Corporal Tyson Mikael of the Fourth Platoon of the 5th Hosper Guards
gripped his lasgun tightly as a bolter shell from the ever-advancing line
of Iron Warriors detonated less than four feet to his right. It's
resounding explosion peppered him with loose dirt and red hot fragments of
rock that were thankfully low velocity enough to be turned away by the
tough fabric of his combat fatigues. Nonetheless, he instantly dove for
cover, as he knew a second and a third would immediatly follow the first.
Private Jamshid, being not quite as quick was caught directly in the
forehead by the third explosive shell, exploding his skull with a dull
thudding sound and sending fragments of bone and grey matter flying over
his comrades.
Tyson did not wait to see where the body of his once-comrade landed, rising from cover to let his lasgun blaze on full automatic at the nearest chaos marine. His first hastily aimed shot did nothing but melt a glowing patch in the golden armour of his target's left shin. His second however, guided by either the Emperor or the most pure of luck, was more accurate and punched straight through his target's left optic. The tall marine staggered, a hand to his forehead as wisps of pink steam from his ruined eye curled into the air -- only to collapse to the ground a moment later -- earning a grunt of satisfaction from the guardsman as he returned to the protective cover of a bit of a ruined agricultural vehicle.
He swore to himself as he took stock of the situation, ejecting his lasgun's empty power cell and replacing it with a new one from his belt. His squad was in a deadly situation. Their Chimera was laying upon it's side a hundred yards away, a victim of one of the horrid creatures that seemed to be made completely of weapons. Within it's smoking hull rested the bodies of three of his comrades, leaving only seven of them, six now that Jamshid had been killed to face the advancing horde of Chaos forces. The squad's long range radio had died with the Chimera, leaving him and his men with no way to contact their home base. Considering the fact that they were only a patrol squad, the chances of their timely rescue was slim to nothing. It was knowing this that Tyson and his men had made an unspoken agreement to sell themselves as dearly as they could rather than run in the face of danger. Each would meet the Emperor knowing that he had taken at least one of these heathen bastards with him. And they were doing well, considering the fact that they had held this spot for over fifteen minutes against what was supposed to be the Chaos elite of elites.
To his left, the squad's autocannon announced it's righteous anger to the Iron Warriors, it's bellowing voice sending fire and explosions blossoming through their line and filling the air with thick grey smoke and the acrid scent of cordite. Here and there, a Chaos marine fell with a rent in his armor from being struck by a shell, but all with the exception of one were seen to climb to their feet once again. As Tyson watched, the autocannon's loader slammed a fresh magazine into the weapon, and the gunner prepared to fire again -- taking aim at the same squad that he had targeted before. He never had a chance to press the trigger however, as a bolter round struck him in the chest, taking his life in a spray of blood and bone -- a fate shared by the loader a few seconds later.
Tyson, seeing this, swore loudly and rose from cover with a rebel yell. He mercilessly held down the trigger as he sprayed several Iron Warriors with ruby beams of coherant light, his steady fire causing the barrel of his lasgun turning a dull red in color as it fired and cycled shots for longer than it was ever ment to do. After a few seconds, the red turned to a bright white and still Tyson did not ease up, even when the weapon began to melt in his very hands. Only when the machine spirit could take no more and the barrel sloughed away did he cast the gun aside, looking outwards to see what damage he had wrought. To his utter dismay, for all of his shots, all of those that he targeted were still standing. Here and there, shots from the other surviving guardsman struck home on other Marines but failed to even slow their advance. Due to their proximity, the return fire from their enemies was far more accurate as they raised their bolters as one, their fire scything into Tyson's squad, exploding through the debris that protected them, felling two and leaving only he and Private McCloud left alive.
He could now barely see through the haze of smoke and blood that clouded his vision, but he attempted to rise from the position that the last volley's blast had cast him. When he did however, a white hot fire sliced through his left side and leg. Upon checking, he found his fatigues to be matted with blood and his flesh to be lacerated in a mutltitude of places from the shrapnel thrown out by the last volley. He could even see a twisted bit of black metal protruding from his upper thigh, the meat dark and bloody beneath. But still, he refused to wait for the Chaos Marines to come and take his life. He somehow found the strength within himself to reach for his laspistol, drawing it from the holster on his thigh and pointing it at the head of the nearest Iron Warrior. Snarling with the pain of his wounds and weeping for his lost comrades, Tyson clamped down on the trigger -- only to be rewarded by a deathly silence. Shrapnel had torn the weapon in a dozen places, rendering it useless. It was then too, that he caught sight of a lumbering vehicle moving through the smoke a short distance off. His trained eyes instantly recognized it as an Imperial Guard Basilisk, but flying the colors of the Iron Warriors! Transfixed for a split second, he watched as the massive form of the Basilisk's Earthshaker Cannon turned slowly to point at where he lay, bearing death within it's rifled barrel.
He knew in his heart that he was to die in a moment, but he still refused to lie silent and accept his fate. Flinging the ruined laspistol at the closest marine, he forced his ruined leg to extent, sending him leaping towards the squad's autocannon -- sitting idle in it's cover of ruined ferrocrete. He reached it a half second later, leaving a trail of blood in his wake, his gloved hands grasping the control levers and twisting the weapon to point at the Basilisk's center of mass. With a prayer to the Emperor that the gun's machine spirit was still favorable to him, he pressed the firing stud. This time he was rewarded with the Autocannon's thunderous bellow as it sent a stream of shells into the front armor of the Basilisk, tearing through a weak place in the ancient plate to explode somewhere within the heart of the vehicle's armored hull. As the autocannon fell silent, it's ammunition expended, Tyson watched the Basilisk be wreathed with secondary explosions. Suddenly, the armored sides balloned outwards as though the vehicle had become pregnant, rupturing in a tremendous explosion as it's fuel and ammunition stores cooked off. Flaming debris and shell fragments scattered through the nearby Chaos Marines, tearing the squad that surrounded the vehicle into ribbons, and wounding others with flying shrapnel.
Tyson observed all of this in silence, and was just about to pick up the lasgun of a fallen comrade when he felt strong hands gripping him under his arms, dragging him backwards away from the autocannon's still-smoking shape. Two other figures moved up alongside of him, one of them jamming a fresh magazine into the weapon and the other taking the controls -- resuming the fight against the Iron Warriors. All around him, other guardsman were rushing forwards to deploy heavy weapons, and the rumbling and creaking of tanks was audible nearby. Confused, he looked upwards to find himself staring into the face of Private McCloud -- the last suriving member of his platoon. The other answered his questioning look, quickly. "The machine spirit of the Platoon's radio was cast out by damage, but the one in the Chimera was not. It still worked. I decided to try it, and managed to raise HQ on it. The cavalry is here." And indeed, as Tyson looked around, a multitude of vehicles were approaching through heavy fire -- and forcing the Iron Warriors back. He and his squad had done it -- had held the line long enough for support that they didn't know was coming to reach them. He closed his eyes then, and managed to relax....not even feeling himself being dragged to a waiting medical vehicle, and carried off to a field hospital. Some time later, however, the Tyson Mikael Citation of Valor was established as an official award for the Hosper Guards, and the Chaos invasion of Hosper was beaten back -- for the moment.
-Ben Brown (|EvilShroom| on dalnet, prismaticdragon@ns.sympatico.ca on email)
Tyson did not wait to see where the body of his once-comrade landed, rising from cover to let his lasgun blaze on full automatic at the nearest chaos marine. His first hastily aimed shot did nothing but melt a glowing patch in the golden armour of his target's left shin. His second however, guided by either the Emperor or the most pure of luck, was more accurate and punched straight through his target's left optic. The tall marine staggered, a hand to his forehead as wisps of pink steam from his ruined eye curled into the air -- only to collapse to the ground a moment later -- earning a grunt of satisfaction from the guardsman as he returned to the protective cover of a bit of a ruined agricultural vehicle.
He swore to himself as he took stock of the situation, ejecting his lasgun's empty power cell and replacing it with a new one from his belt. His squad was in a deadly situation. Their Chimera was laying upon it's side a hundred yards away, a victim of one of the horrid creatures that seemed to be made completely of weapons. Within it's smoking hull rested the bodies of three of his comrades, leaving only seven of them, six now that Jamshid had been killed to face the advancing horde of Chaos forces. The squad's long range radio had died with the Chimera, leaving him and his men with no way to contact their home base. Considering the fact that they were only a patrol squad, the chances of their timely rescue was slim to nothing. It was knowing this that Tyson and his men had made an unspoken agreement to sell themselves as dearly as they could rather than run in the face of danger. Each would meet the Emperor knowing that he had taken at least one of these heathen bastards with him. And they were doing well, considering the fact that they had held this spot for over fifteen minutes against what was supposed to be the Chaos elite of elites.
To his left, the squad's autocannon announced it's righteous anger to the Iron Warriors, it's bellowing voice sending fire and explosions blossoming through their line and filling the air with thick grey smoke and the acrid scent of cordite. Here and there, a Chaos marine fell with a rent in his armor from being struck by a shell, but all with the exception of one were seen to climb to their feet once again. As Tyson watched, the autocannon's loader slammed a fresh magazine into the weapon, and the gunner prepared to fire again -- taking aim at the same squad that he had targeted before. He never had a chance to press the trigger however, as a bolter round struck him in the chest, taking his life in a spray of blood and bone -- a fate shared by the loader a few seconds later.
Tyson, seeing this, swore loudly and rose from cover with a rebel yell. He mercilessly held down the trigger as he sprayed several Iron Warriors with ruby beams of coherant light, his steady fire causing the barrel of his lasgun turning a dull red in color as it fired and cycled shots for longer than it was ever ment to do. After a few seconds, the red turned to a bright white and still Tyson did not ease up, even when the weapon began to melt in his very hands. Only when the machine spirit could take no more and the barrel sloughed away did he cast the gun aside, looking outwards to see what damage he had wrought. To his utter dismay, for all of his shots, all of those that he targeted were still standing. Here and there, shots from the other surviving guardsman struck home on other Marines but failed to even slow their advance. Due to their proximity, the return fire from their enemies was far more accurate as they raised their bolters as one, their fire scything into Tyson's squad, exploding through the debris that protected them, felling two and leaving only he and Private McCloud left alive.
He could now barely see through the haze of smoke and blood that clouded his vision, but he attempted to rise from the position that the last volley's blast had cast him. When he did however, a white hot fire sliced through his left side and leg. Upon checking, he found his fatigues to be matted with blood and his flesh to be lacerated in a mutltitude of places from the shrapnel thrown out by the last volley. He could even see a twisted bit of black metal protruding from his upper thigh, the meat dark and bloody beneath. But still, he refused to wait for the Chaos Marines to come and take his life. He somehow found the strength within himself to reach for his laspistol, drawing it from the holster on his thigh and pointing it at the head of the nearest Iron Warrior. Snarling with the pain of his wounds and weeping for his lost comrades, Tyson clamped down on the trigger -- only to be rewarded by a deathly silence. Shrapnel had torn the weapon in a dozen places, rendering it useless. It was then too, that he caught sight of a lumbering vehicle moving through the smoke a short distance off. His trained eyes instantly recognized it as an Imperial Guard Basilisk, but flying the colors of the Iron Warriors! Transfixed for a split second, he watched as the massive form of the Basilisk's Earthshaker Cannon turned slowly to point at where he lay, bearing death within it's rifled barrel.
He knew in his heart that he was to die in a moment, but he still refused to lie silent and accept his fate. Flinging the ruined laspistol at the closest marine, he forced his ruined leg to extent, sending him leaping towards the squad's autocannon -- sitting idle in it's cover of ruined ferrocrete. He reached it a half second later, leaving a trail of blood in his wake, his gloved hands grasping the control levers and twisting the weapon to point at the Basilisk's center of mass. With a prayer to the Emperor that the gun's machine spirit was still favorable to him, he pressed the firing stud. This time he was rewarded with the Autocannon's thunderous bellow as it sent a stream of shells into the front armor of the Basilisk, tearing through a weak place in the ancient plate to explode somewhere within the heart of the vehicle's armored hull. As the autocannon fell silent, it's ammunition expended, Tyson watched the Basilisk be wreathed with secondary explosions. Suddenly, the armored sides balloned outwards as though the vehicle had become pregnant, rupturing in a tremendous explosion as it's fuel and ammunition stores cooked off. Flaming debris and shell fragments scattered through the nearby Chaos Marines, tearing the squad that surrounded the vehicle into ribbons, and wounding others with flying shrapnel.
Tyson observed all of this in silence, and was just about to pick up the lasgun of a fallen comrade when he felt strong hands gripping him under his arms, dragging him backwards away from the autocannon's still-smoking shape. Two other figures moved up alongside of him, one of them jamming a fresh magazine into the weapon and the other taking the controls -- resuming the fight against the Iron Warriors. All around him, other guardsman were rushing forwards to deploy heavy weapons, and the rumbling and creaking of tanks was audible nearby. Confused, he looked upwards to find himself staring into the face of Private McCloud -- the last suriving member of his platoon. The other answered his questioning look, quickly. "The machine spirit of the Platoon's radio was cast out by damage, but the one in the Chimera was not. It still worked. I decided to try it, and managed to raise HQ on it. The cavalry is here." And indeed, as Tyson looked around, a multitude of vehicles were approaching through heavy fire -- and forcing the Iron Warriors back. He and his squad had done it -- had held the line long enough for support that they didn't know was coming to reach them. He closed his eyes then, and managed to relax....not even feeling himself being dragged to a waiting medical vehicle, and carried off to a field hospital. Some time later, however, the Tyson Mikael Citation of Valor was established as an official award for the Hosper Guards, and the Chaos invasion of Hosper was beaten back -- for the moment.
-Ben Brown (|EvilShroom| on dalnet, prismaticdragon@ns.sympatico.ca on email)