Post by Turtleboy(AWOL) on Feb 12, 2007 3:58:59 GMT -5
The sun rose slowly, pulling itself up over the horizon and seeming to gather its strength in preparation to hurl itself into its daily flight thru the heavens. The purple and red hued dual moons of Archon VII, completely habitable miniature planets, drifted on far overhead, carelessly orbiting around themselves and in turn Archon VII, seeming so quiet and peaceful.
Captain Knolls gaze lingered on Draxis Prime, the purple hued moon. It was something about a chemical in one of the atmospheric layers that gave it that color he had been told. Marvelling at how quiet things seemed above him in the heavens, he noticed a pinprick of light appear and fade from the surface of the moon. Nodding to himself and lowering his eyes to observe his surroundings, the Captain acknowledged to himself the all too familiar signature from a subtactical nuke being detonated by a guard company deployed up there on Draxis Prime in a last ditch effort to take as many of the marauding Tyranids with them as they could before it was all over.
It was a busy morning the Imperial Guard Captain noticed. There was quite a bit of air traffic. In the distance, over the crater scarred fields which surrounded the companys fire base, a gigantic Imperial dropship slowly lowered itself thru the clouds. big enough to carry more troops than Captain Knoll had seen since his days as a Platoon Lieutenant on Cadia, the enormous dropship was surrounded by a veritable fleet of Imperial Navy escort fighters.
The sun had crested the horizon fully now, and a trio of Vulture gunships roared overhead from South to North. Sighing wistfully to himself, he decided that his vacation had been long enough, and that the men in the command post were probably running out of excuses for his absence enough that he should get back to the continual cacophany of radio squelches and half garbled transmissions that made up the Ops Center.
Rubbing his temples, Captain Knoll clenched his left fist a few times, working out the ache from an old wound that left a scar running the length of his hand. Slowly turning, and feeling about 40 years older than he was, the Guard commander headed for the command bunker, praying silently to the Emporer that he would never have to use the subtactical nuke the sectors Warmaster had issued to all company commanders to use as last ditch insurance that the Emporers warriors would not sell their lives for nothing.
Captain Knolls gaze lingered on Draxis Prime, the purple hued moon. It was something about a chemical in one of the atmospheric layers that gave it that color he had been told. Marvelling at how quiet things seemed above him in the heavens, he noticed a pinprick of light appear and fade from the surface of the moon. Nodding to himself and lowering his eyes to observe his surroundings, the Captain acknowledged to himself the all too familiar signature from a subtactical nuke being detonated by a guard company deployed up there on Draxis Prime in a last ditch effort to take as many of the marauding Tyranids with them as they could before it was all over.
It was a busy morning the Imperial Guard Captain noticed. There was quite a bit of air traffic. In the distance, over the crater scarred fields which surrounded the companys fire base, a gigantic Imperial dropship slowly lowered itself thru the clouds. big enough to carry more troops than Captain Knoll had seen since his days as a Platoon Lieutenant on Cadia, the enormous dropship was surrounded by a veritable fleet of Imperial Navy escort fighters.
The sun had crested the horizon fully now, and a trio of Vulture gunships roared overhead from South to North. Sighing wistfully to himself, he decided that his vacation had been long enough, and that the men in the command post were probably running out of excuses for his absence enough that he should get back to the continual cacophany of radio squelches and half garbled transmissions that made up the Ops Center.
Rubbing his temples, Captain Knoll clenched his left fist a few times, working out the ache from an old wound that left a scar running the length of his hand. Slowly turning, and feeling about 40 years older than he was, the Guard commander headed for the command bunker, praying silently to the Emporer that he would never have to use the subtactical nuke the sectors Warmaster had issued to all company commanders to use as last ditch insurance that the Emporers warriors would not sell their lives for nothing.
