Focusing his fire at the nearest of the shrikes as they swoop in on the Guard position, Brother Syne watches with satisfaction as all but one of the explosive rounds detonate on impact with the loathsome xenos, even the single dud managing to tear a gaping hole in one of the Tyranid's leathery wings.
The brutally effective mass-reactive shells explode one after the other, ripping the hulking black and orange carapace of the shrike to pieces, tearing one wing entirely from its body. Like the doomed shuttle of the Magos, the hideous xenos, already dead while still in the air, goes into a tailspin, losing velocity and plummeting from its formation with the others to collide with the unforgiving, frozen ground.
The terrifying power of the synapse creature's hive mind becomes readily apparent as the wheeling flock of shrikes seems to instantly become aware of the demise of one of their own. The nearest screeches an echoing cry, before turning in a sudden, swooping arc. The trailing shrike in the other formation above it follows suit, one diving for Brother Quintus, the other for Brother Syne.
Brother Quintus grimaces as the winged Tyranid warrior wheels in his direction, its steep dive carrying it with meteoric velocity toward where he stands, the back blast of the flamer still licking around his armor. As he turns to face the monstrosity, it rapidly grows larger and larger in his field of vision, the imminence of its arrival heralded by an unholy cry unleashed from its massive mandibles as they spread apart. It raises a great scything talon to strike him just before impacting him with its enormous, barbed body.
Brother Syne watches through the pall of bolter-smoke as the last of the triple wing of shrikes rolls over in the air and dives in his direction. Even from this distance he can see the massive wings beating at the air with voracious fury, and it makes up the intervening distance far too quickly for his comfort.
The remaining two shrikes continue on toward the desperate Guard position, the closest diving right into the forward ranks of the beleaguered troopers, to stride as a furious titan amongst them, slashing and rending at everything in sight with its huge claws.
The guardsmen at the front lines can do nothing but panic upon the earthshaking impact of the shrike amongst them, bravely holding their perimeter against the termagants is one thing, the behemoth that now roars amidst them is another entirely. They scatter in every direction, one man knocked down by the flat of the huge xenos' body, another lifted bodily off the ground by tip of one striking, mantis-like talon, his heavy pack impaled. Whipping the segmented arm to one side, it flings him several meters, and in spite of everything the lucky soldier survives, scampering to his feet and firing off several wild shots with his lasgun in the monster's direction.
The final shrike lands far more elegantly, its vast wings folding seamlessly behind it like a huge locust, striding forward menacingly and raising the knobby protuberance of some kind of bio-weapon as it leads the frenzied termagants forward.
The tightly-packed and disciplined guardsmen unleash sustained las-fire from where they cluster in the cargo-8's makeshift cover just as the shrikes land, a testament to their inspiring leadership and their own tenacity.
The vanguard of the termagant charge is met with withering las-fire, which cuts down several of their number. A trio of hastily tossed frag grenades, however, clatter amongst the encroaching Tyranid, but the massive bulk of the terrible shrike's armor shields the lesser host from any serious harm.
Brother Sepheren follows Brother Emeric's lead and unleashes a sustained burst of auto-fire from his bolter at the charging termgants.
The termagants screech and collapse under the sustained bolter fire of the two marines, carapaces exploding and limbs flying away as they struggle to reach the marine position.
Standing imperiously on top of the overturned cargo hauler, the black-coated commissar bravely fires into the face of the wind, his plasma pistol ejecting a brilliantly bright shot of superheated energy at the shrike creating chaos among his men.
Just as the courageous Imperial political officer fires, the shoulder of the huge shrike collides with the cargo hauler, rocking it so violently it throws the commissar to roof with a painful impact. His shot goes wild into the stormy skies.
I will take the hit.
Brother Quintus waits until the last possible moment, until he can feel the wash of cold air displaced by the shrike's vast wings pushing toward him before triggering the firing stud on the heavy flamer. The explosive cloud of ignited promethium envelops the xenos, scorching and crackling across its mottled ebon and orange chitin.
The meter long barbed talon rakes down toward the Ultramarine as the weight of the creature's body slams into him, straining his powered armor's gyroscopic stabilizers to the limit, and pushing Brother Quintus back forcibly.
The barbed point penetrates the Ultramarine's armor at a point between the right pauldron and chest-plate, the tip slicing into the flesh beneath and severing a hydraulic link with a crackle of static and spilt fluid. The Ultramarine grits his teeth, spinning away from the horror to put some space between he and it.
I study the layout of the battle field before me consider which target poses the greatest threat before I pull the trigger of my bolt pistol. Targeting the Shrike that is acting as the lynch pin of holding the Termagaunts morale.
Ballistic Skill Full Auto (1d100=39)
Focus Power Test, Unfettered (1d100=47)
Righteous Fury Damage (1d10=9)
Out loud over my vox.
"I walk now beside my brothers amongest the frozen plains. Each one the hand of the Emperors Divine Wrath. Each of us is filled with purpose as we slaughter this xenos chaff. For our bolters will not cease, and only in death does duty end."
The terrifying power of the synapse creature's hive mind becomes readily apparent as the wheeling flock of shrikes seems to instantly become aware of the demise of one of their own. The nearest screeches an echoing cry, before turning in a sudden, swooping arc. The trailing shrike in the other formation above it follows suit, one diving for Brother Quintus, the other for Brother Syne.
Brother Syne watches through the pall of bolter-smoke as the last of the triple wing of shrikes rolls over in the air and dives in his direction. Even from this distance he can see the massive wings beating at the air with voracious fury, and it makes up the intervening distance far too quickly for his comfort.
Seeing the diving shike, Brother Eli adjusts his aim and puts a wall of bolt shells between him and the shrike.
3d10=9, 3d10=18, 3d10=14, 3d10=23, 3d10=16, 3d10=15, 3d10=8, 3d10=10, 3d10=20, 3d10=12
1d10=3, 1d10=3
Centering his bolt pistol on the shrike towering at the fore of the termagants, Brother Vex fires, the round striking it just behind the joint of its left leg as it raises the insidious bio-weapon.
Brother Vex focuses his psychic ability and crackling, violet-hued lightning from the Empyrean strikes from the stormy sky, staggering the massive Tyranid as it advances, the kinetic force of the energy arcing out from the large xenos into the throng surrounding it, tossing the several of the smaller xenos into the air.
Dozens upon dozens of slavering, ravenous xenos warriors race towards me. Undaunted, I stand fast for I am Black Templar; I am Mechanicus; I am Deathwatch. The Emperor sent his holy Astartes to rescue me on Dacite and then molded, shaped me into his righteous instrument.
The skittering creatures begin to swarm over me. Over the vox: "Sepheren! Target the shrikes! These vile beasts will not escape me!" I activate my chain-sword and the gear-teeth roar, ready to be buried into Tyranid flesh.
Krak Grenades x3
Frag Grenades x3
3 extra bolter clips (reg)
In bolter:
Reg rounds 20
Reg rounds 28
Kraken rounds 23
Brother Emeric strains to hear the faint acknowledgement from Brother Sepheren over the vox as his bolter chews through the rapidly closing termagant swarm.
"Acknowledged, Battle-brother!"
As his rounds detonate one after another, thinning thei Tyranid ranks somewhat, the techmarine hears an audible ping from his internal cogitation engine. He mentally translates the burst of binary even as it sounds:
[+++DECRYPTION PROCESS COMPLETE+++]
As the monstrous shrike leads the way through the panicking guardsmen, the remnants of the Termagant horde sweep in, fleshborers vomiting forth razor-fanged beetles into the desperate servants of the Imperium. The commissar, although injured and exhausted, gamely climbs to his feet again, waving his chainsword dramatically in the air, trying anything to rally his men.
A trio of guardsmen running from the front lines for cover scream in mortal agony as their bodies are riddled with the organic weaponry, the beetle-like xenos minoris burrowing into their flesh and tearing them apart.
Brother Emeric prepares himself as a handful of the surviving termagants meet him in melee, claws and talons slashing from every direction as he hews and cleaves at them with his chainsword.
.
Despite their ferocity and razor-sharp talons, Ferocitas stands firm, and the Black Templar shrugs off the monstrous entities as they scrabble at his feet, clawing and grasping for purchase on his armor.
Brother Emeric prepares himself as a handful of the surviving termagants meet him in melee, claws and talons slashing from every direction as he hews and cleaves at them with his chainsword... Despite their ferocity and razor-sharp talons, Ferocitas stands firm, and the Black Templar shrugs off the monstrous entities as they scrabble at his feet, clawing and grasping for purchase on his armor.
Mandibles and claws scrabble for purchase. I exult with joy at the mighty wisdom of the Omnissiah... His armor and weapons allow me the privilege of eradicating these abominations.
"Die, vermin, die!"
My chainsword cleaves one, with an armored boot I crush another. Ferocitas swings out with my servo-arm and bats a Termagent 30 meters into the concrete wall surrounding the gatehouse. The servo-pincers, capable of of reshaping Rhino armor-plating, catch another xenos and crushes it into a pulpy mass of viscera and gore. As I dodge a Fleshborer round, the servo-arm lifts and swings back down again, driving a Tyranid into the ice leaving only purple-black ichor and ground bone fragments.
"Ha ha ha!! Ferocitas, drink deep! We are the cure for this xenos blight!"
I will fire at the shrike with my bolt pistol using hellfire rounds.
Drawing his bolt pistol with a fluid grace, Quintus hastily fires off a hellfire round into the jointed portion of the looming Tyranid warrior's segmented leg carapace.
The huge creatures rears back, enraged from the pain, and lashes out with the diamantine-sharp, serrated claws on its lower appendages. The Ultramarine tries desperately to back away and avoid the preternaturally fast blows.
The shrike lunges and slashes at Brother Quintus, but this is not his first time engaging its kind, and he deftly sidesteps the strikes.
Seeing the diving shike, Brother Eli adjusts his aim and puts a wall of bolt shells between him and the shrike.
The hideous xenos flits and darts out of the hail of fire sustained by Brother Syne as it flies, but cannot avoid all of the explosive rounds, a succession of them striking and dealing the creature massive wounds just before it slams into the ground in front of the Dark Angel. The beast then lunges forward, slashing at Brother Syne with one monstrous claw.
The screeching shrike at the forefront of the Tyranid advance on the Guard position nudges the overturned hauler again with its body, the force of the impact causing many of the guardsmen hunkered around it to scramble from cover. As they emerge, the cunning beast tears them to shreds with its rending claws.
As the surviving guardsmen struggle to mount a fighting retreat to find cover again, the second shrike unleashes a deadly volley of greenish fire from its death-spitter.
The desperate guardsman try to remain stolid against the onslaught but are being pushed back further and further toward Refinery Gatehouse by sheer attrition of their numbers.
"Ha ha ha!! Ferocitas, drink deep! We are the cure for this xenos blight!"
d100
The servo arm lashes out, crushing the termagants that swarm around Brother Emeric. Only a handful of the once sizable swarm remain, and as they mill about the Black Templar the throaty roar of Brother Sepheren's bolter sounds again from behind him.
The surviving termagants are completely ripped apart by the apothercary's sustained fire; heads, limbs, and torsos erased in a cloud of purple-black mist caused by the detonations of the rounds. When Brother Emeric retracts his servo-arm, not a single one of the xenos vermin remains standing.
The depleted band of guardsmen somehow rally under the exhortations of their commissar, who even now gets to his feet to fire down upon the shrike advancing upon them.
Buoyed by their leader's rallying cry, resilient even in the face their potential doom, the desperate guardsmen manage to form up and riddle the encroaching termagants with fire, flinging their remaining grenades into the horde with devastating effect.
Shouting his exhortations to his men, the commissar swings his chainsword at the huge shrike's head from atop the overturned vehicle.
The whirring blade bites with an impotent scraping against the hardened carapace of the deadly xenos, but only serves to bring its attention back to the tiny irritant that it already thought dead.
The hideous xenos flits and darts out of the hail of fire sustained by Brother Syne as it flies, but cannot avoid all of the explosive rounds, a succession of them striking and dealing the creature massive wounds just before it slams into the ground in front of the Dark Angel. The beast then lunges forward, slashing at Brother Syne with one monstrous claw.
Having the upmost confidence in my Battle Brothers abilities, I will continue my Psychic Assault on the Shrike that is acting as the lynchpin to the termagaunts morale hoping to see it fall before there is a total route of the imperial forces. If they do falter then I will have no choice to to inspire the troops to hold the battle line.
Brother Vex continues channeling the warp lightning, and this time he cascades the blinding bolts of energy across the firing shrike's head and upper carapace, burning and cracking the thick chitinous armor. Secondary bolts arc out from the shrike's body vaporizing almost all of the remaining termagants surrounding the brute.
The shrike staggers and the termagants are vaporized one after the other by the rippling tendrils of vibrantly flashing lightning. The Guard forces, who just seconds ago were moving in a frantic fighting retreat, seem now to recognize the tide of battle is shifting. Shouting a unifying battle-cry, they advance as one, firing from the hip at their vile adversaries.
"For Karlack!!!"
Just as Brother Hrothgar's jump-pack begins to sputter, he clears a final ridge to see through the swirling snow that his Battle-brothers are engaged with a clutch of Tyranid shrikes. At the very edge of his vision, aided by his altitude's vantage point and a plume of smoke rising from an overturned cargo hauler, he can just make out the rag-tag remnants of a Guard company trying to hold out against foes of their own near the large Refinery Gatehouse building.
Tantalus Sub-Arctic Zone, Grid Zone Xi-Upsilon-06
50 meters East of the Pyroclast-Gamma-9 Refinery Gatehouse Transport Station
241.817.M41
Brother Caledonii's Chrono Reading: [2:17:07]
The Storm Warden peers through the nearly frosted over windshield as the tracked cargo-8 labors steadily up the steep slope, crushing oddly shaped spars of rock and ice, as well as the occasional Tyranid or penitent body beneath its treads. Glancing inside his helmet at the cartograph overlay, he realizes he is only seconds from his Kill-team, the coordinate marker indicating that they are just beyond this rise. Narrowing his eyes, Brother Caledonii can make out the contrails left behind in the stormy grey sky by the Space Wolf's jump-pack. It looks like Hrothgar has arrived.
From the rear of the hauler's trailer, Brother Decius stirs, instinctively tightening his grip around his recently reloaded bolter when he hears the unmistakable sounds of bolter fire. Craning his head around the edge of the vehicle's open rear doors, he realizes that battle is near. Something catches his eye to southeast, and the Iron Snake strains his autosenses to make out what it could be.
Hrothgar moves to the nearest safe cover.
Hrothgar bears his fangs in anticipation of combat.
Hrothgar taxes his jump pack to arrive at the northeast corner of the gatehouse wall.
"For the Emperor! For Russ!"
Struck by the violence of the Shrike's attack, Eli steps back involuntarily. The heavy bolter falls from his hands, pistol and sword filling them in an eye-blink. Raising his hand, he plugs three rounds into the abomination's deformed chest.
1d100=1
3d10=20, 3d10=22, 3d10=20
1d10=3
In a flash I sling xenos guts off my chainsword, sheath it and raise my bolter. Through the sleeting storm two shrikes wreck havoc amongst the sturdy troopers. One has a noticeable limp and a shredded wing, the other appears unharmed... **target acquired** / **fire select: kraken rounds** ...Yes, Ferocitas...
In a flash I sling xenos guts off my chainsword, sheath it and raise my bolter. Through the sleeting storm two shrikes wreck havoc amongst the sturdy troopers. One has a noticeable limp and a shredded wing, the other appears unharmed... **target acquired** / **fire select: kraken rounds** ...Yes, Ferocitas...
Just as the monster raises its meter-long talon above the level of the ruined vehicle to strike the commissar, the kraken rounds split the huge shrike's carapace like the righteous hammer-blows of the Emperor's wrath, blowing chunks of tissue and fragments of jagged chitin away from the xenos. The wounds elicit a high-pitched screech of keening rage, and it swivels its ichor-drenched upper body to find the source of the punishment.
The scattered remnants of the once-swarming termagant horde, a mere handful of the pernicious creatures, continue their assault on the guardsmen unabated, xenos beast and stolid Imperial soldier locked in hand to hand combat in the shadow of the Refinery Gatehouse.
The defiant guardsmen, some only armed with their truncheons or combat knives now that they are out of ammunition, hold fast against this final charge, hacking and bludgeoning the creatures to keep them at bay.
Brother Syne backpedals and unloads his bolt pistol into the shrike's head at almost point blank range. The shells explode one after the other, pulverizing the Tyranid's jutting, exoskeletal jaw, slavering fangs, and blowing out a good portion of the back of its head.
It lumbers forward a few more steps before pitching over, dead.
I fire at the shrike again with hellfire rounds.
Brother Quintus raises his arm and fires his bolt pistol, the round exploding along the scuttling shrike's flanged shoulderblade carapace, taking a sizable chunk from it.
As Brother Hrothgar descends, his gaze is carried over to the southern ridgeline, well behind where Brother Emeric and Brother Sepheren have taken positions. A vast, roiling shadow seems to engulf the breadth of the horizon in this direction.
Landing beside the corner of the Refinery Gatehouse perimeter wall, the Space Wolf deactivates his overheated jump-pack and surveys the tactical situation on the ground.
