The western shores just now peered over the crest of Remik’s single giant ocean. The western coast of Grendela, east from Haven, seemed to already reek of Ork made stench. Brother Noah wrinkled his nose as he looked through the bullet proof pane of the thunderhawk before slipping his helmet on and sealing it in.
To the pilot he spoke, “I will tell our brothers we shall be arriving soon.” as he stepped back into the main hull of the aircraft where three squads sat in preparation, strapped into their grav-seats. They cracked their knuckles through their gauntlets, finished their newest litanies of faith and devotion to the Emperor upon their sleek Black Power Armor; on their helmets, arms, shoulder guards, and legs. For some of them, fighting Orks was all too familiar a deal, and for others it had been quite some time. Time enough in fact where they might even find the mission more enjoyable than usual….He would need that enthusiasm.
Noah took his seat next to his personal squad of the three he was overseeing. Nine of them with him, made a full squad of ten marines. Brother Grahm preferred the close range weaponry much like himself. He was currently fastening his combat blade to his bolt pistol as a bayonet that could slice as well as puncture. In his other hand he would wield an axe. He could tear through a wave of charging enemy infantry in a fashion few others at his level of experience could boast about. Even though Grahm had less time with the chapter, he wore the robes of tutelage. One of the many newly formed customs of the new crusading fleet was that an Initiate could only wear a tabard into battle if he had successfully trained a neophyte to initiate status. Whatever all of his own experience may have been worth, Noah had never trained a neophyte. Upon this realization he made a commitment to himself that once this world was cleansed of the green skins and the fleet built a monastery, he would train a neophyte. He was hoping that those above him in rank had seen before him how ripe a world this would be for a fortress monastery with what they had seen of the surviving humans and the seclusion form the Imperium.
“But first things first”, he thought, these Orks had to be dealt with. He had a well balanced squad. Brother Jeremiah was checking his missile launcher for any possible optimizations, a good practice. Brother Samuel wore a tabard as well, but held a bolter chained to his armor rather the bolt pistol and axe preference of Grahm. Brother Tobias was also checking his weapon, a plasma gun. A weapon with a bite that Noah had respect for, and even more for any brothers who chose to wield it. He also carried a large golden orb on his armor’s belt. It had black crosses on it and a templar cross decoration atop of it; not the holy orb of Antioch in itself but one of many replications. Tobias’s helmet was a dark red shade of color, and his knee pads were white with black crosses over them. He also carried a large golden orb on his armor’s belt. It had black crosses on it and a templar cross decoration atop of it; Not the holy orb of Antioch in itself but one of many replications. This showed he was the squad’s weapons specialist and the knee pads showed he had proven himself of such a role. Though most Black Templars were known to liken close combat over ranged, there were always exceptions and Tobias was one of them. He would much rather shoot his enemies down than slay them with the sword.
Brother Veigor leaned forward as the banner affixed to his power-pack rose high. Noah was certain he would be potential for chaplain one day. He was incredible for keeping the morale of his squad high, and bore the chapter banner proud, always raising his chainsword alongside it, high above his head vigorously pushing his brothers into the charges that were so worthy of his name.
Brothers Phillip, Goethe, and Klaus all carried the holy bolter as well. Goethe’s power armor was almost completely covered in white worded prayers. Brother Phillip had a scope attached to his bolter and was a well trained marksman with the weapon. Brother Klaus was the newest Initiate in the squad, and Noah knew the least about him of the nine.
Finally there was Brother William. Because of the extra punch the squad would need doing a fast strike on a densely Ork populated area; extra special weapons were applied to make sure the Templar’s surprise was as effective as possible. William clung to his melta gun. He was perhaps the tallest of the squad, and appeared even more so with a skull trophy on top of his Power-pack. He had added the piece to his armor the day he had exacted revenge on the xenos who took the lives from some of his former squad-mates. This had of course been some time before the Imperjias Krusts was formed. He was a silent Templar, calm in his coal black armor and dark red details that befit his role as a fire based weapon holder.
“As you all know, I will only be able to give specific objectives and orders once we hit the ground. Our ships gave us topography of the area but the only way we will know what Orks are where when we get there, is by seeing it when the time comes. Be prepared to act fast.”
As if in reply, crude forms of ballistics started ricocheting off the Thunderhawk’s hull. It sounded like the heaviest rain you could imagine, falling onto a tin roof.
As the thunderhawk started to lower towards the ground Noah yelled, “There shouldn’t be too many Nobs! Mostly boys! These Orks haven’t been widespread on this world that long!”
The thunderhawk’s ramp lowered halfway when a rocket head exploded on one of the hydraulic mechanisms, causing the ramp to fall fast, slamming into the ground and sending up a huge cloud of sand. Noah’s helmet screened the floating sand particles just in time to see a dark figure fill his vision bringing a large blade down upon him. He knocked it out of the way with his arm, swung his pistol into the Ork’s head and with a loud clang, put a dent in its helmet before he finished it off with a burst of pistol rounds. The sand began to settle and he saw many of his squad doing the same. Noah smiled beneath his helm; mere seconds into the battle and already an array of Ork corpses littered the beach.
A loud noise caught his attention coming from a ridge to the right of their position. A large Ork truck with several Orks leaning from the sides and firing their guns came barreling over the hill onto the beach. A neighboring Thunderhawk’s first squad out was the closest and still in a tight formation. The Truck’s large frontal guns had them pinned, and Noah saw forms of his brothers fall limp. Unfortunately he had his own attentions at the moment. The Orks were making quick use of their fast attacking troops.
A horde of Storm boys launched themselves over the hills onto the beach in front of his squad. Noah brought his squad to the left to make room for the squad behind him just now jumping out onto the sand.
“Jeremiah! Put a frag missile in the sky!” and without hesitation, The Templar lifted his launcher looking through the sights, and sent a missile flying into the air towards the now falling Strom boys. A cloud of smoke plumed out behind the weapon as a streak of white hot smoke marked the missile’s trail. It exploded amongst them mid-air, sending several shrapnel filled green-skins straight down to the earth while the rest who landed on their feet were met with blades and short ranged bolter shots. Brother Grahm was the first to meet them of course, cutting in half the very first Ork that landed…as it landed. Brother William followed suit with a cone of white hot flame from his melta gun, turning the storm boys to ashes. That’s what they got for being so hasty. Though Noah realized these Orks had never faced the wrath of the space marines before.
The sound of a jet hit the air for only a second followed by an earth shaking thud from a drop pod. The large black structure had landed right on top of the incoming War truck, which exploded under the pod as its four doors dropped down. A dreadnought stepped out, satisfied to have already killed the most Orks on the battlefield so far. Noah could not tell for sure from the distance and chaos of the battle, but it appeared to be Brother Bartholomew.
Before his squad could finish off the storm boys who were still yelling in their faces and swinging lazily, The rumble of motorized bikes came over the battle.
Noah yelled again, “They’re bringing war bikes to the shores! Quickly, finish these fools!” and with that Noah unsheathed his power sword, activating the rune, and slicing through a storm boy all in the same motion. His sword crackled to life with a blue hued energy, sparks jumping about its edge. Through the vox to his squad as well as the other two squads he was overseeing, he ordered the bolters be readied.
His squad was just barely half way up the beach when seven war bikes flew over the ridge onto the sands, guns already blazing. Noah’s three squads returned fire, and the fire from the Templars was trained and focused. More clouds of sand were kicked up by the treaded wheels of the war bikes, as well as the hundreds of rounds being fired in both directions. Whizzing bullets went everywhere and ricocheted off of everything possible. As five of the bikes went down, crashing into the sand, so did some of the brothers from the other two squads. In his own squad Brother Goethe took a hit in the side that sent him to the ground, but he was not fatally wounded.
The leader of the bike squadron was still racing towards them and Noah could now make out his features with the help of his enhanced vision and helmet’s zoom in. Tongue flapping, drool flailing, still laughing through a metal toothed face plate even as five of his seven bikes were dropped and rattled with holes.
He didn’t care, all he cared about was the fact that he was still alive and racing toward his targets. The Orks knew no brotherhood like that of his battle brothers.
“Disgusting alien!” said Noah to no one in particular. “Phillip, take out the other bike’s driver before it reaches us.”
Many of the squad had dropped into the sand on purpose now, firing from prone positions as their bolters bucked. Philip made a yes sir reply, and stood up without fear just as any of them would have. Despite rounds flying past him, he remained calm, took a deep breath looking through the scope of his bolter and fired a trio of rounds. Two went straight through the Ork’s chest, and the third through the throat. Ork blood was sent spurting into the air as the bike tilted sideways and slid to a halt. As this happened, Noah charged forward breaking from the squad, going to meet the bike leader head on.
The Ork driving the loud red painted vehicle got wide eyed for the opportunity to drive straight over one these new enemies as it stepped up to challenge him. Noah’s form met with the bike’s front tire guard quickly, but the black armored figure, red eyed, with a sword surrounded by lighting, jumped onto the tire’s armor just before the world went blank.
Noah remained on the Bike as it continued on with a lifeless driver. He pulled his sword out of the Ork’s face, a complimentary splash of Ork blood with it, and leapt off before the war bike crashed.
He scanned the rest of the beach and was glad to see the Templars had made headway.
“The beach is ours for now! But the slower Orks will be here as soon as they can. We must act quickly. Return the injured to the Thunderhawks before they lift off again!
Noah was the first of the invasion force to plant his armored boot onto the dirt of the continent, and take in the view of the higher ground. The hills before him would have provided the Orks good cover, it was fortunate they were too stupid to use such an advantage. He would have to make sure his squad was ready to use them when the other Orks came.
15 minutes later, Noah and his squad were hunched into the rocky landscape next to the widest path that led towards the beach. Brother Bartholmew was in the middle of the ravine, his dreadnought carapace disguised as a destroyed vehicle and amongst a pair of large rocks. They had lit smoke grenades next to his form as well as lighting some of his oil reserves to create a steady flow of black smoke.
Brother Samuel was the highest up, and was currently speaking to him over the squad’s vox channel as he peered over the landscape toward the incoming enemy.
“About 30 nobs and about 3 times that in boys. 2 deff dreads, and a battle wagon. No way of knowing what’s inside it.”
Noah replied, saying to everyone over the squad channel, “Their leader will be in the Battlewagon.” He then opened a channel to the other squad leaders in the area giving them the same information. Noah turned his head towards Brother Tobias who was holding the Holy Orb by his chest plate. The Orks could be heard clearly as they made no effort to be silent, grumbling and roaring in their restless run toward the battle as it continued on the beach. The templars behind them were still finishing off the remaining Orks that had been there, or which had come from other directions. When the time was right, Noah nodded toward Tobias whose dark red tinted helm nodded back before he swung the golden explosive over his head, down into the ravine.
“Stand and fire! Those with heavy weapons focus on the Battle Wagon!”
Three squads rose from the hills simultaneously, thirty Black templars all emptying their clips into the green horde below. They only got a few seconds though. Before the large gun turrets on the Wagon were aimed and fired, forcing the Templars back into their cover.
Bartholomew knew it was time for him to rise when he heard his brothers cease firing. Right in front of the front-most Orks, what had been the charred remains of a blown up vehicle, rose and spun on its axis to meet them, sending a wave of orange and white flame into their midst. He paused the ignition of his Multi-melta for a moment as he popped three smoke grenades straight into the crowd of green-skins. The smoke was enough to cover the Ork infantry and Battle Wagon alike, as well as give the Templar squads on the hills better cover. The Wagon’s turrets turned to face the new and larger threat. Bartholomew continued his relentless assault by once again firing his multi-melta along with his storm bolter into the faces of the boys, charging through them to get to the nobs, gripping the first one he could with his close combat weapon and throwing him through the air onto the rocky hills.
All Noah could see was Bartholomew’s large form charge into the gray cloud of smoke, bright flashes of his weaponry, and in seconds a Nob was flung out the top of the cloud onto the hill before him. Jeremiah stood to fire a Krak missile this time, and got it off just before a volley of big shoota rounds crossed diagonally over his armor. He was alive but out of the fight for now. He held his right arm and hand in pain as the missile launcher lay next to him, still attached to his armor via thick chords. His midsection bled for a few seconds sending streams of red over his power armor before his wounds quickly clotted.
Noah shouted, “Not in vain!! Charge!!” to which the ten of them leapt over their rocky cover and sprinted down the hill toward the blasted side door of the battle wagon. On their way down the hill, the large metal door dropped down slamming into the dirt, chains rattling, as the war boss’s personal Nob bodyguards came out to meet the charging marines. The first still standing in the doorway of the battlewagon wielding a large gun Noah could think of no name for, who laid down the trigger from the safety of the wagon as the other Nobs rushed around him and up the hill. The newest of the squad, Klaus, took what was nearly the full brunt of the weapon. Noah was behind Klaus on the hill and watched in front of him still sprinting as Klaus writhed and shook from the number of rounds pummeling into his armor. Chunks of ceramite were sent flying in all directions from Klaus’s front. He fell in front of Noah who charged over his body, now in a bloody rage. The Templars with him were all driven to a wrathful lust for vengeance at their fallen brother and met the Nobs head on with it.
Bolter rounds shot point blank into Greenskin stomachs. Brother William’s melta gun smashing into one’s face before being shoved into the tooth filled maw, and then fired. Tobias firing his plasma gun so rapidly into one Nob, that when it overheated he flipped the gun around and slammed its backfiring state into the eyes of the already smoking hole filled Nob. Brother Veigor gutting one with his chainsword while firing his Bolt pistol into another’s back as it went for Brother Samuel, who tossed a pair of frag grenades into the wide doorway of the Wagon. The grenades exploded under the feet of the still shooting Nob, dispersing him into pieces. Noah himself cutting his on met Nob into pieces as his power sword cut through each limb with effortless ease. After cutting off both arms, the Nob still roared over him, so he sliced the beast’s legs out from under him before bringing his sword straight down the rest of its body.
The other two squads now fought head on with the Orks who had been marching in front of the battle wagon, and Bartholomew was trying to fend off both deff dreads at once.
Brother Grahm was the first into the battlewagon…and the first sent flying back out. A large power claw tore through the side of the already damaged doorway of his personal battle wagon. Noah looked to Grahm’s form and found he had merely been knocked out from a swipe of the claw rather than grabbed by it, thank the Emperor.
Noah jumped to the task while the rest finished off the Nobs. He blocked the incoming strike of the claw with his sword and sent a few bolt pistol rounds into the heavily armored ork boss. The Ork boss stuttered back a few steps, but then launched himself fully out of the Wagon and onto the bottom of the hill to face Noah.
“This coastal region will belong to no Ork after this day!” to which the Ork Boss laughed and said something Noah could hardly understand. “Big armored Humies still naw match fir da Boyz!” Its jaw was covered behind a large metal toothed frame. It raised a twin-linked shoota to Noah’s head, who reacted by cutting right through the barrel of the gun and then jabbing into the Ork’s chest, cutting right through the alien’s crude armor. The Boss fell to a knee with a yelp. He made one more attempt for Noah’s leg with his power claw.
He caught Noah’s lower leg in an iron grip. Noah could feel his armor beginning to break under the pressure, so he fought through the awkward position he was in on the ground and managed to get a single bolt pistol shot off into the Ork boss’s face.
He was then able to cut through the power claw and return to his feet. The Ork was grabbing the upper left portion of its head with the hand that previously held the shoota, and screaming in pain. Noah spoke over the Ork as it looked Noah’s helm in the eyes.
“I would ask what name you go by, but you clearly don’t matter.”
The sound of a Waaagh! type yell climbed the Ork Boss’s throat as it clamored for Noah’s form. Noah stood firm as the Ork’s large hand gripped the edge of his left shoulder guard and tried to pull him down. The Ork’s morale was finished. Noah brushed off its hand with his bolt pistol before decapitated the Green skin filth in one defining swing as the rest of his squad watched. Noah stepped back as his seven brothers relentlessly fired rounds into the Ork Boss’s body in revenge of Klaus before William burned the Ork’s remains to nothing with his melta gun. All but the bastard’s skull.
An Ork boy saw and yelled the news of the fallen leader. As their forces began to scatter, the wagon’s still thundering turrets were silenced by the note of a demolisher canon, as one of the crusade’s vindicators had found its way up the beach and into the battle. The gretchin manning the wagon’s turrets had hit the backs of their allies more than anything else.
Bartholomew’s carapace was badly dented and the saw blades of the deff dreads had done significant damage as well, but he still stood.
Noah spoke through his vox once more, “Brother Elzar to the front lines, this is Noah. I have one lightly wounded, one badly wounded….and one dead.”
“Thirteen of our brothers died that day Jürgen. Seven of those thirteen died as soon as they set foot onto the first battle the Imperjias Krusts was involved in. The shame was taken onto those of us still living, not those who died. We had plenty of time to plan and search for a better opportunity to begin our assault on the Orks, so we likely jumped the gun. Though we were all eager to adorn the badges and icons of another new crusade upon our armor, not to mention fight Orks again. Though we all hate Orks as much as the next being, it could be said that there does lay one comfort in fighting them, and that is familiarity. For several years we had been fighting the Tau for the first time, and as you know ended up in a long standing stalemate with them. We were then off to fight in the Realm of Ultramar against the new Tyranid xenos, which obviously, none of us had faced before either. So, there was some initial relief among those of us assigned to the separating fleet.”
“Our sins that were enacted through those sighs of relief at facing what we thought was a lesser enemy, did not go unpunished.”
“We had taken the beach, and we had fortified the surrounding hills. The hills were our walls, and the shore our landing zone. Once on the mainland our presence was not overlooked. Most likely Orks who escaped our wrath ran to the neighboring tribe leaders, who subsequently spread the word of our arrival before heading our way.”
“Two tribes were attacking the hills from opposite sides. We kept them at bay for days, and then weeks. We were all eager to move on with the crusade that was meant to be more of errand than anything else. We soon wished to return to our former fleet to aide our brothers against the Tyranid threat…they surely needed it. We had little way of moving forward and Thelial was at a loss. All we could do was defend and hold our position, killing a few Orks at a time while more hordes were crossing this world’s crust to find us.”
“Our rage began to boil. We had just come from a stalemate war against the Tau that was never won, and a short time later we found ourselves tied up yet again, and now it was against the pitiful minds of the Orks!! Thirteen brothers had already died!”
Jürgen watched as Brother Abrahm spoke, who was becoming angry just from remembering how he had felt. Abrahm took a deep breath and continued onwards, away from the tribute to Brother Noah. They came to a nearby intersection of the hallways. To their left was a hallway that ended maybe twenty feet away from them. At the end of it, three huge statues of space marines unfamiliar to Jürgen stood tall, with a grated window on the high ceiling above them casting a cool light over their heads while dozens of fire lit lanterns danced closer to their feet. Making their way closer, Jürgen could see a symbol in the large stone slab that the three statues stood on. Carved into the stone and filled in with black paint was a skull with three lightning bolts shooting from it in a triangular fashion. To the left of the symbol the stone slab was painted red, and to the right of the symbol the stone was painted white.
Abrahm looked up at the statues alongside Jürgen and spoke with admiration, “Our saving grace, the Storm Lords. A fellow chapter we remain in debt to, though only as an obligation. If they are ever in need of assistance I can assure you, the Imperijas Krusts will be the first to arrive
You can never be prepared for the unexpected
Last edited by unxpekted22; 07-06-10 at 11:49 PM.