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View Full Version : The Hemen Sector



Warboss Garfang
07-03-2006, 02:09
This is the fluff for my Imperial Guard force(which doesn't exist yet), and which I hope to tie in the fluff for my Adeptus Mechanicus, and possibly Ork armies.

Please give me any comments, criticism, corrections, etc. Without further ado, I give you the first installment(don't expect them all to be this big!).

*EDIT* Apparently it doesn't like my indents, I have no clue what to do about that, so it looked quite strange. I've separated paragraphs with an open line, hope that helps.

Sergeant Bechek glanced up from his prayer just in time to see the light mounted just behind the pilots switch to green, and the Flight Sergeant flash a single finger. Sixty seconds. He checked to his left again, feeling the stock of the lasrifle in its slot next to his seat. The Valkyrie bucked for a moment, the engines whined, and then started suddenly decelerating. Bechek watched the faces of the men across the cabin, as each was pushed back into their seats, faces grim, teeth clenched, muscles tight, eyes closed in prayer, and the Valkyrie hit the ground.

Belt releases clicked, lasrifles whined, the door mounted heavy bolters began pouring out streams with a deep roar, and the squad jumped out the doors onto the hard rock and dirt of yet another world. Seconds later, the huge blast of wind from the Valkyrie’s turbines forced their faces into the dirt as it lifted off and began circling.

Bechek’s squad was in the middle of a small field, ringed by low stone walls, and filled with bales of grass. About a kilometer to their west lay the first barbed wire fence in a series of defensive lines, at the heart of which lay three large, obsidian buildings. These were the objective, singled out by the Adeptus Mechanicus as a possible site of STC information. A full battalion of the Hemen 31st Drop Legion had been ordered to deploy, and Bechek’s company was leading the assault.

The other three squads of second platoon were moving west a hundred meters away, and first platoon was setting up its heavy weapons on the hill north of the perimeter. So far, not a single shot had been fired, and the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. Bechek could hear the Valkyrie’s whine coming from above them, and he waved his hand above his head to signal his squad forward.

Five hundred meters later, just as Bechek’s squad reached the stone wall two fields west of their landing site, they heard klaxons blaring. The voxes came alive as other squad leaders heard the same thing, and Bechek heard the tactical controller onboard the Emperor’s Righteousness reply by telling them that the first two waves of fighter-bombers were due in six minutes. The Valkyries began strafing the compund, as men in grey and brown fatigues streamed out tents and buildings surrounding the obsidian artifacts. An anti-aircraft turret lit the sky for a moment before a rocket silenced it. Lascannon shots blew away tents, heavy bolter rounds ripped through enemy troopers, but the trenches were quickly filling with men with guns, and the small arms fire began to take its toll, knocking a pair of Valkyries out of the sky, and forcing the rest to withdraw.

First platoon had begun firing, concentrating their fire on the trenches just in front of second platoon, which was now running as fast as they could across the third field of the morning, towards the last wall, which lay a just over three hundred meters from the enemy positions. Bechek dragged one trooper to his feet as the man slipped on a bale of grass and went tumbling, and moments later they were crouched behind the wall. He could hear first platoon’s spotters calling in targets to the Thunderbolts, who were due any minute now, and he heard the whine of more Valkyries coming in, black dots dropping out of the sky. The second wave was due to hit moments after the Thunderbolts, to minimize casualties. The last wave would hover above, to arrive in whatever spot seemed to be weakest and bolster the forces already on the ground.

Bechek turned and started issueing orders.
“Alrin, when we can move, get that lasthrower forward,” to which he received a curt nod from a small, beady eyed man, who carried the largest weapon in the squad. A lasthrower was a Hemen invention, much like a flamethrower, except it burned much hotter, as it was designed to cut through tanks and bunkers, and it took huge power packs. The “flame” was adjustable all the way down to the size of a welding torch, or out to sixty feet. Most Hemen regiments favored it over both melta and flame weapons, even fielding Hellhound with larger versions of them. Alrin was generally accepted as tied for the best lasthrower in the battalion, and he fired it in short, accurate bursts.

Next he turned to a big brute of a man, with huge biceps and a constantly sneering upper lip. “Orik, when we get to the trench, you and Nebin watch our backs, and give Pij the shotrifle.” Nebin turned back and winked at the sergeant, ”Can do sir”. Nebin was the only woman in the squad, but she was the most vicious fighter of them all, and part of the reason he wanted her behind them was because she tended to charge after enemies with insatiable battle lust. Pij was a thin man, but close six feet tall, and he smiled as he got his old gun back, handing his lasrifle to Nebin. The shotrifle was a large smoothbore, with two barrels stacked one over the other, and fed by a canister with grenades or shotgun rounds. Pij, short for Pijaka, had been wounded in their last campaign, and Bechek had forgotten that he’d never had his weapon returned. Nebin had loved that gun like a child while Pij had been gone, but she could barely handle the recoil.

“Ringh, get on the vox and have them drop a pair of Hellstrikes on those two fence posts, blow a hole right through the wire”. The man who picked up the vox mike had a crisscross of scars all over his body, from shrapnel wounds sustained when his previous squad was wiped out by artillery. He carried their names on tattoos across his forehead and arms, and Bechek had once found him dabbing blood from a dead enemy with Ringh’s knife in his chest across the tattoos after a battle.

A thick, tall man, perfect for the recruiting posters that covered the walls of Hemia City(and who is in fact on many), slid towards Bechek. “Vic, been looking for you, can you make sure there isn’t stubber or anything right there?” he asked as he pointed towards the fenceposts that he’d ordered bombed by the Thunderbolts. Vic’s full name was Victory, given by his mother when she found out his father had been killed storming a position on Hemia IV. He’d been leading an attack on Chaos Space Marines of the World Eaters, and had received Hemia’s highest honor, the Cross of Heros, for defeating a follower of Chaos armed with a dreaded Terminator suit in single combat. However, his enemy had inflicted mortal wounds as well, and he died of blood loss only after leading his men to victory. Vic carried his father’s power sword in addition to his Lagar long rifle, a weapon he had won for being the best shot in his graduating class, four years previously. Bechek was sure he would soon be removed to attend officer training school, as he possessed the same qualities his father did, and had a burning desire to destroy all the works of Chaos.

“I picked off an officer who poked his head to far out,” he explained, gesturing further down the line, ”but I didn’t see any heavy weapons deployed above the parapet. My bet is that they’ve got them in nests at the corners, or up in those towers,” gesturing towards a pair of 20 meter tall towers to their left. “They haven’t been shooting them if they got ‘em though.”
“Alright, if you see anything, give a yell over the vox.”

Nathaniel
07-03-2006, 05:17
Very nice, hope to read the next installment very soon.