coolyo294
Iconic
Slayer of Demons
Posts: 1,169
|
Post by coolyo294 on Sept 6, 2015 19:40:47 GMT
The Lightnings were banking high over the backyard when one of them spotted the signal flares rising up above the thick jungle to the south It was Morgan, the squadron rookie, who spotted it first made the call.
"Look, flares!" She called out over the vox.
"We see em, kid." Said Lieutenant Cayman. "Baseplate, did you catch that? Spade 3 spotted flares above the treeline. We're dropping down to investigate, over."
"Copy that Spade Actual." Came Baseplate's clipped reply. "Friendlies?"
"Well they're not shooting at us if that's what you mean. We'll get back to you once we know more. Spear Actual, out."
With the whine of descending jet engines the three Lightnings cut their speed and dropped low over the jungle. Lieutenant Cayman could see vague movement within the treeline but he couldn't make out anything more than that.
"This is First Lieutenant Arny Cayman hailing any and all Imperial forces in the area," he said. His vox was toggled to broadcast over a wide band of commonly used Imperial frequencies. "I repeat, this is First Lieutenant Arny Cayman hailing any and all Imperial forces in the area. Please respond."
|
|
|
Post by Darko on Sept 6, 2015 20:07:04 GMT
Destroyer Lord Noravyn assumed command of the bulk of the Necron forces. While Destroyers were usually reviled in their society, Noravyn was still officially Korsarovekh's second in command due to their long-standing camaraderie. Such a thing was barely an echo in Noravyn's mind these days, though usually enough to keep him in check. Right now, however, Korsarovekh's attention was elsewhere, distracted by the Space Marines. Noravyn began a fairly straightforward procedure of scouting out the bunker they were in. Its walls and floor were made of a thick material, very dense and protective. It reminded him of the Torun Dynasties' tomb world. It was familiar. He found some part of him felt at ease in this place, now that the stench of life had vacated it. The Tyranids had used the hole that the Necrons had created to get through here. Originally they had planned to leave, though evidently with that huge four-legged monster prowling around outside it was not yet safe. In contrast, this place was very safe and easily defensible. The part of Noravyn that was a battle-hardened warrior and frontline commander urged him to immediately make use of this advantageous position. Yes... he decided he would transform this place into their new central tomb complex. No sooner than he'd formed the idea in his mind, the Tomb Blades were dispatched to map out the tomb and his warriors began to bring forth all resources and supplies that they could find.
The scouts noticed a dozen of Tyranid bioforms - designated 'Lictors' in the human language - throughout their new tomb. They did not bother each other, both sides maintaining a mutual disinterest. Their alien eyes had no comprehension or interest in the activities of the metal men who could not be eaten. At one point, Harridan bioforms passed through the holes and outside for some unknown purpose. Noravyn almost ordered his units to open fire, more out of instinct than anything else, but once it was clear they were not under attack he ignored their trespassing. Soon, all of the resources had been collected in the centre of the room, where Noravyn examined them. Interesting, most interesting. A wicked plan formulated in his mind. A most pleasing plan. While some of his warriors began tearing apart what scrap metal they could find, others hauled a huge container of liquid onto one of the Ghost Arks, tipping it on its side so that the top faced the front of the craft. The Triarch Stalkers used their powerful legs to roll a number of heavy, black, roughly spherical boulders into position.
They were moved to just outside the hole that led into the cavern where the Necrons had originally awoken at the start of all of this madness. They clustered the boulders together on top of the spongy ground, and then the Ghost Ark positioned itself next to them. Noravyn glared into the dark, his eyes spying the thousands of Tyranid creatures lurking in the night. So much life and so much energy. It was revolting. Noravyn rarely felt anything remotely approaching emotion, but just like all Destroyers he had a burning, insatiable hatred for life. Seeing so much of it was outright sickening and offensive. And without Korsarovekh, any sense of self-restraint had been abandoned entirely. He raised his warscythe and sliced the cap of the container off. The viscous liquid flowed out over the black rocks and the spongy ground. More, and more, and more, until most of the container was empty. The Ghost Ark retreated and Noravyn followed, looking back through the hole one last time as a single Triarch Stalker levelled its heat ray. The Triarch Praetorian controlling it looked down at Noravyn for confirmation.
"Burn them all," sneered Noravyn, his mechanical tone a mixture of disgust and terrible satisfaction. The Praetorian nodded and his skeletal fingers danced over the controls of his walker, reprogramming its weapon systems. Instead of a concentrated melta burst, the heat ray produced a billowing cloud of super-heated flames, instantly catching the liquid and the red surface of the bunker alight. Several dozen warriors immediately began to move the large metal sheets into position to block the hole, and the other Triarch Stalkers began melting the metal into the wall until the hole was firmly sealed. The Necrons then arrayed themselves in a defensive formation covering both the sealed hole and the open one. Noravyn rejoined his Destroyers and they started to move out. The reviled Flayed Ones were let off their leash, allowed to roam and claim fresh flesh for their awful collections that they draped over themselves.
"Initiate search-and-destroy protocols," Noravyn ordered. "Kill every last disgusting life form that dares violate the sanctity of our new tomb. Kill them all. KILL EVERYTHING YOU SEE."
|
|
|
Post by Nepty on Sept 6, 2015 20:07:03 GMT
A Burning Hatred
The Warrior variant sniffed the air and wrinkled its hideous nose. There was a dry smell in the air. Though assigned to guard the entrance to the Nest, the hive mind was curious as to what this scent was. It loped over around the corner and blinked at the five foot tall raging inferno that was spreading like a wave across the basement. It stood stock still as the hive mind reeled in terror. The fires would soon spread to the entirety of the basement. All around the basement, hundreds, maybe thousands of bioforms stood up and dropped whatever task was at hand and began moving as fast as their methods of propulsion could carry them, dashing towards the boiler room. For many it was too late. The Hive Tyrant screamed in voiceless rage as he felt twinges of pain all over his body and many of the psionic links shared between him and hundreds of bioforms suddenly go dark. The flames by now had spread to much of the basement. A party of termagants rushed up the stairs, scratching at the door. The almost airtight seal was too small to flee through or under. In their spun-hive structures, bioforms mewled piteously as the hive mind raced, trying to discern how to fight the fire. Smaller ‘child fires’ were put out as synapse creatures bullied the smaller Gaunts into flinging themselves onto the flames, snuffing them out at the source. Then, the hive mind had an epiphany. All bioforms were drawn back, hissing, many already overheated, into the Hive Room. Gaunts and Gants were rounded up and packed themselves into any and all entrances. They soon died from the choking smoke. Elsewhere, gargoyles took wing, easily catching thermals in the roasting air. The Thing screamed, high and loud, as the temperature rose to far beyond comfortable levels. The gargoyles found the water pipes, and clustered on them, desperate to cool down. This heat had already killed many of the weak rippers, whose lifeless bodies were dropping off the cans they had taken to leeching biomass from by the dozens. The termagants that had been scratching at the door began to shriek as the fires reached them, consuming not only them, but a sizable portion of the stairs as well. Where the fire broke through the walls, tyranids vomited bio-plasma, in hurried attempts to halt the spreading flames. Outside, the treadmill’s rubber walkway melted and ran, and the circuits fried. The plastic began to warp. The couch was a bonfire, and the television, ironically one of the most volatile items in a fire, simply weathered the flames, plastic portions melting, as there was no electrical flow to its systems. The construction of the house is an important factor to consider. It was laid down in 1940, when solid concrete walls and foundations had been the norm for building homes. As such, the basement was a contained, hollow block of solid concrete, and the risk of basement fires causing the entire house to collapse barley registered. The tyranids sheltered in their hive –now their oven- and snapped at one another, as the hive mind grew desperate. Another important factor in this house was that, due to a concrete flooring, under the highly flammable carpet was utterly non-flammable stone. The fire ran out of fuel as it consumed the carpet. While the lacquered wooden walls were scorched, they didn’t take flames easily –they were treated with this eventuality in mind, of course- and the flames raced to the stairs, where the weak, termite-gnawed wood was prime fuel. The imperial guardsmen on duty at the door didn’t see, hear or feel anything until the entire house shook as the stairs collapsed in a burning avalanche, leaving the door to the kitchen a door out over into empty space. A single tyranid gaunt stood alone in the wasteland. It sniffed the air. The couch was still an inferno, but it was quickly becoming consumed with no other fuel to feed the flames. The Treadmill sagged awkwardly, a molten mountain of plastic. The charred corpses of thousands of tyranid life forms littered the scorched concrete. Where the stairs had been was simply open, empty space, the wooden remnants smoldered lightly. Elsewhere, similar destruction reigned. The lictor scrabbled at the door, desperately trying to return to the hive. It glanced sidelong at the shiny metal life forms. The hive mind, looking through its eyes began to connect two and two. The flames, the death, the destruction. These creatures were responsible. The lictor didn’t have much longer to think, as a pair of Flayed Ones pounced on it and tore it to shreds. The Hive Tyrant pushed aside the charred bodies of the gaunts and looked out over the wasteland. Its eyes were drawn to the stairs. They were gone. They were trapped +++++++++++++++++++++ The Tyranids, thanks to Noravyn, have suffered the following losses 670 Termagants 500 Hormagaunts 100 warriors 40 raveners 4 Carnifexes 8 genestealers, 1 tyrant guard, 10 Lictors
|
|
|
Post by Warork on Sept 6, 2015 20:15:25 GMT
Spiers watched the Lightnings as they banked wide around and began descending towards the jungle floor. He had expected they might see the flares and come down for a look and as such he had passed down the order for his men to stay in their positions...the last thing they needed was someone with an itchy trigger finger accidentally causing a friendly fire situation. As the whine of jet engines roared overhead, Spiers heard the vox crackle to life in his vox man's hand and picked it up, waiting for the inevitable...
"This is First Lieutenant Arny Cayman hailing any and all Imperial forces in the area." A voice came over the static. "I repeat, this is First Lieutenant Arny Cayman hailing any and all Imperial forces in the area. Please respond."
"This is Colonel Dugal Spiers of the Eighteenth Catachan regiment, we read you clearly." Spiers barked into the vox. "Glad to see you saw our flare, we were starting to think we were the only poor bastards stuck here. Use channel Alpha Sigma Two Zero for further communication, over."
|
|
|
Post by Nepty on Sept 6, 2015 21:15:30 GMT
Trevor downed one Tylenol and gave another to Nicole. They were both sitting up, both in bad moods. These miniatures were giving them both headaches. Trevor had just spent the last fifteen minutes raging up and down his house, shouting that he would literally squash the next person to set anything on fire, blow anything up or cause general destruction. He'd even found a group of chaos space marines upstairs and shouted at them for a bit, but he gave up when one of them called him Lord Beer Crates or something.
"So..." said Nicole slowly. "These are toy soldiers."
"Basically."
"Who've come to life."
"Basically."
"And just tried to burn down your basement."
"Basically."
"This is fucked up."
"Yeah, it is."
|
|
coolyo294
Iconic
Slayer of Demons
Posts: 1,169
|
Post by coolyo294 on Sept 6, 2015 21:25:52 GMT
"You're in luck then, Colonel. We've got a whole fucking combined operations wing sitting around with nowhere to go." Cayman chuckled. "Shitty situation really. I suspect my CO will want to talk to you, but for now we're at bingo fuel so bugging out. But this isn't the last you've seen of us, over."
With that the Lightnings engaged their afterburners and rocketed back to base with the good news.
---------------------------------------
"Imperial Guard you say?" Captain Tyto asked.
"Yes, sir. Catachans to be specific. A man named Colonel Dougal is in charge." Cayman responded. He stood at attention in the command tent giving his report to the Captains.
"Damn good news, Lieutenant. Damn good." Tyto said as he poured two glasses of amasec from a crystal decanter on his impromptu desk. He handed one to Cayman. "You've earned it."
"Thank you, sir." The lieutenant said as both men downed their drinks.
"So we're not the only Imperials on this planet..." Tyto muttered. He picked up a vox and began speaking. "Someone gather Lieutenant Helbrek and get a Valkyrie prepped for lift off. I'm leaving immediately."
--------------------------------------------
Captain Tyto, Captain Finnick, Lieutenant Cayman, and a group of stormtroopers are leaving in a Valkyrie to meet the Catachans. Spear Squadron is flying escort.
|
|
|
Post by Warork on Sept 7, 2015 7:02:25 GMT
So it was out in the starry night sky above the backyard a Valkyrie that had been performing one of its regular sweeps for activity in the jungle below happened upon the Aeronautica's procession. Fortunately, contact was quickly established and the meeting went smoothly from there.
"Copy all that, flight." The Catachan Valkyrie said in the straight, professional tone that all Naval flight personnel seemed to go for when speaking on a vox. "This is callsign Fireball welcoming you to the party. Form up on us and we'll take you where you need to go, over."
A scant few minutes later, the group of Valkyries and Vultures were all touching down upon a great swathe of sandy land that had been bulldozered flat just hours before by the Catachans' armored vehicles and was serving as a temporary dustoff point for their small wing of Valkyries, not to mention it was where Spiers had decided to hunker down what littler armor he had in good hull down positions behind a small wall of dunes that had been likewise erected for the purposes of defense. When the Naval personnel stepped off their Valkyrie the first man they encountered was a broad, stocky specimen of obvious Catachan stock. He wore a carapace chest plate and a sleeveless flak jacket like most of his brethren with the most striking thing about him being the red bandanna tied around his shaved head. The man reached out to shake the hand of the officer whose pins made him the highest ranker of the naval group.
"Colonel Spiers at your service." He said, having to raise his voice over the whine of the Valkyrie engines powering down nearby. The area behind him was backlit with the orange glow of a dozen cookfires that several of the Catachans were gathered around. Each one had a spit on which some beast was currently roasting; a bug here, a lizard there, the biggest one had some sort of amphibian on it that was the size of four men.
"If ya follow me, we'll get you boys squared away." Spiers said, motioning for the navy officers to follow after shaking the leader's hand.
"Good to finally see you face to face." Spiers said after the group had all been seated in the officer's tent, away from the rabble of the common soldiery. The tent was lit by a small lantern hanging from the main support beam and the officers sat across from each other at a decent sized table.
"Allow me to introduce my officers." Spiers said, motioning to his right and left. "This is Lieutenant Powers and Gunnery Sergeant Hauler, my second in command and senior NCO respectively." The Catachans made half assed attempts at greetings. Powers sullenly lit up a lho stick and Hauler was busying himself with a tall glass of something he'd brought with him.
"Now before we get started," Spiers said, folding his arms across his big chest. "Can I get you men anything? We got smokes and drinks...and whatever they're roastin out there is startin to smell pretty good too."
|
|
|
Post by Nepty on Sept 7, 2015 16:05:38 GMT
Morning dawned bright and clear, and Trevor had been awake for three hours already.
Nicole had gotten back to sleep -that girl would sleep through a damned earthquake- but Trevor had found it...difficult, to say the least.
Trevor weaved his way through the sleeping Tau camp, greeting the odd sentry, and then into the living room, which was curiously devoid of Space Marines.
He slowly and quietly opened the door and walked down the steps to pick up the morning paper. As was his tradition, he sat down on the step in the morning sunlight and read the headline story. "Russia's Grip over Chemical Industries Still Going Strong Since 1911"
He yawned and turned the page, but a shadow fell over it, obscuring his view. He looked up. The mailman stood there, looking at him.
"Hey Frank," said Trevor.
Frank said nothing but stared dumbly at him.
"What, do I have someo-something on my shirt?" He looked down.
He was completely taken off guard as Frank lunged at him and one clammy, smelling-slightly-of-bagel hand clamped over his mouth, muffling his protest. Frankw as much larger than Trevor, and so had the clear advantage. Trevor's glasses were knocked off and clattered onto the pavement.
Oh God thought Trevor I'm going to be raped by a gay mailman.
And not even an attractive one he added as an afterthought
Fortunately, Frank did nothing of the sort. Instead, he trundled the struggling young man over to his mail truck and hurled him bodily into the package compartment in the back, before slamming the doors and leaving Trevor alone with the somehow ancient yet pleasing smell of new packaging.
"Hey!" he crawled over, in the darkness to where he thought the doors were and pushed hard, but they wouldn't budge. He was trapped inside.
The mail truck roared to life and sped down the street, turning around a corner.
-----------------------------------------
"Hrm." Gessart stroked his chin. The Avenging Sons had taken up refuge above the sunroom, on the roof of the room itself. He watched the Titan be attacked by another of its kind and be dragged off into some prison vehicle. "Fortuitous," he muttered. "Brother Nicz?"
"I saw it, Gessart."
Attack Plan Alpha. Straight Down. On my mark."
|
|
|
Post by admiral9 on Sept 7, 2015 16:25:39 GMT
As the tau headquarters sprung to life with the coming of the morning and the men started feeding themselves silent strike too began preparing himself, having been informed of the occurrences during the night he was planning on mobilizing his forces, in addition the space marines had been declared missing... something silent strike did not like, he confirmed the garrison on the top of the table to be the 3 crises suits, the 3 broadsides, 9 sniper drones and 2 fire warrior sections in addition the vespids not liking to be confined under the table had chosen the top as their residence. reinforcements could be dispatched through devilfish from the innards of the fortress.
In the German base the process had not even begun yet, soldiers were lifelessly wandering around but not much was being achieved. They would need more time to properly be a usable combat force.
|
|
|
Post by Nepty on Sept 7, 2015 16:40:19 GMT
Some time later, the sun marginally higher in the sky, Gessart entered the hole the Devastators had created.
It led into a hollow space under the sunroom roof. This was advantageous. The floor was wood, and would be easy to get through. Furthermore, there were various ducts and pipes up here that the marines could use as passageways. Gessart, however, had his mind set on something else.
He watched Techmarine Hibernius finish using his las-cutter, melta saw and plasma torches to cut open a large enough hole to descent through. The marines exchanged glances, then as one, lifted the round circle of wood up and moved it aside. Gessart peered down.
He was looking down onto what seemed to be the top of a huge ledge, or book shelf. Miraculously, it was only a short drop below him [around 2 human feet] He motioned to his comrades and outlined his plan.
Gessart watched twenty of his brothers drop down onto the shelf, and then tossed down supplies with them. The position was highly advantageous. It couldn’t be assailed from below, and it seemed to be out of the hovering range of the Tau’s infernal stealth suits and battlesuits.
----
Willusch had command here. He glared down at the Tau. The foul Xenos. And worse, the heretic traitors that consorted with them. These “Germ Men”
He nodded to Brother Yan, who nodded back and slammed a krak missile into his rocket launcher.
A second later, the missile was off, with a jet of fire trailing behind it.
It slammed into a mouse that lay on the desk, which detonated with a mighty “krak!” The Tau on guard were instantly rushing to cover positions, some of them following the trail of smoke and returning fire.
---------------
Avenging sons firing down on Tau, Germans. Out of hover/jump pack range
|
|