Imperial Fist
Forty-six hours after the destruction of Ouran, the nearest Imperial Fleet responded to Titus Delta's distress beacon. Three heavy starships, carrying two Imperial Guard regiments and an armored column arrived in low-orbit over the Titan captitol city of Cordua. Orbital surveilance photos taken over Ouran showed nothing but bleak, desolate, snowy waste where millions once dwelt. Tyranid forces had consumed all organic life, every living cell of every organism was now assimilated into the Tyranid hive. The alien force had simply moved on in search of more prey to eradicate and feed from.
And now they advanced on Cordua...
ETA: 0600 standard hours. Sargeant Hawkins of the Casnian 5th Imperial regiment sat aboard the Thunderhawk, making final entry into Cordua. The confined passenger compartments were just small enough to tease his claustrophobic tendancies. At 6'2, Hawkins was the picture of a rookie trooper. His face was handsome, unscarred, and always clean-shaven. His hair was a neatly-cropped black, and his brown eyes made him look like a 16-year old boy. Hawkins was not a native of the jungle-world of Casnia, instead he had been transferred from another regiment, the Jerud 12th, after that regiment had been torn apart in a bloody war against chaos on their homeplanet. The surviving soldiers, only about seventy three men in all, had been each sent to a differant regiment, and maintained their former ranks. Hawkins looked over his new squadmates, wondering what was going on in their heads. He had to break them, get them accustomed to his command, before they dug in against the Tyranids, somwhere down there on the snowy plains of Titus Delta. Sargeant Hawkins was not a stupid man, he could sense the distrust and resentment his new men felt towards their new commander, and he understood it fully. He was not one of them, he was a Jerud, they were Casnians. he would have to earn their respect.
The other six men sat scattered across the Thunderhawk's hard, wooden benches. All of them thinking, reflecting on things to come, imagining what glory they might attain, or what death they might meet. They all knew that ultimately, their sargeant would determine the answer to all of these questions, an outsider.
Trooper Leo, stared at the sargeant intently, measuring him up, hating him all the time. Leo was a hulk of a man, and as ugly as they came. He arms were as big around as an ork's, and his legs like tree-trunks. His big jaw jutted out from his head, almost obscenely, his shaven head adorn with scars and burns from the backwash of his flamer, the weapon of choice. Like most troopers specializing in flamer-combat, he reeked of promethium constantly. Leo was also infamous for his incoherent, vulgar slurs that was common speech. Little children, needless to say, were not often allowed to play with Leo.
Trooper Drax was the squad's best assault-style fighter. He mostly kept to himself, and the other squad members were wary to talk to him, lest they say the wrong thing. His slender, feline-like frame, betrayed an absolutely ungodly agility. Drax had the reputation of being able to unholster his laspistol, and kill three men before they even realized what was happening. In close-quarters combat, Drax became what Leo had affectionately called "Wun muddahfraggin muddafraggah". Drax's face was almost always at that "in between" stage of growth, never quite a beard, and never, ever clean shaven. His ebony hair was cut haphazardly, resulting in an overall, midlength, unkempt look. Whether or not Drax was capable of any emotion at all, only The Emperor knew.
Trooper Romul was the greatest shot in the entire regiment, and, logically so, the squad's sniper. Romul was a short, and his frame was thin and wiry, and his squadmates had taken to calling him "Ratling". Despite his short stature and goofy grin, Romul was a dangerous man, and his kill record was one of the greatest of any Casnian sniper's in history
Trooper Harl sat across from Romul, struggling to keep from vomiting. How he hated atmospheric entry! Harl longed to set foot on solid ground. Harl's specialty was scout work and intelligence gathering. Back on Casnia, Harl had been a hunter. He'd traveled the deadly jungle terrain of his homeworld in search of his prey, as his father had once done. Harl possesed a natural sense of direction, and was often more reliable than a compass. His face was covered by a rugged beard, about twenty centimeters long, and dark brown in color, matching his large, round eyes. Harl's weapon of choice was not a firearm at all, but his trust powerknife given to him by his father. He did however, as regimental rules required, have a laspistol sidearm equipped at all times.
Trooper Lars was perhaps the biggest partier in the squad, and was also the demolitions expert. Lars was a good-looking man in his late twenties, and was never seen without his tube-charges, satchels, claymores and grenades somewhere on his person. In a somewhat grim tradition, Lars always wore a smaller version of the immensely destructive magma bomb across his chest, just in case his "hand had been played out". Lars knew that Sargeant Hawkins disapproved of his morbid habits, but frankly, Lars could care less.
Then there was Trooper Micah. Micah's story had been a sad one, and still was. He was the only one in the squad who's entry into the Imperial Guard had not been voluntary. Micah had been part of a small, unfortunate group drafted from Casnia to defend a small moon from an Eldar raid, a raid that never happened. Afterwards, Micah had been forced to stay with the Guard, and was put into Hawkins's squad. Micah was an averaged sized man, with blond hair and blue eyes. His face showed his great worry, apprehension and general depression. He greatly missed his life back on Casnia, the young wife he was forced to leave most of all. Micah hated war, hated death, and hated being in the Guard. He had never tasted battle, and now was faced with the inevitable fight with the dreaded Tyranids.
The Thunderhawk juttered to a halt as it touched down within the Corduan city gates. Sargeant Hawkins grunted a sigh of relief, and unbuckled his harness, getting to his feet, his troopers followed his lead. "Dont wander off, any of you. Your recreation time doesnt start for three days, and all of you know that. Therefore, there will be no recreation, no card-playing, no drinking, no courting any ladies. We report directly to our designated barracks and then we are to be briefed on the situation here. Understood?"
In unison the troopers barked back "Aye sir!" and began grabbing their packs and equipment. After Hawkins had climbed out of the transport, Leo gave his signature ugly grin. "Ah wood luv ta kik dat peece ob shat in hims arse, leeve a liddul fraggin sting." No sooner than the other troopers started to smile, Sargeant Hawkins stormed back unto the Thunderhawk, obviously hearing every word.
Hawkins swiftly unholstered his laspistol, took aim, and fired off a shot, hitting Leo square between the eyes. The other troopers gasped in horror as Leo's clumsy form fell backwards, a bloody spot on his forehead, but oddly enough, Leo was yelping in pain.
Romul looked genuinely perplexed. "Grox shit, no way a man could take a las shot to the head and survive!" Leo angrily got to his feet, cursing bitterly and incoherently.
Hawkins just gave a cold smile. "Trooper Leo, you have just been shot in the head for insubordination, thankfully for you, my laspistol was insufficiently powered, and you have recieved little more than a second-degree burn. Its nothing worse than what your own flamer has given you, so stop whining or I'll shoot you again, this time on full power. Make no mistake, I am saying I will execute you personally."
Leo stopped raving and just stared at Hawkins murderously. The sargeant returned the stare for a brief moment before he turned on his heel, bellowing expectations as he left. "Assemble at the barracks in five minutes, an adept will show you the way...do not ever frag with me."
General Jaedan paced anxiously around his suite, trying to decide how to best escape the blame that was rightfully his for the shameful defeat at Ouran. Adept Brase tried in vain to calm him down, presenting him with well versed solutions, each one the General angrily shot down. The ornate splendor of the furnishings in his quarters did little to ease his temper.
"Arno, I'm the supreme commander of the TPM, all blame for the loss of Ouran will inevitably fall on me. Surely one of the survivors will recall how we evacuated!"
"We should have taken civilians with us as well General, we had enough chimeras to carry over 1/3 of Ouran's population to safety, doing so would have made us more favorable in the eyes of the Imperium." Brase calmly advised.
"Pah, if we had taken time to evacuate every insignificant little citizen we could, then the Tyranids would have killed us as well, we never would have made it to safety."
Adept Brase was amazed at the cowardice of his master, yet he was alive due to the hastey, sloppy evacuation initiated by his lord.
"True sir, but we could have evacuated at least some of Ouran's inhabitants, to be sure."
The General shot his Adept a venomous look. "Shut up! I dont need naysay, I need solutions! The Tribunal will have my rank stripped if we do not come up with something, and I will have your balls in a jar on my desk you snivling runt! A very small jar!"
"Aye sir," came the passive reply from Brase "then might I suggest a scapegoat?"
"What the hell do you recieve your paychecks for?" retorted Jaedan angrily.
"I propose that we use Colonel Sterling. He was commander of the wall defenses, his duty was to hold the front line and deny the Tyranid assault entry within the curtain wall. There are reports from survivors that Sterling was mauled to death by genestealers, we could use him?"
The General's creased brow relaxed, but only a fraction. "Go on."
"We can tell the Tribunal that our premature retreat wasn't premature at all, as Colonel Sterling, like the coward he is, abandoned his post and his men to certain death in the face of the enemy. As a result, the first line collapsed and left the second line horrendously exposed, causing the systematic fall of Ouran. We, of course, wanted to evacuate the city's populace, but were unable due to the blinding speed in which the assault advanced. Had Sterling done his job, we might have saved the city." Arno paused and took another breath, "Sterling is already dead, he won't much mind."
General Jaedan smiled. "Good, damn good."
A cruel joke of creation, Colonel Sterling's bionically augmentated body lay unmoving on the altar of the machine priests. The Adeptus Mechanicus had worked feverishly since they recieved his mutilated form from the APC units that arrived from Ouran. Feeder tubes poured into Sterling's metallic skull, supplying the oils, blood, coolant and water needed to maintain the barely living creature. Virtually every part of Sterling was now mechanical, very little human function remained in him, save a beating heart and a functioning brain. His right eye had been ripped out, and the machine priests had replaced it with a crude looking glass augmentation, burning with a blue flame, and capable of night and heat sensory vision. The jaw that had been savagely torn from his face was now replaced by an adamantium mandible, truly terrifying in appearance, and with hydraulic power enough to crush rockcrete. Various green-hued tubes sprouted from his now-adamantium spine, feeding nutrients to his still-organic brain, and sending brain-waves to his spine. The right side of Sterling's face had been patched shut with an adamantium plate, keeping his brain from spilling out. His left arm ended a in a long, serrated hook, the ruined muscles of his right were replaced by cogs, springs and steel rods, making it now twice as powerful. Where his lungs used to be, an auto-respirator was installed, with a backup unit in the space that his liver formerly occupied. His ribs were no longer made of bone, but like most of his skeletal structure, they were solid adamantium.
One of the machine priests stared intently as he replaced a feeder tube in Sterling's head. He knew that this man was conscious, only couldn't yet move. He knew this man's mind was struggling to understand much of what had happened in Ouran, much of what had been happening now. The priest could only wonder what quiet rage was building in Sterling's organic mind.
Seeing the world through heat-vision augmentation was a new experience to be sure, and Sterling wished bitterly he had died along with his wife Saren in Ouran. He had no desire to live without her. If only that damnable General Jaedan had given him that flamer support he had voxed for, his men might have put up a better fight. THE BASTARD HAD FLED! When the city fell, Jaedan ran like the cowardly bureaucrat he is, abandoning the entire populace of Ouran to pain and death, only a few grievously wounded soldiers had escaped with him. If only that bastard had ordered a civilian evacuation, Saren might still be alive. The sheer selfishness of Jaedan's despicable actions burned a pit in Sterling's soul.
He wasn't certain what these new augmentations were, but he knew they were making him stronger. He could feel the spirit of The Machine-God flooding into his veins, both artificial and organic. He knew now that he would never be the same, he would be a varitable monster, but he was stronger. He would use this new-found power against Jaedan when the opportunity presented itself. Now, however, Sterling couldnt move a muscle, the EMP emitters attached to his head kept him from moving at all. Soon, he realized, the priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus would remove the emitters, when they had finished the operation.
Emperor have pity on the General's wretched soul, he had made a very dangerous foe.
Sargeant Hawkins sat with the other commanders of the Casnian regiment, awaiting the return of General Lugo, commander of the Casnians. Lugo was still conferring with the commanders of the other regiments as well as General Jaedan of the TPM defense forces. The first hand briefing would be heard by General Lugo, and then he himself would brief his squad leaders.
He gazed around the circular table at which he sat. Other Sargeants and two commissars were all taking their seats, shuffling papers, pouring glasses of renaut, the local drink of choice, or smoking cigars. All of them seemed to distrust him, much as his own troopers did. He was, after all, not a Casnian, but a Jerud, and he was not one of them.
Hawkins rubbed his pronounced, clean-shaven jaw, wishing all the time he was still leading his "boys" in the Jerud 12th, they, at least, trusted him.
He angrily shook the thought from his mind. Such was the attitude of a weakling, he would make these Casnians respect him, much as he earned the respect of his Jerud brothers. He just needed to see battle with his Casnian squad, let them learn to trust his command.
Battle, the prospect usually exhilerated him. Hawkins had fought against Orks on Piscina IV and he had fought Eldar pirates on Corinthe. Now the thought of battle filled him wih a sense of foreboding, Tyranids were certainly like no other foe. He had seen what happened to Ouran on satellite photos, and he had seen the tattered remnants of survivors. Many had acid-scars all over their body, most were missing limbs, and very few had actually survived the journey to Cordua. He had heard the stories, and vowed that he would meet this insidious foe with his new squad, and do whatever small part he could in the Emperor's service.
The massive double oaken doors swung open, and General Lugo marched in, followed by two military advisors. In unison, the Casnian officers rose to their feet and stood at attention. Lugo strode to his massive oak chair, sat down and removed his cap. He ran his fingers through his hair, exhaustedly, as his advisors handed him a series of data-slates and documents. Lugo bade his officers to be seated and irritably waved his advisors away.
All eyes were on General Lugo as he inhaled deep, and exhaled deeper, consulting a data-slate before him. Finally, he looked to his officers.
"The situation is very serious, I will not lie to you. The Tyranids have devatated the city of Ouran, and are now advancing on us as we speak. We estimate that within five days they will reach one of The Imperium's primary promethium extraction sites," Lugo paused and looked searchingly at his data-slate before continuing, "that would be Munitoria Gamma, and we shouldnt expect them to leave it intact." Lugo scanned the room, looking each of his officers in the eye, even the newcomer Hawkins. "and far more urgently, within eight days they will reach Cordua, and as of right now, our top strategists estimate that the defenses in Cordua are not sufficient, but there is hope.
"An Imperial Fleet is on its way to Titus Delta, bringing the reinforcements we need to smite these vile aliens. They come with the Dark Angels Space Marine Chapter."
General Lugo smiled, as did his officers, at the mention of the impending arrival of Space Marines, truly the best the Imperium had to offer, let alone a Chapter so celebrated as the Dark Angels.
"But there's a catch, they wont be arriving for eleven days yet. By then, the aid they bring will have come too late. In short, if we ever hope to repel the Tyranid assault, we will need to buy time, and we have...ideas."
Lugo watched as his officers exchanged grins, and his heart sank, they had no idea. "Between Munitoria Gamma and Cordua lies a mountain pass in the Wayrest peaks. Myself and the other Imperial leadership believe that we can buy the time we need to if can dispatch one of the regiments to the mountain pass and intercept them. I volunteered the Casnian 5th for such an honor."
Hawkins watched as the men around him nodded their heads, their anxiety clear. They now realized the mission they were going on was potentially suicide. He swallowed hard and forced a half-grin, knowing that by his life or death, his men would do their part in buying the time required.
General Lugo continued, "I know you men are made of courage and honor, that is why I volunteered for this task. We leave tommorrow, destined for the Wayrest peaks. Go back to your respective barracks, and prepare your squads to move out at 0400 hours. I will see you all in the morning."
Without a word, Hawkins and the other squad-leaders got up and left the briefing room.
The plan was now in motion, the Casnian regiment was going to make a heroic stand in the Wayrest peaks against impossible odds. The Sargeants had breifed their men on the situation, and sure enough, in the morning every Guardsman was accounted for. The Column left Cordua at 0434 standard time, headed for glory, or death, or both.
Forty-six hours after the destruction of Ouran, the nearest Imperial Fleet responded to Titus Delta's distress beacon. Three heavy starships, carrying two Imperial Guard regiments and an armored column arrived in low-orbit over the Titan captitol city of Cordua. Orbital surveilance photos taken over Ouran showed nothing but bleak, desolate, snowy waste where millions once dwelt. Tyranid forces had consumed all organic life, every living cell of every organism was now assimilated into the Tyranid hive. The alien force had simply moved on in search of more prey to eradicate and feed from.
And now they advanced on Cordua...
ETA: 0600 standard hours. Sargeant Hawkins of the Casnian 5th Imperial regiment sat aboard the Thunderhawk, making final entry into Cordua. The confined passenger compartments were just small enough to tease his claustrophobic tendancies. At 6'2, Hawkins was the picture of a rookie trooper. His face was handsome, unscarred, and always clean-shaven. His hair was a neatly-cropped black, and his brown eyes made him look like a 16-year old boy. Hawkins was not a native of the jungle-world of Casnia, instead he had been transferred from another regiment, the Jerud 12th, after that regiment had been torn apart in a bloody war against chaos on their homeplanet. The surviving soldiers, only about seventy three men in all, had been each sent to a differant regiment, and maintained their former ranks. Hawkins looked over his new squadmates, wondering what was going on in their heads. He had to break them, get them accustomed to his command, before they dug in against the Tyranids, somwhere down there on the snowy plains of Titus Delta. Sargeant Hawkins was not a stupid man, he could sense the distrust and resentment his new men felt towards their new commander, and he understood it fully. He was not one of them, he was a Jerud, they were Casnians. he would have to earn their respect.
The other six men sat scattered across the Thunderhawk's hard, wooden benches. All of them thinking, reflecting on things to come, imagining what glory they might attain, or what death they might meet. They all knew that ultimately, their sargeant would determine the answer to all of these questions, an outsider.
Trooper Leo, stared at the sargeant intently, measuring him up, hating him all the time. Leo was a hulk of a man, and as ugly as they came. He arms were as big around as an ork's, and his legs like tree-trunks. His big jaw jutted out from his head, almost obscenely, his shaven head adorn with scars and burns from the backwash of his flamer, the weapon of choice. Like most troopers specializing in flamer-combat, he reeked of promethium constantly. Leo was also infamous for his incoherent, vulgar slurs that was common speech. Little children, needless to say, were not often allowed to play with Leo.
Trooper Drax was the squad's best assault-style fighter. He mostly kept to himself, and the other squad members were wary to talk to him, lest they say the wrong thing. His slender, feline-like frame, betrayed an absolutely ungodly agility. Drax had the reputation of being able to unholster his laspistol, and kill three men before they even realized what was happening. In close-quarters combat, Drax became what Leo had affectionately called "Wun muddahfraggin muddafraggah". Drax's face was almost always at that "in between" stage of growth, never quite a beard, and never, ever clean shaven. His ebony hair was cut haphazardly, resulting in an overall, midlength, unkempt look. Whether or not Drax was capable of any emotion at all, only The Emperor knew.
Trooper Romul was the greatest shot in the entire regiment, and, logically so, the squad's sniper. Romul was a short, and his frame was thin and wiry, and his squadmates had taken to calling him "Ratling". Despite his short stature and goofy grin, Romul was a dangerous man, and his kill record was one of the greatest of any Casnian sniper's in history
Trooper Harl sat across from Romul, struggling to keep from vomiting. How he hated atmospheric entry! Harl longed to set foot on solid ground. Harl's specialty was scout work and intelligence gathering. Back on Casnia, Harl had been a hunter. He'd traveled the deadly jungle terrain of his homeworld in search of his prey, as his father had once done. Harl possesed a natural sense of direction, and was often more reliable than a compass. His face was covered by a rugged beard, about twenty centimeters long, and dark brown in color, matching his large, round eyes. Harl's weapon of choice was not a firearm at all, but his trust powerknife given to him by his father. He did however, as regimental rules required, have a laspistol sidearm equipped at all times.
Trooper Lars was perhaps the biggest partier in the squad, and was also the demolitions expert. Lars was a good-looking man in his late twenties, and was never seen without his tube-charges, satchels, claymores and grenades somewhere on his person. In a somewhat grim tradition, Lars always wore a smaller version of the immensely destructive magma bomb across his chest, just in case his "hand had been played out". Lars knew that Sargeant Hawkins disapproved of his morbid habits, but frankly, Lars could care less.
Then there was Trooper Micah. Micah's story had been a sad one, and still was. He was the only one in the squad who's entry into the Imperial Guard had not been voluntary. Micah had been part of a small, unfortunate group drafted from Casnia to defend a small moon from an Eldar raid, a raid that never happened. Afterwards, Micah had been forced to stay with the Guard, and was put into Hawkins's squad. Micah was an averaged sized man, with blond hair and blue eyes. His face showed his great worry, apprehension and general depression. He greatly missed his life back on Casnia, the young wife he was forced to leave most of all. Micah hated war, hated death, and hated being in the Guard. He had never tasted battle, and now was faced with the inevitable fight with the dreaded Tyranids.
The Thunderhawk juttered to a halt as it touched down within the Corduan city gates. Sargeant Hawkins grunted a sigh of relief, and unbuckled his harness, getting to his feet, his troopers followed his lead. "Dont wander off, any of you. Your recreation time doesnt start for three days, and all of you know that. Therefore, there will be no recreation, no card-playing, no drinking, no courting any ladies. We report directly to our designated barracks and then we are to be briefed on the situation here. Understood?"
In unison the troopers barked back "Aye sir!" and began grabbing their packs and equipment. After Hawkins had climbed out of the transport, Leo gave his signature ugly grin. "Ah wood luv ta kik dat peece ob shat in hims arse, leeve a liddul fraggin sting." No sooner than the other troopers started to smile, Sargeant Hawkins stormed back unto the Thunderhawk, obviously hearing every word.
Hawkins swiftly unholstered his laspistol, took aim, and fired off a shot, hitting Leo square between the eyes. The other troopers gasped in horror as Leo's clumsy form fell backwards, a bloody spot on his forehead, but oddly enough, Leo was yelping in pain.
Romul looked genuinely perplexed. "Grox shit, no way a man could take a las shot to the head and survive!" Leo angrily got to his feet, cursing bitterly and incoherently.
Hawkins just gave a cold smile. "Trooper Leo, you have just been shot in the head for insubordination, thankfully for you, my laspistol was insufficiently powered, and you have recieved little more than a second-degree burn. Its nothing worse than what your own flamer has given you, so stop whining or I'll shoot you again, this time on full power. Make no mistake, I am saying I will execute you personally."
Leo stopped raving and just stared at Hawkins murderously. The sargeant returned the stare for a brief moment before he turned on his heel, bellowing expectations as he left. "Assemble at the barracks in five minutes, an adept will show you the way...do not ever frag with me."
General Jaedan paced anxiously around his suite, trying to decide how to best escape the blame that was rightfully his for the shameful defeat at Ouran. Adept Brase tried in vain to calm him down, presenting him with well versed solutions, each one the General angrily shot down. The ornate splendor of the furnishings in his quarters did little to ease his temper.
"Arno, I'm the supreme commander of the TPM, all blame for the loss of Ouran will inevitably fall on me. Surely one of the survivors will recall how we evacuated!"
"We should have taken civilians with us as well General, we had enough chimeras to carry over 1/3 of Ouran's population to safety, doing so would have made us more favorable in the eyes of the Imperium." Brase calmly advised.
"Pah, if we had taken time to evacuate every insignificant little citizen we could, then the Tyranids would have killed us as well, we never would have made it to safety."
Adept Brase was amazed at the cowardice of his master, yet he was alive due to the hastey, sloppy evacuation initiated by his lord.
"True sir, but we could have evacuated at least some of Ouran's inhabitants, to be sure."
The General shot his Adept a venomous look. "Shut up! I dont need naysay, I need solutions! The Tribunal will have my rank stripped if we do not come up with something, and I will have your balls in a jar on my desk you snivling runt! A very small jar!"
"Aye sir," came the passive reply from Brase "then might I suggest a scapegoat?"
"What the hell do you recieve your paychecks for?" retorted Jaedan angrily.
"I propose that we use Colonel Sterling. He was commander of the wall defenses, his duty was to hold the front line and deny the Tyranid assault entry within the curtain wall. There are reports from survivors that Sterling was mauled to death by genestealers, we could use him?"
The General's creased brow relaxed, but only a fraction. "Go on."
"We can tell the Tribunal that our premature retreat wasn't premature at all, as Colonel Sterling, like the coward he is, abandoned his post and his men to certain death in the face of the enemy. As a result, the first line collapsed and left the second line horrendously exposed, causing the systematic fall of Ouran. We, of course, wanted to evacuate the city's populace, but were unable due to the blinding speed in which the assault advanced. Had Sterling done his job, we might have saved the city." Arno paused and took another breath, "Sterling is already dead, he won't much mind."
General Jaedan smiled. "Good, damn good."
A cruel joke of creation, Colonel Sterling's bionically augmentated body lay unmoving on the altar of the machine priests. The Adeptus Mechanicus had worked feverishly since they recieved his mutilated form from the APC units that arrived from Ouran. Feeder tubes poured into Sterling's metallic skull, supplying the oils, blood, coolant and water needed to maintain the barely living creature. Virtually every part of Sterling was now mechanical, very little human function remained in him, save a beating heart and a functioning brain. His right eye had been ripped out, and the machine priests had replaced it with a crude looking glass augmentation, burning with a blue flame, and capable of night and heat sensory vision. The jaw that had been savagely torn from his face was now replaced by an adamantium mandible, truly terrifying in appearance, and with hydraulic power enough to crush rockcrete. Various green-hued tubes sprouted from his now-adamantium spine, feeding nutrients to his still-organic brain, and sending brain-waves to his spine. The right side of Sterling's face had been patched shut with an adamantium plate, keeping his brain from spilling out. His left arm ended a in a long, serrated hook, the ruined muscles of his right were replaced by cogs, springs and steel rods, making it now twice as powerful. Where his lungs used to be, an auto-respirator was installed, with a backup unit in the space that his liver formerly occupied. His ribs were no longer made of bone, but like most of his skeletal structure, they were solid adamantium.
One of the machine priests stared intently as he replaced a feeder tube in Sterling's head. He knew that this man was conscious, only couldn't yet move. He knew this man's mind was struggling to understand much of what had happened in Ouran, much of what had been happening now. The priest could only wonder what quiet rage was building in Sterling's organic mind.
Seeing the world through heat-vision augmentation was a new experience to be sure, and Sterling wished bitterly he had died along with his wife Saren in Ouran. He had no desire to live without her. If only that damnable General Jaedan had given him that flamer support he had voxed for, his men might have put up a better fight. THE BASTARD HAD FLED! When the city fell, Jaedan ran like the cowardly bureaucrat he is, abandoning the entire populace of Ouran to pain and death, only a few grievously wounded soldiers had escaped with him. If only that bastard had ordered a civilian evacuation, Saren might still be alive. The sheer selfishness of Jaedan's despicable actions burned a pit in Sterling's soul.
He wasn't certain what these new augmentations were, but he knew they were making him stronger. He could feel the spirit of The Machine-God flooding into his veins, both artificial and organic. He knew now that he would never be the same, he would be a varitable monster, but he was stronger. He would use this new-found power against Jaedan when the opportunity presented itself. Now, however, Sterling couldnt move a muscle, the EMP emitters attached to his head kept him from moving at all. Soon, he realized, the priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus would remove the emitters, when they had finished the operation.
Emperor have pity on the General's wretched soul, he had made a very dangerous foe.
Sargeant Hawkins sat with the other commanders of the Casnian regiment, awaiting the return of General Lugo, commander of the Casnians. Lugo was still conferring with the commanders of the other regiments as well as General Jaedan of the TPM defense forces. The first hand briefing would be heard by General Lugo, and then he himself would brief his squad leaders.
He gazed around the circular table at which he sat. Other Sargeants and two commissars were all taking their seats, shuffling papers, pouring glasses of renaut, the local drink of choice, or smoking cigars. All of them seemed to distrust him, much as his own troopers did. He was, after all, not a Casnian, but a Jerud, and he was not one of them.
Hawkins rubbed his pronounced, clean-shaven jaw, wishing all the time he was still leading his "boys" in the Jerud 12th, they, at least, trusted him.
He angrily shook the thought from his mind. Such was the attitude of a weakling, he would make these Casnians respect him, much as he earned the respect of his Jerud brothers. He just needed to see battle with his Casnian squad, let them learn to trust his command.
Battle, the prospect usually exhilerated him. Hawkins had fought against Orks on Piscina IV and he had fought Eldar pirates on Corinthe. Now the thought of battle filled him wih a sense of foreboding, Tyranids were certainly like no other foe. He had seen what happened to Ouran on satellite photos, and he had seen the tattered remnants of survivors. Many had acid-scars all over their body, most were missing limbs, and very few had actually survived the journey to Cordua. He had heard the stories, and vowed that he would meet this insidious foe with his new squad, and do whatever small part he could in the Emperor's service.
The massive double oaken doors swung open, and General Lugo marched in, followed by two military advisors. In unison, the Casnian officers rose to their feet and stood at attention. Lugo strode to his massive oak chair, sat down and removed his cap. He ran his fingers through his hair, exhaustedly, as his advisors handed him a series of data-slates and documents. Lugo bade his officers to be seated and irritably waved his advisors away.
All eyes were on General Lugo as he inhaled deep, and exhaled deeper, consulting a data-slate before him. Finally, he looked to his officers.
"The situation is very serious, I will not lie to you. The Tyranids have devatated the city of Ouran, and are now advancing on us as we speak. We estimate that within five days they will reach one of The Imperium's primary promethium extraction sites," Lugo paused and looked searchingly at his data-slate before continuing, "that would be Munitoria Gamma, and we shouldnt expect them to leave it intact." Lugo scanned the room, looking each of his officers in the eye, even the newcomer Hawkins. "and far more urgently, within eight days they will reach Cordua, and as of right now, our top strategists estimate that the defenses in Cordua are not sufficient, but there is hope.
"An Imperial Fleet is on its way to Titus Delta, bringing the reinforcements we need to smite these vile aliens. They come with the Dark Angels Space Marine Chapter."
General Lugo smiled, as did his officers, at the mention of the impending arrival of Space Marines, truly the best the Imperium had to offer, let alone a Chapter so celebrated as the Dark Angels.
"But there's a catch, they wont be arriving for eleven days yet. By then, the aid they bring will have come too late. In short, if we ever hope to repel the Tyranid assault, we will need to buy time, and we have...ideas."
Lugo watched as his officers exchanged grins, and his heart sank, they had no idea. "Between Munitoria Gamma and Cordua lies a mountain pass in the Wayrest peaks. Myself and the other Imperial leadership believe that we can buy the time we need to if can dispatch one of the regiments to the mountain pass and intercept them. I volunteered the Casnian 5th for such an honor."
Hawkins watched as the men around him nodded their heads, their anxiety clear. They now realized the mission they were going on was potentially suicide. He swallowed hard and forced a half-grin, knowing that by his life or death, his men would do their part in buying the time required.
General Lugo continued, "I know you men are made of courage and honor, that is why I volunteered for this task. We leave tommorrow, destined for the Wayrest peaks. Go back to your respective barracks, and prepare your squads to move out at 0400 hours. I will see you all in the morning."
Without a word, Hawkins and the other squad-leaders got up and left the briefing room.
The plan was now in motion, the Casnian regiment was going to make a heroic stand in the Wayrest peaks against impossible odds. The Sargeants had breifed their men on the situation, and sure enough, in the morning every Guardsman was accounted for. The Column left Cordua at 0434 standard time, headed for glory, or death, or both.