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  1. #1
    Senior Member ChadMS's Avatar
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    The Battle of Thraxus

    This is a short story which is connected with my fluff on my Imperial guard army.

    Colonel Renik hit his tactical display in frustration. The orks were getting too damn close and he needed to be able to coordinate his forces, which was impossible when the tech priests had been evacuated and his comms system collapsed. The orks had taken the city, and the PDF had been all but annihilated. The final shuttles were on their way; and with their departure the civilians of Thraxus would be safe. Providing the 501st could hold on for long enough, which didn’t seem likely. The Emperor take Armageddon Prime, for the 501st was done with it! Renik lifted his head from the machine in despair, and hurried to the firing slot of his command dugout. The defences appeared to be holding. The plains that surrounded the city of Thraxus had been churned into a hell-hole by shelling, trench lines, barbed wire and corpses. The orks had retreated, bellowing their cries of guttural rage, but Renik knew they would return. They always did. The 1st company of the 501st was defending the peninsular that led to the spaceport, and they had dug in well. Their trenches formed a near impenetrable redoubt. A few of the men could be seen at the firesteps, standing watch over the ruined ground. Suddenly the comm link crackled, and the voice of Sergeant Tarkin was amplified across the dugout. Renik dived for the headset, cursing as he tripped an outstretched cable, and narrowly avoided trooper Gervas.
    “This is Renik!” He snapped, “What the hell are your men doing? The stormtroopers should have pulled back half an hour ago!”
    “Emperor preserve us!” yelled the stormtrooper, “We’re about to be over run! Theres too many of them, we’ve lost seventy percent of the detachment! We can’t get through!”
    Renik paled: The stormtroopers were some of the deadliest fighters he had ever seen. They had been with the regiment since the Golgotha campaign. If they were failing to hold the orks…
    “Try to pull back, I will send support as…” Renik got no further. The line was filled with screams of anger and pain, and the bellows of orks! There followed what sounded like a hell-gun on full-auto! The crump as a grenade detonated! And one last cry from Tarkin: “Holy Terra, there’s one in some sort of armour, it’s enormous and it’s shrugging off our fire! It must be a leader it’s… Aarrrrggggh!”
    Renik realised that everyone was staring at him. Calmly he replaced the headset, into the operator’s hands.
    Finally, the display flashed. But it was not showing what Renik wanted to see. It was obvious that a major assault was on the way, but how many men could he muster to repel it with? Five companies had originally deployed. Two had managed to leave via the shuttles, and another was guarding the spaceport. Renik blinked. Where the devil had fourth company got to? There was no sign of them anywhere. That left him with the survivors of first company. One hundred and seventy six men, including himself. And at least five thousand orks on the way.

    Damn.

    He lifted the vox speaker to his mouth once again. He realised his throat was dry, and spat hastily.
    “Renik to all units; prepare for maximum resistance. I repeat, prepare for maximum resistance. All officers sound off.”
    “This is captain Flakkson, forward trenches, standing by.”
    “Lieutenant Grechorgi, reserve trenches ready, by the emperor!”
    “Lieutenant Haskarn, fire support awaiting orders.
    “Lieutenant Rakole, Old Glory at the ready.”
    “Sergeant Pavalde, Vengeance standing by.”
    “Sergeant Krullow, forward sentries ready for combat!”
    So a Leman Russ tank was still able to fight, as was Pavalde’s Medusa. That was some comfort. But as Renik was about to give his orders a new code cut into the comms network.
    “It’s the Hang-man,” murmured Scylos, the regimental sanctioned psyker, from his corner of the dugout. Renik closed his eyes. The last thing he needed was that son of a bitch. Icy tones hissed from Gervas’s vox set.
    “This is Commissar M’kane. I am moving up to your position; kindly appraise me of the situation. You do not appear to have issued battle orders yet.”
    Renik appraised him.
    “Very well,” replied M’kane, “I will be arriving at your dugout shortly.”
    Suddenly Trooper Carlos tensed at the firing slot. Over the sound of the vox and voices of guardsmen came the unmistakeable whine of a shell.
    “INCOMING!” screamed Carlos, before the ground shook with the force of an earthquake! Renik was knocked sprawling along with his command squad. Scylos screamed something intelligible, and appeared to have soiled his robes. Smoke poured in through the firing slit. Renik staggered to his feet amid the carnage, ignoring the whimpers of Scylos and the moans of his command squad. He cleared his eyes of the smoke as he ran out of the dugout. He had to see what had happened. His comm bead was hissing uselessly. More shells detonated along the trench lines! Before Renik’s horrified eyes a section of a reserve trench took a direct hit; exploding in a fountain of mud, flak-board and blood! Several guardsmen were trying to drag their wounded comrades into cover, and everywhere squad leaders were frantically shouting orders. But Renik had seen what was coming.

    WAAAGGGGHHHH!!!!
    From the outskirts of Thraxus came the orks! There were thousands of them! Ahead of them raced a number of crude vehicles and bikes! Their engines belching black smoke and their wheels skidded over the blasted landscape! Sporadic fire was already erupting from their lines. Renik stood still only for moments when his mind kicked in.
    “This is Renik!” he screamed into his comm-bead, “Give them fire! Give them all the fire you’ve got! Kill them all!” Krullow was the first to comply. From Renik’s right the Old Glory opened fire. Its battle cannon shell screamed its defiance as it blew a truck to pieces! The vehicle blossomed into a great fireball as the shell tore it open. Vengeance joined in, its cannon roaring. From all along the line of the 501st, soldiers opened fire. First were the dull thumps of mortars, followed by the snap of Lascannons. The rattling fire of heavy bolters joined the rain of death, and missiles corkscrewed through the air to detonate amongst the ork infantry. How many were killed in the first ten seconds alone was impossible to say. Orks collapsed, bloody craters stitching themselves across their chests! Others were blown high into the air by shells. Yet still they came on.

    Guardsman sprang to their positions on the firesteps and opened fire, a veritable wall of lasfire arcing towards the greenskins. Yet still the Orks came on, ignoring wounds that would have dropped a grox. Here and there a few went down, with a clean shot to the head, but they were barely making a dent in the horde. Some of the orc vehicles had managed to close the distance and were firing erratically. Their shots were largely ineffective, either being absorbed by the entrenchments or, more often missing their mark altogether. Yet Renik saw more than one trooper hurled back in a spray of blood as shots found their mark. Vengeance fired again. Its cannon roared, and the tank shuddered with the recoil. Pavalde’s crew were working like daemons, stripped to their shirts they sweated and loaded and fired again. And again.
    “Colonel!” a shout made him turn. Trooper Paulas had hailed him from the dugout. The guardsman beckoned Renik to the tactical display screen. “Sir, I’ve lost contact with the forward positions on the East flank. Their last transmissions was ten minutes ago. The signal just went dead.”
    The Colonel paused in thought. “Who’s in reserve?”
    “Sergeant Rawol sir.”
    “Signal him to move up to the flank,” replied Renik “We will go with him.”
    Paulas was clearly surprised but moved to obey.
    “Why?” croaked a thin, reedy voice. Renik winced. It was like nails being scraped along a piece of flak board. “It is our duty Scylos. Sergeant Rawol’s squad may not be enough. There is no one else we can spare, so we must go with them.” The psyker did not reply.
    Renik turned to his command squad. “Carlos, Gervas, Paulas and Meirgan. Come with me. The rest of you will stay here to coordinate the defence.” The chosen men moved to obey. Carlos, hefting his heavy-stubber. Gervas, the technician from Kasr Garth. Paulas, the teams medic, and Meirgan, the fuel tanks for his flamer sloshing as he walked. They filed out of the dugout in silence. Gervas took point as they moved down the reserve trenches. They passed few men, as all that were not dead were either fighting, wounded or both. Those they did passe were weary. They were no longer the proud soldiers who had landed on Armageddon mere months before; this trench warfare had put paid to that. Their boots squelched in the ooze that leaked from between shattered duckboards, and skidded on spent rounds and cartridges. They reached the end of the reserve trenches and reached the medical dugout. The dugout was huge, but a great stretch of the trench was filled wit wounded men. Some had lost limbs to ork blades, and were swathed in filthy bandages. Others were groaning as they clutched their wounds. Some prayed to the Emperor. Others looked to be dead already. Renik’s heart ached for his men, but he had no time to pity them for his comm-bead crackled.
    “This is Sergeant Rawol. We’ve found the men on the east flank. They’re dead sir, all of them.”

    This is only the first pat of the story and there will definitely be more to come. All C+C welcome and appreciated. If you're interested in the rest of my fluff, heres a link to some of it.
    http://www.librarium-online.com/foru...-part-1-a.html (The Cadian 501st (Part 1).)

    Last edited by ChadMS; November 3rd, 2009 at 17:59.
    2500 points of Empire for ToXG: Points painted for month 4: 0 Points painted overall: 510

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  3. #2
    Dark Apostle Sir Spamalot's Avatar
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    YAY! More fluff! I need to write some really :p

  4. #3
    That Which Has No Time Red Archer's Avatar
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    531 (x8)

    Alright, Chad! Thanks a lot, mate. Exactly what I needed after a very long and busy day.
    Can't give you any more rep yet, but I'm all the much more looking forward to the second part of the story!

    Reading your stuff always makes me want to grab my bolter, round up my squad and drop pod right into your lines to end that darn Xeno waaaagh and come to the aid of all those poor guys that have been recruited for the 501st...

    Keep it up. More!

  5. #4
    Senior Member ChadMS's Avatar
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    Part 2

    As soon as Rawol had received his orders to move up to the east flank he immediately ordered his men to move out. The sergeant knew something was wrong. Entire squads of men didn’t disappear without notice. The only thing that could possibly achieve that would have to be one hell of a big gun! Or sorcery. He prayed like hell that there were no pyskers amongst the orks. Scylos was insanely unpredictable at the best of times, and he dreaded to think what an ork psyker would be capable of. He quickly pushed such thoughts from his mind. Throne! Get a grip! You could get your whole squad killed! The trooper on point had reached the edge of the trenches. He paused, and crouched amongst the mud, and signalled to Rawol. Rawol pushed past his men and made his way to the front of the file. “End of the trench sir!” hissed the trooper. He was right. Shell fire had blown this section apart, and there was a gap of a least 250 metres between them and cover. The ground would be treacherous, as the soil would be wet, and loosened by shell fire. However, they had to get to the eastern trench line.
    “Squad, we’re going across. It seems quiet, but be on the look out. We’ll go forward in pairs. On my signal, run like hell!”
    The troopers moistened fry lips and clutched their rifles. As soon as they left the trenches they would be sitting ducks for snipers. “GO!”
    The first pair of troopers sprinted out. Their pace was broken by the uneven ground. The whole squad waited with bated breath, finally exhaling with a sigh of relief when the two men reached the far side. Rawol tuned his comm-bead to the squad frequency. “Well done. Now secure the trenches for twenty metres. The rest of us are crossing. Both men signalled their acknowledgements and moved out of sight. Slowly the squad crossed the broken ground. Savin cut his shin on a piece of rusted wire, but there were no major injuries. Rawol was relieved, and radioed the two men who had gone ahead, but received nothing but static. “Caspol! Direvin! Report at once!” Still he got no reply. Something was definitely wrong here!
    “Corporal Seygen; take fire team one and cover the rear. We’re moving on. Rawol’s team shuffled along. The trenches seemed to close in around them. Shadows danced and darted as shells exploded nearby. There was no sign of anyone.
    “Sir!”
    Savin was standing near to the entrance to a dugout. The door had been covered with a piece of camouflage netting. They had all nearly missed it. He motioned to Savin, who nodded, and grasped the door handle. Rawol flicked his las-gun to full auto. The rest of the team prepared to follow him in. He took a deep breath, and nodded. Savin heaved on the handle and the door swung open! Rawol plunged in, his las-gun ready at his hip! He automatically searched for targets as he entered, but quickly noticed the contents of the room. “Emperor on Earth!” The room was full of corpses, all in the uniform of the 501st. They bore horrific knife wounds, their armour torn open! On the top were the bodies of Caspol and Direvin! Savin swore. Two other men made the sign of the aquila. Rawol recoiled from the slaughter and tuned to Colonel Renik’s frequency- The Colonel must be warned!

    Renik was already moving. With a flourish he drew his power sword from its scabbard and pressed the activator. With a crackle, blue lightning danced along the edge of the blade, reflecting off the sheet iron that lined the trenches. The sword was a masterpiece. Exquisitely balanced and made of adamantite it had carved bloody ruin through Renik’s opponents. He was a true sword-master, trained by the greatest champions of Kasr Tyrok. He raised his hell-pistol to cover the trench ahead, and offered up a prayer for Rawol. Whatever was in those trenches, he knew the sergeant had little chance of stopping it.

    Rawol didn’t wait for a reply. Every second counted. Why in the name of the Golden throne had he split his force? With an oath he raised his commbead to contact Seygen. With a sputter the Corporal’s voice came through: “Sergeant? What’s your status sir?”
    “There’s no time for chatter Corporal. The entire damn platoon is dead, so are Caspol and Direvin! Get up here at once! The orks got in!”
    A slight noise first alerted him. The soft squelch as a boot sinks into mud. Rawol whirled around, drawing his knife and plunged it through the glowing red eye of the ork that had been creeping up behind him!

    (Still more to come people, as usual I appreciate all C+C)
    2500 points of Empire for ToXG: Points painted for month 4: 0 Points painted overall: 510

  6. #5
    That Which Has No Time Red Archer's Avatar
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    531 (x8)

    Alright, Chad! Although I hate you for stopping at the most thrilling moment...
    Looking forward to more as usual, but even more so still being enthralled in the middle of that story!! Thanks for keeping it up.

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