Guest-written by Andrei P.(Garak)
“All forces report they are ready to drop” reported Captain Gadok. He was currently in his assigned drop pod, ready for the countdown to begin, and supremely glad to not be anywhere near the person he was talking to.
“Good. Begin obital bombardment” said the voice over his helmet comm. Gadok was sure he detected supreme satisfaction in that voice over giving such an order.
“The fortress should only be garrisoned by thralls. Maybe some PDF troops might be in the area but isn’t this a bit overkill?”
“Are you questioning my orders?” snarled the voice as Gadok winced. “Did I hear that right?”
“I would never dare to, my lord. I apologize for my poorly chosen words.”
The only reply he got was a disgusted snort and the click of the comm channel being turned off. Gadok the Abandoned brief a sigh of relief and hated himself for it. But there was little he could do about his current situation. Both his Primarch and his Great Company had left him to die long ago, the only thing approaching brotherhood left to him was his current warband. They were the Disfavored, a collection of cast offs, rejects, screw ups, insane people and the desperate. Those who had nowhere else to go.
They were not a brotherhood. They could never be. There was too much hatred between them all. Too much distrust. But this allowed them to at least continue their war against the lapdogs of the False Emperor. That at least brought a smile to his sour face.
It was time to go to war once more.
****
As drop pods, Thunderhawk gunships and bulky troop landers disgorged themselves from the orbiting fleet, alarms rang down on the planet. The target of all these forces was a grim fortress in the middle of a city long ruined by some forgotten conflict. The defenders of this edifice were quick to action, troops taking their places on the ramparts and the outer fortifications, defense lasers powering up, missile silos opening to deliver their deadly payloads. The only weakness they had was the shield generator. Old and little used, its machine spirit was slow to wake, not being one hungry for destruction. This slowness was to prove catastrophic.
The orbital bombardment struck without mercy. The bunkers and trenches of the outer fortifications were ripped asunder, the troops taking shelter within them dying in droves. The fortress itself took several hits, weakening the outer walls significantly, the bastion housing the missile silo taking an especially fierce pounding. Despite the fury of the bombardment, the deafening noise and the shaking of the earth, the defenders were unimpressed, fear having no place in their hearts. As black and gold drop pods began descending from the sky and slamming into the earth, the defenders raised their weapons to the sky and howled their joy for all to hear.
And to witness.
****
No sooner the drop pods slammed into the ground that their doors slammed open and the power armored transhumans within charged out. Their armors were a mix of heraldries, some proclaiming their wearers as veterans of the original traitor Legions, others as renegades from newer chapters. There was no uniformity among the Disfavored, despite the Legion they proclaimed fealty to.
None of that mattered to them. Painting their armor some new color meant nothing – to some of them even their old colors were nothing, just some paint on armor with no meaning attached. They were here to raid the fortress and take the cyclonic torpedoes stored in a bunker far beneath it.
At a point near the missile bastion, the air glowed and buzzed for a brief moment before it exploded in a blinding flash. Where once there was nothing but an empty street, now there were seven hulking figures. Armored in Terminator armor, they decided to take a more direct approach to the battlefield. Six of the figures bore the colors of the Word Bearers, religious fanatics and iconoclasts. The seventh figure, the one who commanded this raid in the first place, wore armor of black and gold.
Towering over his fellow Astartes and wielding weapons heavy with legend and dread, he smiled to see the walls before him weakened. He was Abaddon the Despoiler, Warmaster of Chaos.
He listened to the vox chatter, hearing the berserkers to the north yell their insane cries as they charged the trenches, Thunderhawk pilots reporting the tanks being delivered and the general chatter of unit leaders. He was a bit disappointed that Userkaf and his Rubric marines had landed further to the south than he’d wanted. Then again maybe it was wrong to expect too much from a scribe like him, the man had written a library’s worth of books about his memories of Prospero. As if he could somehow hold on to the past, keep it alive.
This thought was interrupted as he heard confusion over the vox at the same time that he spotted the defenders. Not only were they more than he’d been told but they were wrong ones as well. I’m going to skin Erebus when this is over.
The fortress itself was positively drowning in the iconography of the Dark Angels chapter, there were giant winged figures with swords on every face of the central tower for Warp’s sake. So why then, in the cursed names of Horus and the Emperor, was it defended by the blasted Sons of Russ? The Vlka Fenryka and the Dark Angels hated each other. This made no sense. And they weren’t even regular Astartes, but Guilliman’s new breed of bootlicker. It felt like the Lord of Change had just played a very poor joke. This was madness.
And going by the vox chatter, the Disfavored were equally mystified. Well most of them at least. The berserkers didn’t care, if they’d even noticed, as they were too busy drenching themselves in gore and massacring the marines trying to hold the ruins of a bunker.
With a snarl of rage, he ordered all troops to breach the fortress wall, which caused every plasma gunner to risk his weapon blowing up in his face rather than angering him. Which all well and nice but as he surveyed the battlefield, he saw the Dreadnaught standing amid the ruined trenches. Only the madness of the Sons of Russ would possess them to give such a warmachine a shield and an axe, when it was already armed with tank crushing fists. This also meant they had left it without any of its normal ranged weapons. Still, that machine would break the berserkers easily. Their chainaxes would ground uselessly against its armor and shield.
“Follow me” he told the former Word Bearers as he charged the Dreadnaught. It didn’t take long for Abaddon to notice they didn’t follow him. He should probably have expected that. Such lack of passion would see them shunned by the others in their Legion. He suspected even Gadok wouldn’t have accepted them in his warband but they had brought valuable Terminator armor that they’d stolen when they left.
“I bring you true death, old one!” shouted Abaddon as he charged the Dreadnaught. He swung with Drach’nyen, aiming the deamon blade at the cables connecting its feet to its sarcophagus body. But the half dead pilot within the warmachine, proved fast as he took a step back and parried the blow with the head of his axe. Impressed at the skill of his enemy he tried to tear of its axe wielding arm with the Talon of Horus but the Son of Russ blocked the blow his shield, furious sparks shooting it’s energy field as it collided with the one encasing the claws of the Talon.
“You will find I am no easy prey Despoiler” thundered the voice of the pilot from its external speakers. “My name is Ivar “The Boneless”. I have slain countless enemies of the Allfather. You shall be no different.” With that the warmachine swung its giant axe, aiming to cut the Warmaster on two. Abaddon snarled as he parried with the Talon of Horus. The blows from the axe shook him with each blow but no axe, no matter how fine, would be able to sunder the weapon of a Primarch.
“Big talk from someone who died once already” he snarled, as he drew upon Drach’nyen’s power and felt the deamon resist him. With a furious roar, Abaddon ducked under the axe swinging for his head, got within the dreadnought’s reach and rammed the Talon into the sarcophagus. The war machine emitted a furious howl as the blades of the Talon tore through its armor and pierced the shriveled corpse of its pilot. Roaring his own fury in response, Abaddon tore the weapon up and out, spraying bits of machinery and flesh over the battlefield. The dreadnought froze in place, now nothing but a statue.
“Rest in peace now Ivar” said Abaddon. “You’ll meet your brothers soon enough.” He turned back toward the fortress, just in time to see its defenders unleashing bright plasma blasts at the Word Bearer Terminators. Four of them fell dead, their suits ripped apart by Cawl’s improved design. The berserkes were also taking casualties as the fortress Icarus guns and the missile silo were unleashed upon them. This was to be expected but still annoying as …. Argh! He felt a foreign mind probe his thoughts, looking for battle plans or secrets. A damn psyker. He idly wondered if the Vlka Fenryka were still deluded as to the source of their psykik power.
At least his tank support had arrived and he could smile in pleasure as the walls of the missile bastion crumbled under the fire of the Night Lords Land Raider. Casting one final look at the fallen Dreadnaught he said “You were no Fellhand”, he then signaled the Terminators to charge. This time they did so, wanting to avenge themselves on the Hallblaster squad defending the ramparts. Abaddon joined the charge as the defenders let loose another volley, killing another Terminator. Not enough to stop us.
With a snarl on his lips he ran up the slope leading to the breach, masonry crunching under his boots, and gained the ramparts. And then Drach’nyen drank deep as he slaughtered them without mercy or respite.
“For the Allfather! For the Russ! And for Father Cawl!” yelled a captain in heavy Gravis armor as he charged into the fray. He showed skill as he used the falling corpse of one his brothers to hide the angle of his attack and his blade gouged a wound into Abaddon’s power armor.
“You have seen your last dawn Heir to Horus. I, Jarl Hrod, shall see to it.”
Another one who thinks himself a hero worthy of their vaunted sagas.
He was about to strike back when he heard howling behind himself and the curses of Userkaf. “These mongrel dogs have Wulfen with them! And another Dreadnaught!”
“Ha! You didn’t think we could surprise you, did you Heretic scum” laughed Hrod.
Damn. Those mutant bastards were coming up from the ruins behind him. They’d swarm up the same breach he did and force him to waste time. And the snipers up in the tower were trying to pick off Userkaf, seeing him as a threat.
“Throw everything you have at them. Divert the Agony to unload its cultists right in their snouts.” Even as he talked, he swung his deamon blade at the enemy Captain, forcing him to step back if he wanted to still have a head.
“And the war machine?” this from Gadok.
“Deal with it later. Have the tanks and your Rubric marines move up, keep pounding the fortress.” He made another attack with the sword, forcing the captain to retreat once more. He was on the edge of falling into the missile silo.
“We will not –“
He never got to finish as Abaddon bisected him from left shoulder to right hip with Drach’nyen. “Just die and shut up.”
The missile bastion was now secure. As he took in the rest of the field, he saw the cultists shooting at the Wulfen and then charging in. Whoever led them was obviously someone who wanted to avoid drawing his ire. A good man that. Thoughtful of him.
The tanks seemed to finally crack open the rest of the fortress, they were now firing on the Devastator squad up ahead, and his forces were advancing. He heard reports that the Negavolt cultists were gaining the ramparts on the other bastion. As he went forward, looking for more enemies to slay, he saw the flash of a teleporter off to his left and saw more Vlka Fenryka, these wearing Terminator armor adorned with wolf pelts. There no wolves on Fenris, he recalled and sneered in disgust. The Terminators were marching on the Rubric marines of the Thousand Sons, a predictable target for them.
As soon as his forces cleared the fortress, we could have the Land Raider and the Predator tank hunt down that other Dreadnaught and finish this force of –
His thoughts were interrupted as a lightning bolt struck the last Word Bearer as he stepped over the dead Devastator squad. The bolt blew a hole through his head and leap right at Abaddon. The pain that engulfed him was immense and he felt his twin hearts like they had turned into lead. Molten fire seemed to course through his veins as he fell to his knees, darkness engulfing him, alarms blaring from his armor. Just before the blackness took him, there was a bright light.
****
Abaddon had fallen. It didn’t matter that he was retrieved via teleporter before the enemy could cut off his head. Abaddon had fallen. The blow to morale was devastating. Gadok took a quick look at the field. Userkaf had been wounded by the same lightning that had felled the Warmaster. The cultists were still struggling with the wulfen but the outcome of that fight was obvious even to a blind man. The Terminators had been gunned down by the combined firepower of the Thousand Sons and the Land Raider. The Space Marines in the bastion closest to him had repelled the Negavolt cultists and were counter charging one of his squads, singing their death song the whole time. And that damn Dreadnaught had finished off the berserkers and was now pulping some more cultists. Well, this was a bit on the edge. He still had enough troops to win this, especially with the tanks. The enemy Devastator squad had been taken out, so they couldn’t harm the tanks at range and –
He saw the tanks pulling back.
“What are you doing” he snarled at them over the vox.
“Abaddon has fallen, I’m hearing nothing shouts of pain over the vox and lovely as they are, I’m not looking to die here. Whatever for?”
Damn those Night Lords! Those selfish bastards! They could still win this if only …. Ahhh what’s the use? He could see his troops looking over their shoulders at the retreating tanks and he knew this was over. Without the tanks, they lacked the firepower to kill that damn Dreadnaught. Why risk it after all?
I’m going to say these was Thunderwolf cavalry coming from behind us. Maybe he’ll buy it, thought Gadok.
So the Disfavored retreated from the field, to the delight and confusion of the surviving warriors of the Vlka Fenryka.
No comments:
Post a Comment