Serrati Stellas Chapter 5
Around the nameless planetoid orbital space was a swirling morass of radiation, debris and wreckage floating everywhere. Frozen green bodies spun weightlessly and broke apart as they crashed into shards of metal the size of trucks and flashes of light revealed vented oxygen igniting. Amid the devastation sat an ugly leviathan, brooding and dark with gunz protruding from its bow like a row of broken teeth. It sat blind and uncaring as its crew worked feverishly to repair the great gouges torn in its side, labouring to make good it's wounds.
Approaching through the morass of sensor-blinding debris was a single Thunderhawk, the Winged Fury. It drifted powerlessly, depending upon pure inertia to carry it forward lest an energy burst betray its location. Only the smallest puffs of gas from its manoeuvring thrusters announced the presence of life, tiny adjustments to avoid collisions and keep it on course. In complete silence the gunship drifted nearer to the gigantic Kroozer, like a mosquito approaching a herd beast and the poison it carried was just as deadly.
As it closed the great gouges were visible to the naked eye along with swarms of Mekboyz, crawling through the torn hull, welding and cutting with glee in their bulky vacuum suits. Carefully the Winged Fury fired a small burst of lateral thrust that carried it away from the activity, towards the rear section which sat deserted and exposed. The gunships' approach appeared slow from a distance but as it closed its true speed was revealed, the Kroozer swelling in size to become a mountain of metal and ugly welds.
The Thunderhawk dived in at full speed, leaving braking thrust until the last second, then it sharply decelerated mere metres from the hull. At the last possible moment landing claws extended and the Thunderhawk spun in the void to make contact, the impact reverberating through the tiny hull with force enough to break spines and shatter mortal bones, but then this crew were far from mortal. In total silence nine Transhuman warriors gathered around the ventral docking collar, setting to work with fusion torches that created bright flares of light in the void.
After a few minutes there was a sudden rushing of wind and the return of sound announcing that they had cut through the hull and the pressure was equalising. Without speaking the Storm Heralds dropped through the hole one by one, each twisting and turning to cope with the awkward return of gravity. Once inside they instantly fanned out, with bolters raised to secure the compartment. In a minute they had swept the area and found themselves in a deserted and mouldy space, perhaps an unused storeroom or perhaps just a space left and forgotten about by the careless Mekboyz.
Sergeant Toran stood straight and took in IXth squad then he spoke for the first time saying, "You all know your objectives, combat squad one: Daite, Jediah and Persion with Chaplain Wrethan. Combat squad two: Furion, Ophelian, Novak and Rickard with me. Be fast and be deadly: We are the Emperor's Storm."
"We are his Wrath" replied the squad solemnly with the time honoured battle cry of the Storm Heralds Chapter, then half of them turned and followed the black clad Chaplain out of the door and set off at a sprint.
The remaining Storm Heralds formed up behind their Sergeant and took off in another direction, moving through the corridors swiftly and stealthily. Their dark blue and grey armour lent itself well to the shadows but these were no Sons of Corax and knew it was only a matter of time until they were detected, so speed was everything. Toran led them through the rusty and jagged corridors, avoiding parties of wandering Ork Boyz, taking smaller corridors and rerouting where necessary. Here the Kroozers' ramshackle nature worked to their advantage, countless holes in walls and mismatched hatches making progress easy.
Toran was reassured by their swift progress yet in his hearts he struggled with an unaccustomed anxiety. This plan was dangerous and so much could go wrong, it was a huge risk they were taking. Space Marines were not averse to risk and Toran had laid his life on the line so many times but this was different. This was his first operation as a leader and the lives of his Brothers were in his hands. What if he had made a mistake, what if he was leading them to their deaths? Toran wished he could forget these questions but he could not, all he could do was keep putting one foot in front of the other and trust they could cope with whatever they encountered.
Suddenly Novak, who was on point stopped, peering around a junction with his hand raised. Everybody paused as he waved Toran forward, the Sergeant crept up and peered around it himself, seeing five Orks further ahead. They were sitting over a crate, drinking and playing some game with the finger bones of Grots. Toran eased back and silently waved Ophelian forwards, they traded places and he gently leant out peering along the darkened corridor. Ophelian brought up his stalker pattern bolt rifle, sliding in a magazine of sniper rounds. He lined up his shot with infinite care, then there was a series of soft gasps of escaping air and he straightened up saying, "Easy shot".
Toran breathed out in relief and said, "Well done Brother."
Ophelian looked back and stated, "Five for five, beats your record from Glaeba."
Toran stepped past him saying, "I seem to recall at Glaeba they were shooting back at us."
Ophelian followed him replying, "Yes… but I make it look easy."
With the threat eliminated the squad pressed on and there were no more obstacles until they came to the double hatch of a large chamber. Here they paused, settling down in the shadows. Just beyond the hatches they could see the majority of the room and it was filled with a half-dozen Mekboyz and hordes of Grots yelling and beating strange objects with hammers and wrenches. The vast majority of the space was taken up with a huge pipeline that was as wide as two Land Raiders laid end to end. The squad slunk back into the shadows and waited for the sign to attack, if they were discovered now the mission would fail but all they could do was wait. Toran suppressed the urge to vox Chaplain Wrethan's team, he could not afford to distract them from their own mission.
He saw Novak clenching the blade of his Rapier and Ophelian, stroking the barrel of his bolter, soothing its Machine Spirit. Rickard seemed a statue carved from Ceramite and Furion looked stalwart as ever, Toran could only hope he looked as calm for he certainly didn't feel that way. For an instant he wished he was still a line Brother, a Sergeant's responsibilities were heavier than he had ever dreamed but he rejected the notion. He had been entrusted with a sacred charge and the Chapter would not have bestowed the rank if they did not think he was ready, it was only his own nerves that were troubling him. He had to be confident in his abilities and decisions, more than his own life depended upon it.
He was snapped out his musings by a series of clicks on the vox, it was the signal from Chaplain Wrethan that they had secured their objective and would start the burn in sixty seconds. Instantly Toran waved Furion forwards and the Veteran stepped up, taking out a pair of Frag grenades from his kit bag, strong enough to hurt the Orks but not to breach the Conduit. He passed one to Toran and together they lined up, they nodded to each other then pulled the pins and let fly. The reaction was almost comical, the grenades rolled into the chamber and a half-dozen Orks turned to look at them with jaws gaping in disbelief, then they exploded. In a burst of light and noise shrapnel scythed into green flesh and embedded in thick skin while The concussive bangs and shrapnel tore the Grots to shreds. The bedlam was intense but the Mekboys were proper Orks and not one of them was killed.
"Charge!" Toran shouted, taking advantage of the confusion as he led IXth squad to the hatch. As they ran they levelled their bolters and opened fire and the flurry of bolt rounds smashed into the Mekboys, blowing off limbs and spilling guts everywhere. Toran lined up his bolt pistol and put three rounds into a Mekboyz' chest, it staggered back for a second before they detonated and blew it apart in a fountain of sickening gore.
The Orks had taken casualties but they rallied swiftly and let fly with sluggas and shootas. The flurry of rounds smashed into the area around the IXth squad were unyielding, trusting in their ancient armour to hold firm as they blasted the greenskins apart one by one. Concentrated bursts of bolt-rounds tore each Ork apart, reducing them to broken heaps and in seconds the number of foes shrank to one. Yet the final Mek-boy was clad in Mega-armour and it wasn't firing but instead grabbing something from a pile of junk. Torna fired a round at it but the bolt spranged off its thick armour, then it turned around and revealed a Big Shoota. "Evade!" Toran shouted as he threw himself aside but even as he did so the Ork levelled the cumbersome weapon and opened up with a tongue of fire a metre long.
Toran's armour registered bullets impacting all over him but thankfully none penetrated, but behind there was a sound ceramite cracking. He could not spare the time to turn to look as he brought his bolt pistol around and fired a burst at the Ork, but the rounds again deflected off its thick armour. The Sergeant snarled in disgust, filled with sacred loathing at the Xeno, everything about it offended him from its crude armour to its obscene mockery of the human form and he felt revulsion at its refusal to simply lie down and die.
The Mekboy roared with laughter and dragged the juddering weapon round to target the Sergeant. Toran gripped his chainsword tighter and prepared to charge into melee range but a heartbeat before he could throw himself forward a single bolt-round caught the Mekboy on the forehead. The bolt effortlessly penetrated the thick bone of its skull, then it detonated, blowing its brains everywhere. Toran's jaw fell at the unexpected kill-shot and in the corner of his eye he saw Rickard sliding the action on his bolter, satisfied with a clean kill.
Toran nodded to Rickard in gratitude and waved Furion forward to plant the charges, yet to his surprise there was no reaction. Toran frowned in confusion but then his eye registered a blinking amber rune in his vision, the life readings of his combat squad. Aghast Toran spun on his heel to look behind and he was shocked by what he beheld. Slumped on the floor Ophelian lay with his back to a bulkhead, blood pooling in his lap from the dozen gunshot wounds that had cracked through his belly armour.