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Gorthor21
03-12-2011, 01:38
bit of fanfiction to get me excited about my new army. thought I'd share

The smoke billowed low out of the ruined shell of a building that offered shelter to the weary band of dust laden figures that lined its charred remains. At the edges of ruined habitation quarters provided the only protection from the blasting winds of this dead world. The figures lay about in a odd assortment of survivors, each with the scars on their flesh as much as their souls. The atomic wastes that dominated most habitable surface of this damned planet were the greatest threat of all the forces that threatened the lives upon this world; greater than the weapons the poor souls bore into battle, greater than the inhuman masses that stirred beyond no-mans land created by horrible winds that periodically blew in out of the wastes. Within the confines of their sanctuary there was but a breif respite for the desperate battle for life that theses grim men fought day in and day out. Beholden to lost ideals that have rotted over time into a force guiding them that no longer allows for peace. Their lives dictated by endless indoctrination fed to them to keep the fight for the survival of humanity on this desolate rock to continue.
Among these desperate fighters was a man who had seen his fare share of the dirty end of things as he liked to think of it. His re-breather had failed him as much as any other man, but this time he was caught hard for breath. The last bombardment had left a lingering stench of foul power that could be felt in the very depths of the mind. A sickening ache in the back of the cranium that often left weaker recruits filling their masks with that day's morning ration.
"Solomon are you choking on the witch-stink again?", a tiny voice inquired in a throaty voice from across the void such means of communication created.
Solomon raised his hand waving the concern away. He knew the sergeant meant well, as Deliverance needed every able bodied man to fight not just the horrors that besieged their world, but the very world that they sought to claim.
"Rise to your feet. Respite over.", commanded the youthful corporal who was in command of this cleansing. "We're going out. Zacharia prepare those accelerator cannon. I want those bastards to feel us before they see us."
As the teams of heavy weapons moved to the fore of the gaping wall of the habitation, the dirty figures of around eighty men moved to positions flanking the energy weapons. The immense power of the accelerator cannon was a force that the gibbering madmen across the way feared, and Solomon was glad he wouldn't have to weather that onslaught.
The sergeant of Solomon's brotherhood waved the dozen men forward. They were going to be the first out into that maelstrom. Such was the nature of war on this forsaken world, Deliverance as the last remnants of the pan-galactic Imperium of man fighting tooth and nail for the high valley cities from the hands of mutant abominations that were fueled by an ancestral hatred. Deliverance was a world that had once been beautiful, as they taught in Indoctrination, and then laxity have given way to hedonism. Few traces of those golden times remained, mostly what was left of these backwards places high away from where the missiles had hit. One day they hoped to leave this world, go to another world where they have a peace that the earned for their children on Deliverance. Though for now, repentance must be payed. The Abominations who dwelt in the hills must be purged. The War Between the Spheres would end and they would leave Deliverance. Or so Solomon had been taught to hope for as a child.
The winds were beginning to abate and sixty meters between the opening and the other end of the boulevard was revealed to the eyes of the weary soldiers. Before Solomon were the choked forms of Abommee saboteurs who thought the storm proper cover. Again an instance of the clear superiority of Indoctrination's training. Only the foolish would attempt a sortie in the winds of Deliverance. From where the power of the Abominations had come no man on Deliverance has ever known, but for generations they gathered in the far corners of the world. Silently waiting until they had spawned enough of their miserable kind to strike back at the ones who had forsaken them during atomic catastrophe that had wreaked the world at he height of the War Between the Spheres.
At the head of the brotherhood strode the sergeant, who preferred to go by his Citizen Identification, M79-0247, though everyone called him M7. For a man who communicated in the most inhuman ways, Solomon respected M7 for his compassion when caring for the lives of the people of Deliverance. Thrice he had seen M7 go into a gale storm to save a band of youth who had gotten caught outside when the brotherhood had leave in the safe districts. He was a man of humanity compared to the organization of inhumanity that was the Officers' Corps.
The accelerator cannon roared their defiance to the natural laws of the world. Solomon watched as the opposite side of the road was torn apart by concussive explosions that ripped the sides of the larger habitation block down, exposing masses of Abommees that writhed in response to the devastation. At first sight no two Abommees look alike, but a seasoned soldier develops ways to classify even in such hellish conditions. One could almost describe them as breeds of the same diabolic stock. Each of the same basic form, but suffering afflicting mutations very slightly in best cases and very drastically in the worst of cases. Solomon often wondered how many of his Abommee adversaries could stand to fight, let alone wield the low-quality junk they popped off as a threat. Though they fought with poor tactics and held little to no technological advantage, the Abommees had one advantage that The brotherhoods of the Deliverance could never muster: zeal.
Despite the ruinous report of the accelerator cannon, the Abommees mobilized at a horrifying rate. Line after line of aberrations advanced into the telling fire of the slug rifles of the brotherhoods and accelerator cannon, their numbers compensating for the sheer one-sided-ness of the firefight. The cannon continued to pound the rear of the Abommee forces, scything their rotten crop for the glory of the penitent. M7 motioned the brotherhood forward and Solomon and his brothers marched forward in a disciplined formation fanning out to the left of the opening as other brotherhoods proceeded to take the right flank of the battlefield. Narrow as this boulevard was compared to the major routes through this city there was enough of a distance between the Abommee lines and the Deliverance lines to allow the quick advance up to good firing range.
M7 gave the motion to take ground and Solomon dropped harder than a stone. He watched in bewildered shock as the brother infront of him was torn apart by a blast from a large slug-propelled explosive. The barrage of such weapons took the whole formation by surprise- the Abommees never used weapons so destructive!
Soon Solomon saw what it was that had been laying ruin into his brotherhood. Back down the right end of the boulevard advanced a formation of twelve ramshackle trucks who bore blazing guns that fired the explosive ammunition. They were of a greater caliber than any weapon the brotherhoods had ever encountered made from Abomination manufacture. Even the most devastating weapons in the Abommee arsenal relied on some for of witchery to cause sufficient casualties in the pure-men of Deliverance. Such as the lethal warp cannon they fire during the intermittent periods that the great guns are operable. Of all the commands issued by the high command of the Deliverance, it was of utter importance that the warp cannon be taken out and cleansed from the earth. Though they have remained elusive to all attempts to locate them. Being weapons that defy the laws of physics they impacts left a miasma in the air. Even the standard re-breather couldn't filter the lethal air. The Abommees often used these barrages as cover for their advances and the funnel Deliverance forces into choke point. Though unpredictable thus less reliable to stay as they are, the Abommees sure could be devious.
Snapping his arm upright, M7motioned up, Solomon leaped into a run to follow the rest of the brothers in their rush to take a vital fire point. Most of the small arms of the Abommee mob at the other end of the boulevard took little to no effect on the flak plates on the brotherhood standard uniform. Solomon thanked the God-Emperor for the many a day the plates had prolonged his suffering life. At about forty meters to the right of accelerator cannon rushed the trucks, aiming their munitions on the position the brotherhoods had just charged from, blasting the heavier weapons out of use and slaughtering the officers and munitions men who had so many times saved Solomon's **** from certain death. Gone in a barrage of explosive munitions that caused the ceiling of the building to cave in and crush the rest of the platoon that still waited in the lea of the opening. In face of all this horror and death, Solomon knew from his Indoctrination that life was cheap on Deliverance, and only those the God-Emperor spares carry on the holy fight.
Behind him, Solomon recognized the solid hum of the Emperor's Grace come this day. A formation of a dozen heavy gravtanks positioned itself to fire on the Abommee trucks as well as their defensive position. The tanks were of a design that allowed them to defy the laws of this world and float above its service. Solomon looked on in reverence as they defied reality. As their cannon opened fire and left not but wreckage to his right where they had come and nothing but carnage to his left where once had stood a full hundred of the wretched creatures. Such power was truly reserved only for gods he thought to himself. M7 motioned to withdraw the line behind the gravtank formation. A general withdraw was taken into effect all along the boulevard. It would seem that the storm had left the Abommees a little more bloodthirsty after that long wait. More of the trucks and a few larger vehicles came down the boulevard at a break-neck speed firing more of the automatic explosive munition weapons they had hastily mounted on the backs of the truck beds. The gravtanks opened fire once and and took but a few of the foe down before the return fire focused in on single tanks widdling them with fire until they fell to the ground and gave a rancid keen of a cell about to implode. A sour sound for anyone around it.
The explosion of the central cell powering the downed gravtank gave in and caused a rending explosion often thirty meters in diameter, presenting a problem to tank and infantry close coordination. M7 lead the men farther and father as they could. The fastest men could escape the destruction that was about to be wrought to their backs. Running and choking on stale re-filtered air, barely able to keep up with half of the thirty men that have been running under M7's order. As he had predicted the line of gravtanks to their rear gave way to thier faulting power supplies and the whole line blazed in a foul bluish flaming ball. Many of the Abommee trucks stopped and cheered on their destruction, but some pursued the edges of the wreckage and came around to find the withdrawing troopers. The masks of the troopers glowing a soulless red their their goggled eyes. From the direction the gravtanks had come, a distinct sound of the thud thud of marching boots was audible. As the Abommee outriders came on the fleeing men, the long face-masks of the elite brotherhoods came bearing on their enemy with righteous retribution for the brothers that had died so far in this escalating conflict. Well timed shotgun volleys continuously pounded the trucks blasting gunners and driver cabs alike in a flurry of sudden death. A few of the trucks flipped sporadically out of control, gouging deep rents in the concrete of the street. One truck flew straight towards Solomon's fleeing column and broke cartwheeling into several brothers behind him whom he had know since the days they had penetrated this remote valley. The elite stormtroopers had tipped the scale of the retreat, but the Abommees were beginning to mobilize up the street past the wreckage of the gravtanks and their guttural rally cries could be heard of the den of flames and the ringing from explosions.
As the withdrawing brotherhoods reached the safety of the hastily assembled entrenchments dug out by the elite brotherhoods that functioned in perfect battlefield discipline, a true hallmark of the ingenuity and sheer cunning. As Solomon lay down behind the small line, he aimed his lascarbine, readying his sights to either end of the wreckage across this new no-man's land. Within heartbeats that seemed to last ages, the levy broke loose and the flood of Abominations seethed around the edges of the wreckage. Blasting their small arms of all variety at the dug in brotherhoods. The lascarbine fire that returned from the dug in brothers took at heavy toll on the advancing lines. Packed as the bloodthirsty beasts were they performed a poor tactical mistake: they allowed themselves to be funneled. The long-faced stormtroopers bore up their shotguns; readying a counter-charge that Solomon though a suicidal assault.
"Ready to withdraw furthur." the simple order from M7 told Solomon all he had to know. The stormtroopers were sacrificing themselves so the regulars could withdraw safely. Solomon's heart dropped and the adrenaline pumping through blood raced his beat and excited his senses. He rose to move out with the rest of his brotherhood as the almost ghostly expressionless-ness of the masks of the stormtroopers flew by. Their squadrons formed up in a drilled and precise fashion; bearing their shotguns down in an advancing barrage that took its toll before they reached closer firing positions. A full thirty of the stormtroopers stood in defiantly in the broad avenue barking their wrath for the Deliverance of their people. The Abommees faltered before this erratic advance, thinking their enemy to not come in so close quarters. Solomon saw no more as he turned to race after M7 and salvation down further another five kilometers down the boulevard. He did not doubt that the stormtroopers would emerge victorious. After all they were the warriors who would go and fight the War Between the Spheres as was rumored amongst the enlisted men. Often Solomon gave thanks to the God-Emperor for men like the long-faced dog soldiers who were now saving his enlisted ****. The full of eighty men were sprinting or limping down the boulevard towards the proper defense positions that were set up were this boulevard met the main highway through this part of the habitation quarters.
At this post, the brotherhoods regrouped and were offered a slight reprieve from the fierce firefight that was waging down the road. A full half of an hour passed as the barking roar of the shotguns soon passed out and all firing reports ceased to echo down the canyon-like walls of structures. Soon the grim looking stormtroopers came trotting down the avenue, in perfect ranks displaying arms in a almost pompous display as they marched through the checkpoint. Of their original thirty, twenty four remained. Truly heroes they were Solomon thought to himself.