Hello fiction-writing community!
I enjoy writing but have never been very good at it. More importantly: time at hand was always too short to finish any of the hundreds of projects I must have started throughout my life.
I moved on from trying to write entire books (of which none ever had more than a few chapters written out before I gave up or took up an entirely new project idea) to writing short stories. But when at university even less time was available to me I couldn't even start and finish those anymore, and thus my writing was no more.
My gaming group's current campaign is getting me into it again. We care much about storytelling and we write (short) stories as reports for all our battles and keep track of the campaign's storyline in its entirety. Even here on LO I tend to comment my battle reports with fragments of stories and I have come to enjoy this very much.
The stories of a friend of mine here on LO inspired me and finally got me over the edge to try some little writing again, but as time still is very short I can only do small teasers; intros to stories or fragments of them, which hopefully will be nonetheless entertaining.
In this thread I intend to publish some of the material for your (dis)pleasure. All of the short pieces of work will be scenes from engagements my army (a Space Marine chapter called the Nebula Raiders) has participated in. Any comments welcome!
Regards,
Red
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The Landing of Sternguard Squad “Lamniae Pugnacitatis”
The squad had barely rushed into the Thunderhawk as the bulkheads shut and the craft launched from the cruiser. Everyone knew their place exactly as the entire exercise had become routine. They had to shout to be heard over the deafening engine noise.
“What’re we into, sergeant?” asked sternguard veteran Santana.
“Seems to be a genestealer convention down there” sergeant Rorik replied. “And we’re not invited! Commander thinks that calls for a surprise visit. Says if we bring the right food they can’t reject. And what’s the Hive Mind’s preferred diet?” He scanned his brethren a moment long before going on. “That’s right, bolter shells!”
The compartment filled with chuckles that quickly died off once he added: “And the commander said we serve ‘em best!” He paused to let his serious gaze sink in, then relaxed his face. “Be proud.”
A quake shook the craft as it was slowed breaching the planet’s atmosphere. Rorik began to speak more urgently.
“Alright, listen up as I add some more detail to our assignment: there’s an Imperial Guard strongpoint below, complete with orbital defense. Intel has reason to believe those Guardsmen to be traitors with ties to the Alpha Legion. Our orders were to observe and assess the situation until Inquisition forces arrive, but with the Nids closing in command feels we can no longer wait.
“Nids’re attacking from two opposing directions. We’ll use general distraction to approach from the side. Once we’ve completed transit a drop pod detachment will cut off the Xenos’ spearhead and disrupt the advance of their main army while a mechanized force will seek out the big ones to fully draw their attention. We’ll move in on foot while the spearhead clashes with the stronghold defense to hide our approach.
“Then comes the hard part. Inquisition wants the stronghold intact and at least five of its command personnel ‘live for interrogation. We’ll blow up orbit defense weaponry and set up teleport beacons to grant the tactical dreadnoughts quick access. We’ll also knock out ‘s many surface-to-air emplacements as possible as we move t’wards the inner compound so the Thunderhawks can provide support.
“Then we’ll make our own entrance to the command center. Reinforcements’ll take care of the bugs, but there’s still gonna’ be hundreds of soldiers around. We hope to confuse and injure as many ‘s possible with our first pass, but they’ll outnumber us at least sixty to one. Kill as many ‘s must, but remember we need at least five command platoon officers alive!
You have your orders. Questions?”
“Yes, sarge: what are we doing after lunch?” Santana asked. The squad members turned their heads to him to see the grin on his lips. They would have followed his example, but the internal comm whistled and the speakers spat a familiar: “Brace for impact!”
“Helmets!” Rorik ordered, and his Brother-Marines donned them obediently just half a second before the dropship slammed into the ground, hatches flying open and the Angels of Death already halfway disembarked.
“G’luck out there” was all the pilot could say before the squad was out of sight.

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