Buzzcut in the trench that morning throwing granades over the trench. Until Anchient chaos Raptor's took Death Bunker as a perch to the horror of all below.
"!!Fall back--" was all he could get out before the bark of bolter fire rained down upon his Catachan's. Trenches were fragged on formality even though they were evacuated in the face of terror. Most of his jungle fighter's made it in the with drawl.
When Lt. Paquette saw the senior officer fleeing for cover and what he was fleeing from the boy officer fought the urge to soil himself. After being helped to cover by his men he finally drew his side arm. Out of duty he felt obligated to fire his laspistol over the trench in the general direction of his fear and he used his off hand with the sting of amputation fresh in his mind. He couldn't bare the thought of losing his dominant hand just yet, not for such a trivial, token gesture. The young Leutenant was proven all too right when the warrior of chaos seasoned by the unimaginable immortality of the warp lined up the sites of his bolt pistol and took off the boy officer's hand with uncanny aim. The bolt reacted peppering his squad with shrapnel, Cpl. Thatcher took the worst of it right in the throat. "Medic!!" they screamed huddled together behind their last trench, those of them who could scream did so for Cpl. Thatcher who was busy choking on his own blood. "Stay down!" Captain Draco barked at the medic zig zaging his way through the trenches to reach the boy officer's command squad. Touching off his bolt rifle at Death bunker in a desperate attempt to provide cover before a plasma bolt blew open sand bags close by, "Keep your cover!"
Sniper fire from the Command Bunker scored first honor's for the Emperor & managed to chase the remaining Raptor's away, kackling in terror through their vox helms.
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Post by that1guy on Nov 29, 2016 10:17:10 GMT -5
Pvt. Dahker was born on a world the Cadian's called "some other fake Cadia", as they were issued Cadian gear. Yet over the course of time & attrition true Cadian's rose to squad leader position's taken promotion's and commendation's not with out due diligence. Pvt. Dahker had often found him self desperate to prove himeself worthy to keep up.
That morning Pvt. Dahker knew he was going to die. He had drawn the short straw in 4th squad, but he took it with dignity unlike last time. Smoking his ihostick he walked up to Commisair Vulkavitch at the base of death bunker. They had gotten the order's to assault in the morning after night report's from the few Catachan squads left in the trenches had intell that xeno's "teleported onto death bunker via green lightning". Dahker had made peace with his death and wrote a letter home that he helped would make it okay. He wanted to imagine his mother smile again once she had come to peace with the fact.
Sniper fire from HQ bunker couldn't take out the cold metallic soldier's obliterating their position with mechanical efficiency and superior weaponry beyond their wildest dreams. Neither could the native Grenadier's of Lt. Paquette from the 83rd trenches. Mortar team's gave the merciless xeno's their first real pummeling of the day & Auto Cannon's blasted away with fear feuled efficiency. But it wouldn't be enough, before the dusk could even clear the morning fog what was left of first trench was abandoned, soon after Secondary trench was abandoned and both platoon commander's took the rear most "reserve trench" consolidating their men.
Commissar Vulkavitch along with a gutsy Cadian Sgt. he "requisitioned" from the barrack's mounted a counter assault upon order from the Command bunker and Pvt. Dahker looked into the Commissar's eye's at the head of that assault.
"Think this'll be any thing like the pyramid back on blood river?" Dahker laughed to the Commissar with morbid cynicism just before the assault. Leveling the plasma rifle uphill marching into certain death Pvt. Dahker's plasma rifle malfunctioned and he became the first causality of the assault.
Commissar Vulkavitch wiped the blood from the side of his face, biting his lip and refusing to vocally agree that this was indeed starting out like the pyramid on the blood river.
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