|The Battlefield of Shandahar|
Shandahar Minor has come under attack from the traitor legions, resistance is to too great to maintain foothold. This is a request for any available Astartes in the Shandahar sub sector to re-route to the following coordinates for immediate aid. The Emperor Protects.
+++END TRANSMISSION. TRANSMISSION SENT VIA ASTROTELEPATCHIC COMMUNICATION FROM COORDINATES 154.34.SHANDA-M.
The winds tore through the landscape, causing their armour plates to shift on their bodies. The cold, relentless rain never seemed to stop when the winds began to blow. It wasn't the cold the Guardsmen were focused upon though, it was the wind itself and the voices it carried to their ears and hearts. Voices of comrades fallen decades before, victims of the Eternal War. Whispers of promises made to those who would turn from their trenches, and even bigger promises made to those would sacrifice any persons who stood in their path to "freedom".
Hands shifted on lasguns, and nervous glances cast behind them showed the positions of their heavy armour, the Manticore, resting silently, A voice cut through the rain, its tone one of strength and arrogance. "Control your fear. The winds carry upon them lies and false truths that the denizens of the warp wish you to believe are true." Stepping forward, a massive figure loomed out of the rain, stepping behind him, the ground itself trembled in protest as his Terminator clad retinue followed. At his approach, the voices died away, their promises to spats of anger before disappearing all together. This was the one who had answered the call for aid, he and a small contingent of his Battle Brothers had come, the Guardsman didn't know his name, for he had never cared to give it, but the image of the black Raven cemented against the stark white of his shoulder pad would be forever ingrained into the troopers mind, as the rain continued to pound, and at his passing, the voices regained their ghoulish choir.
THE XENOS AND THE HERETIC
Across the battlefield, all that could be heard was the roar of the enemy. Voices added to those that carried themselves on the warp winds, that instead of promises and memories, promised a bloody gruesome death to those that had come to exterminate their presence. This power armour was not like the power armour of the honoured imperium, it was old, archaic, and poorly maintained. Decorated in the symbols of the God of Slaanesh, the chaos marines had to come to Shandahar to allow their perverse desire for slaughter to manifest itself in the only form they knew how, the crucible of war and death that was the battlefield.
|Scouts reporting in!|
Knowing full well what effect their presence would have on the humans who had mustered their meagre defence, the Chaos Marines at once began a simultaneous march forward, their steps a rhythmic reminder to all those who stood against them, that death was coming. The Rhino gunned its filthy engines forward, and in the gloom of the rain, the thrusters of a single jet pack could be seen firing into the cover of the nearby buildings that once house the small settlement of Great Hope, now a shattered remnant of its prior glory.
Then a new, guttural call could be heard on the winds, one that chilled the defenders even more so than the rain and wind combined, "WAAAAGGHHH!!!"
|An Ork Battlewagon is lost to heavy weapons fire|
"Prepare for imminent assault, all left flank elements arrange in Codex Assault Pattern Gamma." The Librarian watched as his orders were carried out with as much haste as could be expected from the humans themselves. The Emperor was with him though, as a small Space Marine detachment of Night Hawks had also made their way to aid of the Guard, and without the aid of their Librarian, he would not be able to hold the warp winds at bay long enough to exact the vengeance he was here to deliver on the Heretics and Xenos.
THE XENOS AND THE HERETIC
|The Orks swoop over a group of Chaos marines, holding a strange looking device|
"Fasta lads!! Git deez things inta da humies bafore dey send us all back ta bleedin Gork and Mork!!" The Ork battlewagons stormed forward smashing through barricades and terrain without any disregard for their own safety. The Manticore had managed to take down one of their wagons, but there was still lots of them left to deal with. "RRAAAARRGH fasta, FASTA!! We ain't got this red paint for nuttin'!" Spittle flying from his huge maw, the Nob began snapping his klaw together, eager to see how much blood he could get out the fleshy humies and their bigger brothers. Suddenly, a great, crushing pressure was exerted on his precious wagon, and he could feel the walls buckling in on the wagon. In the gloom his eyes were no match for those of his gene enhanced enemies, but it was clear to see that one of the big ones had a blazing purple haze erupting from his eyes as he stared ahead at him. "Not dis time humie!! Let im have it boyz!" A quick torrent of fire from the big shootas was enough to break the concentration of the human and the crushing pressure released its hold on the battlewagon. "Dat's it, shoot all da gunz, and when theys get hot, shoot more of 'em!" He laughed a guttural, barking sound, as he lit his stogey on the burning hot barrels.
|Squad Daceus reports the movements of the enemy|
"Enemy warlord sighted Brother-Librarian. The heretics have assembled amongst a small structure, and the warlord has left camp and moved on to a covered position nearby with a group of heavy weapons, mixture of autocannon and missile fire. Our position remains secure."
"Acknowledged Daceus" Before he could tap the ward and unleash another crushing influence on the Orks, his helm indicated a flashing yellow rune. "Speak Brother-Librarian"
"Enemy forces have disembarked from the cursed Rhino and there is another more sinister presence nearby. I sense it's warp trail just as easily as I see it's plumes of smoke that trail it through the sky. Request your assistance."
|The Left Flank comes under heavy attack|
"Confirmed, and inbound. Honor the craft of death Brother." He cut the link short and left Terminator Sergeant Bertramus in charge of the defence. Striding forward he tapped into the well of the warp, to find the power needed to deal with the enemy. But his momentary dip cost him, as his energy and lifeforce were drained by the constant need to keep the warp winds at bay. He felt faster, more deft with his blade, and striding forward, his power sword arced into a flaring beacon for all to see.
THE XENOS AND THE HERETIC
|Looking out from the Imperial Scatterfield Generator|
The humans were costing them vehicle after vehicle, but Orks cared nought for such distractions. Lascannon fire streaked past the Nob, smashing into the other battlewagon. "Ya gitz, thats what ya git for not going fasta, we's gonna be the ones with humie blood now!!" The Orks could hear the triumphant cry of the Guardsmen, but it was short lived, as they heard the sound of a rudimentary engine, swooping down on them. "Ow bout dis ya pink fleshies!!" An Ork Kopter had appeared on the far flank and let loose its barrage of rockets, destroying the ancient sarcophagus of the Contemptor Dreadnought. Its assault cannons buzzed to a dull whir, and finally stopped as the heart of the engine died with them. But his victory was short lived, as a fusillade of lasgun fire tore into his Kopter. This wouldn't have been enough to slow him normally, but coupled with the lasgun fire was the disciplined ranks of boltgun fire, and he spun wildly to avoid them, but in the end crashed into the earth face first, a good death for an Ork.
Sniper fire bounced harmlessly of his power armour, as the Sorcerer effortlessly drug enemies from their safe, entrenched locations, out in the open, where his brethren could slay them with impunity. He laughed, and sent his invitation upon the winds to any who would dare challenge him. He knew none would. He could sense the presence of the other psykers on the battlefield, and only one stood any real threat to him, the others would soon be prostrated before their allies, gutted, and rent from all corners of their corpses, by his soaring champion. His havocs fired with cool precision, decimating ranks of guardsmen and forcing the fools to remain in cover.
Below him his brothers bolters ran hot as they cut down the lapdogs left flank as if it were mere children holding it. Only the accursed Librarian was proving to be real concern, as his force axe claimed a life every time the flare of light could be seen amongst the streets and ruins where he was marshaling a crude defence. The autocannon emplacements posed no threat to their armour, and soon the Brotherhood of Psykers with them would fall, as though they were a simple house of cards. Then with the flank exposed he would deliver the killing blow. At thought, almost coincidentally, a vox transmission entered his ear. A deep, low baritone voice that made his hearts sing.
"Deep Striking, my Lord"
|Imperial Troops rush to the left flank to attempt to stem the impending breach.|
Part 2 (and the conclusion) is continued here: http://theambit.blogspot.ca/2012/08/narrative-batrep-assault-on-shandahar.html
Snagged from my buddy at http://stalkingamongshadows.blogspot.ca/