Invasion on Lucian, Please Criticize
Far above the Forge World of Lucian, the Iron Hands cruisers orbited the planet, the Space Marine Commanders planning the planetary invasion soon to arrive on Lucian.
The Imperial Guard regiments stationed on Lucian had declared their independence from the Imperium. While normally the Imperial Guard would be called upon to end such a small invasion it was important that the world be back on track to producing many of the lasguns, chimeras and leman russes used in the Imperium’s many wars in the eastern side of the galaxy. Therefore it was deemed the attrition tactics favoured by the Imperial Guard were not acceptable and a new plan was drawn up. The new plan centered on a two-pronged attack on the rebel leadership, stationed in the factory complex of Vio 3. The first part of the attack would come from the west, and would most likely face the fiercest resistance as the rebels defending the other sides of the complex would move to deal with the attack. While the rebel soldiers where move and at their weakest, the second group of Space Marines would land. The second group’s job was to strike hard and fast at the factory comple.
The mood inside Dirae’s drop pod was tense, the roar of the engine drowning out the sounds of war coming from outside the pod. The drop pod would be landing in the middle of a rebel guardsmen base, and the killing would be fast and brutal, 10 Iron Hands against countless rebels, sounds like fun Orrav had said when the Space Marine Commander had said this. Inside each Iron Hand’s helmet, a roaring oratory by the great Iron Father Cattalus Ferrum bringing the marines to their full battle fury and awakening their inner rage for the weak and the easily corrupted. The squad, known as The Guards of Medusa was made up of ten marines, the sergeant Orrav, the second sergeant Dirae and eight regular Iron Hands, two of them carrying meltaguns so that they could crack any heavy armour they ran into. Orrav was the most veteran of them, and it was rumoured that if he proved his leadership in this battle once again he would be given one of the revered suits of Tactical Dreadnought Armour. Dirae was the second most veteran and him and Orrav were the only two of their squad to survive the assault on the Deamon planet Via-Thrax, the other members had been added to remake the squad after both Dirae and Orrav had insisted the Guards of Medusa could recover from such a loss. The plan once they landed was simple; kill every non Astarte in the surrounding 100 yards to clean a landing area for the other space marine drop pods to land and establish a perimeter from where the invasion could begin in earnest.
10 seconds to landing!” barked Orrav
“THE FLESH IS WEAK” roared the Iron Hands, the newer recruits checking over their bolters while Orrav and Dirae gave each other a curt nod, looking forward to the upcoming firefight.
The Drop Pod landed right on the rebel campfire, scalding the nearby rebels with half cooked meat beast stew. As the doors fell to the ground Dirae was the first to get his feet, his eyes immediately fell on the nearest rebel, a young teen barely older than 15 years, without hesitation two bolts caught him in the chest, both detonating inside him, blowing his ribs and lungs all over the surrounding area. Most of the rebels were not even holding their lasguns and even then, what is a lasgun against mighty Space Marine power armour? Dirae then saw that there was a comms relay in the nearest tent and a disheveled sergeant running towards it. Dirae peppered the ground around his feet, blowing one of them off.
“Always good to know about the enemy command.” chuckled Dirae, ignoring the screams coming from the man.
“Nice thinking” the squads most junior squad member nicknamed Heamin shouted.
“Having fun?” called out Grimor, one of the meltagun carrying brothers whose victims were easily recognizable as the molten piles of man, uniform and blood.
“Watch it! Heavy Bolter team at six o’clock Dirae!” shouted Orrav just as the air was filled with the fist sized bolts. A round clipped Dirae knocking off the ceremonial dagger he had been given centuries ago on Via-Thrax. Dirae wheeled around, ignoring the pain from the bolt, he lowered his boltgun and put a single bullet in the shooter’s forehead. Without a delay he adjusted his aim and put a second round in the reloader’s midsection. As the heavy bolter stopped thowing bolts into the ground infront of it a silence descended on the camp, in less than 5 minutes the whole camp had been shot and killed or were soon to be, the Guards of Medusa weren’t in the business of taking prisoners.
I will decide to continue this on whether it is well received, comments please.