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Author Topic: The rise and fall of Sarza Mandias  (Read 2445 times)

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Offline Swamp Rat

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The rise and fall of Sarza Mandias
« on: August 13, 2011, 07:37:51 PM »
I'm currently travelling around Central America, and the frequent bus journeys have put my hand to some fluff. I intend to do a full series charting the Badab war, from the point of view of my Mantis Warriors. This is basically a story version of a battle that happened a few months ago, with some changes so it makes sense (i.e. a Terminator Squad is now a Tactical Squad, the venerable dreadnought that got destroyed simply wont be in it). It's a little rushed, but hostel computers are fiercely fought for.



Imran Dizor, Captain of the Fire Hawks 3rd Company, spread the map across the table. The atmosphere of this planet was problematic, often interferring with the vox and holo-maps. Dizor had fallen back onto regular, papyrus and ink maps instead. The corners of the map were held down by bolter magazines, and the table surrounded by the remaining senior Astartes. Two of the Tactical Sergeants, Zabol and Sialk, stood to his right, whilst the veteran Jiroft stood to his left, pouring over the details.

They had finally found their prey's stronghold, some fifty Astartes of the Mantis Warrior Chapter, in a fortified complex at the base of a mountain range. They had been trapped, finally, the cowardly hit and run tactics had been over come, the gruelling guerilla war had been forced into this final engagement. Six months Dizor had wasted on this planet, barely seeing the Mantis Warriors except for stinging attacks that destroyed or lost materiel that was vital to the Fire Hawks. Dizor had finally found the stronghold they were operating out of, he finally had a chance to launch an attack that would devastate the Mantis Warriors.

The plan was simple, a favourite of Dizor's. He would drive the hammer, a force containing 30 Astartes, the majority of which were assault specialists, into the flank of the Mantis Warrior position, and push them towards his anvil, forty Astartes, his heavy weapon specialists. Although his most inexperienced troops, they were led by the Librarian Anshan, a level headed and competent field commander. Dizor himself led the reserves, eagerly awaiting the start of the attack so he could take the reserves to the fiercest point of the battle.

He checked his chron, the time to strike would be any minute, the final preparations had taken place. Looking around the warehouse, a part of the industrial complex he had taken over as a staging point of the attack. He was sweating, wishing the chron would tick over quicker, the last report had stated that whilst the complex was well hidden, it was there.

'We have done everything possible at this point, sergeants, return to your squads and have them ready to move, we'll join the attack as soon as we have made certain the majority of the enemy forces are there', he looked each sergeant in the eye in turn as he spoke.

'And if they're not?', the ever cautious Sialk asked.

'We attack what is there, and destroy it.' Dizor spoke matter of factly, as though the answer was obvious. 'Now dismissed'.

The two sergeants nodded their helmeted heads and turned in unison. Their squads were located in other buildings, waiting for the word so they could move.

Azas, the Company Chaplain, walked over to the table after the sergeants had left. Dizor drew his sword, a relic from the Chapter Armouries awarded to him upon his promotion to Captain, and knelt, his forehead pressed against the skulled pommel of the sword. The Chaplain presed his hand onto the head of the Captain, and mumurred a blessing from the Emperor. Dizor stood and sheathed his weapon, then turned away. The two were not close at the best of times, and the passing months had increased the arguments between the two, both frutstrated at the lack of enemy, both had taken this out on each other. Although the arguments had never taken place in front of anyone other than the closest in the command structure, the Astartes that followed them could see the fractures appearing between the two.

Without a word, the Chaplain turned away from Dizor, and headed towards the entrance to the warehouse. He'd accompany Zabol when the reserves were sent in, the sergeant fast becoming a disciple of his. Dizor shook his head as he thought how the Chaplain was trying to take over his company. It was a groundless thought, but one that often occured to Dizor after any encounter with Azan. The Chaplain was ambitious, that much was obvious, yet he would never dare to directly contradict the Captain.

Dizor shook his head, he had a battle to lead, and petty arguments with his senior staff wouldn't help. He looked again at his chron, the battle was nigh.
« Last Edit: August 13, 2011, 08:17:44 PM by Swamp Rat »
the only hope you have is to accept the fact that you're already dead. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you will be able to function the way a soldier is supposed to function -- without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. All war depends on it.

Don't cry for the Happy dead
But weep for those who dread to die.

Space Wolves Win Draw Loss - 5-3-0

Offline Swamp Rat

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Re: The rise and fall of Sarza Mandias
« Reply #1 on: August 17, 2011, 06:48:21 PM »
Can't for the life of me remember the planet i'd put this campaign on, but oh well, my notes and Badab War books are all in England, so i'm literally going from memory, the wiki and the lexicanum aren't telling me anything so unfortunately some details are going to be a little vague. Sorry about that. C&C always welcome, i'm not sure what to make of the Captain/Chaplain rivalry. In a chapter as proud as the Fire Hawks, i can see some Astartes rubbing each other the wrong way.


Jubrek watched the silent exchange between his Captain and his Chaplain. Things between them had deteriorated since the start of the campaign. The frequent feigning strikes of the Mantis Warriors had frustrated almost every Astarte in the company. They jut wouldn't fight.

He sighed and turned towards the window. He was at the rear end of the warehouse, normally used to house farming equipment for the local populace. They had proved to be most unhelpful to the Fire Hawks, and almost fiercely loyal to the Mantis Warriors. Possibly the only thing Azas and Dizor did agree on was how to deal with them. Only those who had hidden in the Chapel had been spared, subjugated into servitors and serfs for the Fire Hawks. Jubrek had argued against such treatment, Jiroft two. There were a handful within the company who disagreed with this treatment, the local population weren't to blame, they were just ignorant of the treacheries between Astartes. How could they believe that the Emperor's finest warriors would fight amongst themselves?

Jubrek snorted when he thought of Dizor and Azas, his own commanders were bickering amongst themselves, why would Astartes not fight? They had been created for nothing more.

He shook his head and looked out of the window. The jungle behind him was swaying gently in the breeze. He watched it for a few moments, waiting for the command to be given to attack, for any casualties to come to him for treatment. He's set aside a wide area at the rear of the warehouse to treat any of his superhuman brothers, though he knew if he was really needed, he'd be called to the front lines to collect the progenoid glands of any fallen Fire Hawks. He knew that the Fire Hawks were amongst the best in the Imperium, but he was also realistic, there would be casualties, the Mantis Warriors had shown an alarming habit of predicting the Fire Hawks movements, and it was increasingly accurate.

He took his helmet off and mag-locked it to his hip, running a hand through his blonde hair. He began watching the men below him scurrying around, making last minute preparations. Loading bolter magazines, and stacking various missiles, plasma-flasks, and promethium drums. They were the reserves, they would resupply the force they were relieving.

Jubrek placed his helmet back on, the seals tightening with a click. He looked over to Dizor as he heard his Captain encouraging men across the vox. He'd switch between single, man to man broadcasts, or squad wide ones, laughing and joking, reminding his men of heroic acts they'd performed.

Suddenly, the vox cut out, none of the strike forces were responding. Jubrek blick-clicked the channel to Dizor, standing 30 metres away, yet all he could raise was static. He pulled his helmet off and tried to shout to his captain, but was drowned out by something.

He was staring at the ceiling, lying on his back. He couldn't remember how he got here, or why he was here, but he could see the fire and smoke around him, and the rubble of the wall he'd been standing by. Missiles were streaking through the gap where the wall used to be, massive high calibre bolter rounds were blowing head sized chunks out of the wall. A bolt of plasma blew through the hole and incinerated an operating table. The stack of bolter rounds had been hit by something, and bolt rounds were exploding all through the warehouse. An Astarte, Jubrek couldn't tell who, fell as a round punched into his helmet.

They were under attack. Jubrek tried to stand, but searing pain flared through his lower body. His legs had been obliterated in the initial explosion. For a second Jubrek just growled in frustration, then tried to pull himself into cover, he was right in the centre of the breach. His narthecium was a mangled wreck that slowed him down. A bolt round smashed into his shoulder pad as he dragged himself over the rubble, knocking him onto his back.

Jiroft sprinted through the incoming fire, and grabbed the brutalised Apothecary by his shoulder guards. He turned and began dragging Jubrek through the firefight, blasting his bolter into the jungle where the incoming fire was originating . Jiroft was sent sprawling, and dragged himself over Jubrek, shielding him from the stream of bolter rounds smashing into the ground around them both.
the only hope you have is to accept the fact that you're already dead. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you will be able to function the way a soldier is supposed to function -- without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. All war depends on it.

Don't cry for the Happy dead
But weep for those who dread to die.

Space Wolves Win Draw Loss - 5-3-0

Offline Swamp Rat

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Re: The rise and fall of Sarza Mandias
« Reply #2 on: August 22, 2011, 04:52:23 PM »
Part 3. After 2 days on coaches, i have this fully written, and another couple of parts planned out. One thing i'm worried about is killing Marines off too quickly, and the tactical aspects of the battle itself. I'm keen to emphasise just how outnumbered the Fire Hawks are, ideally that'll start to come across over the next couple of pieces, not that the Mantis Warriors are in any way superior, but that they hold the better position, and have more men. Hopefully that'll come across, though i'm very aware that it might seem otherwise in some cases, that's not necessarily my intention.


Marhasi swung his combat shield and deflected the bolt round. The energy field flickered, light crackling around his forearm. His pistol barked back into the distance, knowing that he couldn't hit anything at this range, but refusing to do nothing. Sialk and Chogha had taken cover behind a fallen section of wall, Sialk's bolter and Chogha's pistol drowned out by the sheer amount of incoming fire.

Marhasi darted through cover, slipping between and through streams of high calibre fire, stepping through the smoke stream of a missile as it whistled past. The explosion tore at him, shrapnel tearing at his tabbard, and rebounding off his armour. He rolled over to the pair of Astartes, slamming his back into the wall they had taken cover behind.

He stuck his head above the wall and looked at the pair of veterans, lying face down in the centre of the rubble. They were bleeding heavily, Jiroft had been ravaged, Jubrek hidden from view by Jiroft's body. Marhasi looked at the two Astartes with him. Sialk held the sergeant rank, his power-sword still held in it's scabbard at his waist. Choga's heavy bolter was strapped to his back, his helmet lay in the dust at his feet, a massive chunk missing from the face plate. The fire-lanes from this position where nearly non-existant, a pillar of twisted metal and machinery had blocked off any vantage point they may have had.

A Plasma bolt exploded around the motionless pair, something heavy duty had melted the stone and metal around the pair. The two had simply ceased to exist, the only indication they had even been there was the battered and melted remnants of a Fire Hawk's shoulder pad.

Marhasi suppressed a scream of frustration, pulling onto his conciousness with a cold focus that had gained him a ruthless reputation amongst his fellow Astartes. Sialk tapped him on the shoulder and pointed upwards. There was a tower which was used to carry massive slabs, and store them amongst the other blocks which surrounded them.

Nodding his consent, he and Chogha bolted towards the ladder as Sialk opened fire. The sheer amount coming at them meant they couldn't see exactly where the fire was coming from, but Marhasi suspected they wouldn't need to.

He scooped a fallen bolter up as he ran, and began firing from the base of the ladder as Chogha began to climb.  Sialk turned and headed towards Marhasi, slipping past him and scurrying up the ladder. It groaned under the weight of the Astartes, but had been designed for humans in heavy-duty repair equipment, so was able to hold their weight, just.

Marhasi kept firing at the enemy position until the magazine ran out. He reloaded, then began to haul himself to the top of the ladder. They had a fair amount of cover, the same rubble which restricted their view protecting them from the Mantis Warriors fire. He tried the vox, to tell Dizor what he was planning, yet was met with static. Something had blocked all their channels.

Chogha had set the heavy bolter up at the top of the warehouse, and was awaiting the order to open fire. Sialk had his bolter propped against a windowsill next to him, and was looking out on the right. He yelled in joy. Marhasi hurried forwards and looked out, Ancient Arthaz had begun his slow trudge towards the Mantis Warriors position. As soon as his Assault Cannon was in range, the battle would change tempo, they would be fighting on the Fire Hawks terms. Chogha bellowed to the two Astartes and drew their attention to their left, where Chaplain Azas was leading Tactical Zabol forwards in their rhino. The counter attack had started.

Chogha was less than elated, his normally grinning face grim as he looked out at the fire positions. Marhasi looked and saw why, they were massively outnumbered. Seven seperate positions were firing at them, around seventy Astartes were attacking the Fire Hawk's thirty-five. Marhasi shrugged.

"We'll go well into the honour roll", Marhasi aimed down his bolter as he spoke.

"You might, i plan on winning", Chogha muttered, causing Sialk to grin. The grin dropped when he saw Marhasi's bolter.

"Anshan?", the sergeant asked after his squad member.

Marhasi shook his head in reply, the bolter had been next to a fallen Astarte who's face was unrecognisable.

Sialk growled in reply, and began firing his bolter into the jungle, some seven hundred meters distant. Azas' had pulled ahead in his rhino, squad Zabol, the storm bolter on the roof chattering, Zabol himself pouring fire from his combi plasma into the jungle.

Choga and Marhasi stood and opened up with their weapons, pouring explosive bolts into any position that seemed to fire. The bolter's distinctive bark drowned out their roars, the frustration venting from each Astarte as they were able to fire back, able to do what they had been created for. It was working, the fire slowed down, they were suppressing their enemy. They were winning.

Marhasi ducked to reload, and looked towards Zabol just as the missile hit the rhino, just as another squad reopening it's surge of fire on the disembarking Astartes. It had come from above. Marhasi aimed upwards and opened up at the exact moment the Land Speeders began firing at him. The tower above the warehouse lurched as it's base was struck by more missiles. A frag missile exploded in the midst of the Astartes with enough force to throw Chogha clean out of the window. His ruined heavy bolter disappeared down the hole as the rest of the tower began to collapse. Marhasi was dragged to a knee at the sheer concussive force of the heavy bolter rounds smashing into his combat shield.

Sialk had been hit in the chest several times, but was still bellowing curses as the tower collapsed around him. A slab fell and broke around his shoulders, he didn't move, but drew his power sword and roared his defiance as the Land Speeders screamed past, their high calibre bolter rounds smashing into Sialk, exploding against his armour.

Marhasi's shield dented and buckled under the sheer force of the onslaught. His bolter barked over the top of his shield as the tower began to tilt. It finally leant too far and took the two Astartes down, sending them crashing through the roof of the warehouse. Marhasi's shield was gone, it had taken his left forearm with his. Anshan's bolter was lost in the rubble, a large spike protruded from Sialk's chest as he lay motionless. Marhasi fought to stay concious and concentrated on Sialk, definately a punctured lung, and his secondary heart would have been ruptured.

A final section of the roof collapsed inwards, crushing Marhasi, Champion of the Fire Hawks 3rd Company.
the only hope you have is to accept the fact that you're already dead. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you will be able to function the way a soldier is supposed to function -- without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. All war depends on it.

Don't cry for the Happy dead
But weep for those who dread to die.

Space Wolves Win Draw Loss - 5-3-0

Offline Swamp Rat

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Re: The rise and fall of Sarza Mandias
« Reply #3 on: September 30, 2011, 09:28:50 AM »
Well i've been back in Blighty for a while now, and don't have any internet in my new flat, and didn't want to write this on my phone. The grammar and spelling alone would drive me mad. However, i slept in my parents house last night, and robbed my kid brothers laptop, so i can get this segment done.

Free fall. The earth, it's mudbrick lanes crisscrossing the yellow farms, it's solid block buildings a smeared grey against the ground. The woodland to the North flickered, bright bursts of flame and streaks of ruddy smoke smashing into the warehouse, tiny bursts of bolter fire showing where the Fire Hawks were trying to react and reinforce the warehouse, to defend from the oncoming onslaught. The houses in the village were swarming with Astartes as they tried to redeploy to face the attack from the rear.

Sarza Mandias' tactical display flickered as it identified the various squads. He saw the Dreadnought plowing forwards to attack eastern flank of the Mantis Warriors position, he saw Tactical Sergeant Ozi and his demi-squad waiting to make a move, originally positioned to attack the warehouse, but now moving to intercept the Ancient Dreadnought.

His tactical display flickered again, a targetting reticule flashed, pointing to the landing zone. Sarza gave a burst from his jump pack, his squad following their Sergeants lead. Captain Hamadan was with them, the 11 Astartes plummeting to the earth, Angels of Death, practitioners of the most brutal arena of war, and their Captain loved them for it. He fell with them, not the graceful descent of winged Angels, but the furious dive of attacking raptors, falling to unleash the brutal art they had all perfected.

Sarza Mandias had welcomed his Captain's presence, though his Captain had refused to take command of the squad, allowing the Sergeant to wield his Astartes like an extension of his own body. They were equipped for one role on this battlefield, to kill Astartes.

Sarza looked at the landing zone, right on top of a Fire Hawk Tactical Squad. The Mantis Devastators had switched fire, attacking targets of opportunity, whilst the Land Speeders began strafing runs on the other positions. Demi Squad Bactraeus was nearby, waiting to ambush the rushing Tactical Squad.

Sarza grinned as he let loose a burst from his plasma pistol, burning the arm from a Fire Hawk. The distinctive figure of a Chaplain barked an order and the squad began shooting at the descending Mantis Warriors, just as Bactraeus and his men struck, his Combi-Melta punching through the Fire Hawks Sergeant, whilst the Fire Hawks Astartes stood, attacked from three different positions, the cover from the first devastators lost when they tried to re-deploy against Sarza's squad, and Bactraeus hitting them from a flanking position.

They were outnumbered, outgunned, and out of position. Sarza punched into the ground and attacked a lone Fire Hawk, his power-axe hacking into the Astarte's leg and ribs. He returned fire at point blank, the shot's rocking Sarza onto his heels, but a burst from his jump pack rocketed him into the Fire Hawk, sending his bolter spinning from his hands. Several runes had lit up as the bolt rounds hammered into his chest, but his armour held. The Fire Hawk dived at Sarza, only for the Mantis' axe to smash into the Fire Hawks chest. A Mantis Chainsword descended and took the Fire Hawk behind the leg, at the weaker armour of the knee joint.

Together, Sarza and Iskander hacked the Fire Hawk to pieces, their green armour covered in gore. They turned and fired simultaneously, their plasma pistols burning into a charging Fire Hawk. The battle was one sided, four of the Hawks had been killed in the cross fire, the remaining seven were outnumbered by the combined weight of Assault Squad Mandias and Tactical Demi-Squad Bactraeus.

Sarza looked around at the melee, Captain Hamadan and Etremanki, Sarza's second in command, were attacking the Chaplain, his armour flickering as the force field around it began to fade. Siwah had the Fire Hawk Sergeant pinned to the ground, his boot on the Sergeants chest, his Chainsword hacking and hammering into the Sergeants helmetted head. Tactical Sergeant Bactraeus was standing over a fallen Mantis, his Powerfist gripping one Fire Hawk by the neck as his bolter hammered into the Hawk's abdomen, 2 of his Mantis Warriors covering him with their bolters and chainblades.

Sarza was knocked to the ground, a bolter had been used to bludgeon him. Iskander stepped over and attacked the Fire Hawk, using the reach his Chainsword gave him to keep the attacker at bay. Sarza swung his power-axe at the warrior, his axe blade thudding with a meaty chunk into the Fire Hawk's knee. Iskander dived through the Astarte's defence, and drove his chainsword into the attackers ribs, whilst Siwah hacked his chainsword into the Hawks other leg.

Sarza growled to himself as he stood up and  swung his axe, the power field crumpling the Fire Hawks helmet as it connected. His growl let slip into a full blown roar as he smashed his axe into the Hawks face again and again. He had been ordered to kill Astartes, over political arguing, arrogance, and borderline heresy of the Fire Hawks. He had done the one thing that no Astarte could ever come back from, slain his brother, whilst both were still loyal to the Emperor. He looked around as his men dispatched the last of the Fire Hawks. They had taken casualties, that was to be expected, but Sarza could tell from the body language of his men that they felt the same way he did. They had killed Astartes, there was no coming back from this.

The Chaplain lay on his back, a massive rent in his armour revealing his chest to the world. Bolter rounds from Hamadan's storm bolter had destroyed segments, the overwhelming fire power rendering the Rosarius useless. Etremanki stood, his helmet mag-locked to his hip, his head bleeding heavily. Without a word he strode over to the fallen Fire Hawk and fired his plasma pistol into the Chaplains head.
« Last Edit: December 27, 2011, 08:37:08 PM by Swamp Rat »
the only hope you have is to accept the fact that you're already dead. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you will be able to function the way a soldier is supposed to function -- without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. All war depends on it.

Don't cry for the Happy dead
But weep for those who dread to die.

Space Wolves Win Draw Loss - 5-3-0

Offline Kelsora Allain

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Re: The rise and fall of Sarza Mandias
« Reply #4 on: November 4, 2011, 07:33:27 PM »
Nice story, I was wondering if anyone had made a fiction about the Badab War. Nice!

Offline Swamp Rat

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Re: The rise and fall of Sarza Mandias
« Reply #5 on: November 5, 2011, 09:08:18 AM »
I've got alot more to add to it, but I don't have internet in the flat (i'm at my house prior to a rugby game today, violence, BOOYEAH!), but i should get this finished after a short while (we get internet on the 11th, but i also get Skyrim on the 11th. Interesting debate).
the only hope you have is to accept the fact that you're already dead. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you will be able to function the way a soldier is supposed to function -- without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. All war depends on it.

Don't cry for the Happy dead
But weep for those who dread to die.

Space Wolves Win Draw Loss - 5-3-0

Offline Kelsora Allain

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Re: The rise and fall of Sarza Mandias
« Reply #6 on: November 5, 2011, 06:43:41 PM »
Well I´ll be watching in case it ever comes, you write in a very realistic way about that war :)

Offline Sheepz

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Re: The rise and fall of Sarza Mandias
« Reply #7 on: November 11, 2011, 04:32:29 AM »
It's good, I'm enjoying it very much so far. Only thing that strikes me is that it could do with a heavy edit. There are quite a few places where there is some repitition, which is a bit jarring.

The two were not close at the best of times, and the passing months had increased the arguments between the two, both frutstrated at the lack of enemy, both had taken this out on each other. Although the arguments had never taken place in front of anyone other than the closest in the command structure, the Astartes that followed them could see the fractures appearing between the two.


That's just an example.

But yeah, keep it coming.

Offline Swamp Rat

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Re: The rise and fall of Sarza Mandias
« Reply #8 on: December 21, 2011, 01:35:01 PM »
Thanks for pointing that out Sheepz, the next part will be up soon, i've nearly got it written out in rough, just have to finish it off and type it up. I've tried to avoid making the same mistake in this next segment. I need to read over this stuff before i continue with it though, just because i've found myself making a couple of mistakes and missing a couple of sections out.
the only hope you have is to accept the fact that you're already dead. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you will be able to function the way a soldier is supposed to function -- without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. All war depends on it.

Don't cry for the Happy dead
But weep for those who dread to die.

Space Wolves Win Draw Loss - 5-3-0

Offline Swamp Rat

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Re: The rise and fall of Sarza Mandias
« Reply #9 on: December 27, 2011, 07:04:49 PM »
2 months? Christ that's a while. But i've got the internet sorted, and Christmas out of the way, and a decent enough time to work on the story.


Veteran Sergeant Ozi Bel-Marduk ducked as the Dreadnought stomped down the alley parallel to the one he and his demi-squad had scurried into. They were hiding behind corrugated iron shacks, the houses of the former inhabitants of this town, whilst the Ancient Fire Hawk burped another hail of assault cannon rounds into the tree-line.

The Dreadnought was a problem for Ozi. He could ignore it and proceed with his mission as planned, but he would be directly responsible for any Mantis Warriors who fell to the Hero. Or, he and his squad could combat the hulking tomb, which could result in slowing him and his squad down enough to mean that Captain Hamadan, and sergeants Sarza and Craterus would be left unsupported on their assault on the warehouse, and that was assuming they survived the encounter.

They had surprise on their side, the half dead warrior hadn't noticed the demi-squad as they cowered behind the houses, and they were equipped with melta weapons to cut through the side of the warehouse. Ozi clenched his powerfist as he made his decision.

"Tipater, take Zanda and Antigon, wait for my signal, then head across the road, and we can hit it from both sides at once, at that break around 30 metres down the road. I'll fire first, then you. It should be distracted enough by the split fire that we can really hit it, and do enough to take out a weapon, once that's gone we can move in to close to take it out with grenades. Am i clear?" Four affirmatives flashed on his retinal display.

Ozi waited for a number of heart beats, his helmet picking up the dreadnoughts mechanical clamping steps. When it was half way between their current position and the ambush point he'd picked, he blink-clicked the signal to Tipater.

The Astarte moved with his two brothers, the three moving in single file. Tipater burst from cover, sprinted across the road, and slid into cover on the opposite side. He swung right and covered the lane with his meltagun. As soon as he stopped Antigon stood and bolted across the open road, following the path the meltagunner took. When he hit the alley, he swung left, covering the lane with his bolter.

Zanda rose and ran, Ozi turned to get to his ambush position, with Cyrus when the all familiar burp sounded again. Immediately a blinking red rune flashed across his display. Zanda was down. The fallen Astartes bolter barked in defiance as a bloody burbling sounded across the static laden vox. Even at this short distance the Dust Prophets work was affecting them.

The Dreadnought's assault cannon burped a second time, and the bolter fell silent. The flashing red rune turned black. OZi froze and tried to reach the other half of his demi-squad over the vox. Antigon's voice reached him first, tinny and echoing.

"It's coming for us sergeant, you're behind it, it's coming for us", Antigon had repeated the message, hoping it would reach Ozi and Cyrus.

Ozi grimaced and nodded at Cyrus, indicating to be followed. The pair took off at a full sprint, ensuring they were behind the dreadnought before they attacked. It stood, planted, less than ten meters away, it's assault cannon tearing the iron houses apart as though they weren't even there.

Ozi steadied his combi-melta and pulled the secondary trigger. The beam of superheated air silently sliced into the assault cannons ammo drum, melting metal and igniting the remaining rounds. Cyrus was thrown from his feet as a round shattered the eagle on his chest, and Ozi flinched as one ricocheted off the ground and into his pauldron.

The Dreadnought itself rocked to one side, away from the explosion. Slowly, much slower than it should have, the Ancient Fire Hawk began to turn around to face the Mantis Warrior Sergeant. Ozi sprinted forwards and swung his powerfist before the tomb could bring it's storm bolter to bear. His fist smashed into the Old Ones hip, armour plating bending and tearing as the damaged servos were hammered by the Veteran Sergeant. He grabbed a bundle of wires and wrenched, coating himself in lubricants as they squirted out, the black blood of the Dreadnought pumping from the torn artery.

The Fire Hawk spun quicker this time, as though Ozi had accidentally released something. Though quicker, the  swipe lacked any real power, Ozi deflected the blow using his powerfist, and transferred the momentum into a spinning left hook. His fist mashed into the Dreadnought sarophagus, stoving a crack into the intricately carved artwork there.

His opponents counter was a full strike, as though the Fire Hawk had taken the blow to allow an opening in Ozi's guard. The Mantis Warrior managed to pull his powerfist up, using it like a shield. He spun through the air, thrown a dozen metres away, before crashing through the corrugated iron shack. He coughed and gasped as he tried to draw a breath. His rib plate was cracked, and his left arm was a ruin, the bones beneathe the sparking smoking powerfist had shattered in several places, whilst the glove itself has fused into a claw of agony.

Ozi wheezed as he pulled himself up. The Dreadnought was trying to walk to towards him, but it's ruined right leg prevented it from moving. Unable to close the distance on the stricken Mantis, the Hawk leveled his Storm Bolter at him. Ozi, determined to stare his killer in the eye, stood as straight as he could. The storm bolter barked, and Ozi was thrown from his feet a second time, the bolt rounds hammering into the armour of his shoulder.

The Dreadnought had missed, and lurched as it tried to turn around. Cyrus was dragging Ozi into cover, blind-firing at the ancient. Ozi's retinal display flickered as he was pulled into range, Antigon and Tipater were shooting at the rear of the Fire Hawk. The meltagun had shredded chunks out of the Ancient's rear armour, huge slagged holes had been punched into the casings of the Tomb's power generator. Already it's energy field was failing, his claw little more than a club. His movements, previously smooth and threatening, were now jerky and unpredictable, the stop start showing the half dead hero had lost some control of it's functions.

Damaged, brutalised, the Old One was still deadly. Antigon flew through the air as the Dreadnought's fist rammed through his knee. Cyrus stuck his Sergeant behing a table, checked he was still breathing, and vaulted over the table to help his brothers. Ozi dragged himself to his feet. Tipater was tearing chunks out of the Ancients armour with his meltagun, whilst Cyrus was readying a krak grenade behind the behemoth. The sergeant staggered forwards, his system flooded with stimulants and painkillers, his armour cracked and shattered in a dozen places.

The pain, gone from a searing agony in his lungs, to a muffled ache in his chest. The benefits of Astarte Mk VIII armour. His stagger had evolved into a shambling stumbling run, his malfunctioning powerfist raised in defiance. The Dreadnought swung towards him at the last second, the nameplate "Arthas" inscribed in gold, folding underneath the force of his swing. He gripped the armour, tearing a hole in the sarcophagus. Amniotic fluid drenched Ozi's fist, the sterilised stench forcing it's way into his helmet. He could see the wrinkled necrotic husk of a trunk, tubes and wires penetrating the half dead corpse.

The bones in Ozi's arm ground together as he reached for the fallen hero. The Dreadnought managed to jerk and buck, trying to throw the Mantis Warrior off, but his grip was too deep. He flailed inside the sarcophagus, desperate to crush the pilot before it felled another of his squad. Wires snapped and sagged, pulled out by Ozi's grasping fingers. He managed to wrap his hand around the corpse's stump of a right leg, as the Dreadnought's claw wrapped around his own. With a snapping wrench, the Ancient ragged Ozi out, only to release him at the arc of his swing.

Ozi rolled as he landed, thudding over and over through the dust. He blacked out, his display flickering with static. Rough hands flipped him onto his back, and began patting him down, feeling through his armour for injuries, looking for the tell tale softness of the armour. His helmet snapped clear, and he could see the yellow painted face plate of Cyrus looking at him.

The sergeant was pulled to his feet by his brother, and turned to look at Tipater and Antigon. The latter was held upright by the meltagunner, his left leg plates had buckled rigidly. He could stand, but barely.

"Orders?" Antigon could barely keep the pain from his voice.

Ozi didn't want to look down. He knew his left arm was a ruin, but he was more worried about his chest. It had been a glancing blow, but from a Dreadnought, that could be enough. Tipater was staring at it, obvious even with his helmet on.

"What are we looking like for ammunition?" Ozi's question came out as a snarl.

"With Zanda's equipment, about half of what we need". Cyrus shifted his weight and handed Ozi's combi-melta to him, his own bolter mag-locked to his leg.

"Can you walk?" Ozi had directed his question at Antigon.

"Barely, the leg has seized and i've no way to fix it, even without the broken leg it'd be a challenge to move quickly".

"You can support me then" the sergeant shifted, and nearly fell into the other Astarte. "Tipater, grad Zanda's body, we can recover his equipment and gene-seed, his sacrifice will not be forgotten. Cyrus, you cover him". Ozi's voice grew weaker, the rage he felt at loosing his a brother drowned out by the pain in his chest. "We'll get to the extraction point, we can't carry out our mission in this state".

The pair of Astartes began heading towards the tree line, heading towards the extraction point, back the way they'd spent hours creeping up from. Craterus, Bactraeus, and Sarza would have to make do without the demi-squad.

Tipater opened a link to Cyrus as they ran to retrieve their fallen brother, both skirting round the frozen ruin of the Fire Hawk Dreadnought.

"If that smug bastard Cassander so much as smirks, i swear to the throne i'll drop him".

He grunted as he swung Zanda's corpse over his shoulder, and turned to run after his sergeant.

Cyrus kept his boltgun pointed down the alley, and waited to see if anything was likely to follow them. After a while he turned and sprinted after his demi-squad, stopping only to look at the mechanical ruin. The hero has been dragged from his housing, Ozi's grip had wrenched him out his sarcophagus as the Dreadnought had pulled the sergeant out of the sepulchre.

Cyrus stared at the husk for a second, his lips pulling across his teeth in a snarl as he pulled his helmet off.

"Traitor", he spat at the corpse, and watched as the acid burnt through the corpses skull. After a second he shot the husk through the head, and ran to join his demi-squad.
« Last Edit: December 27, 2011, 08:35:09 PM by Swamp Rat »
the only hope you have is to accept the fact that you're already dead. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you will be able to function the way a soldier is supposed to function -- without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. All war depends on it.

Don't cry for the Happy dead
But weep for those who dread to die.

Space Wolves Win Draw Loss - 5-3-0

 


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