The Loyal Hound

[Captain Juan Juarez]

The vox crackles almost violently in his ear, the sounds of the compound around him strangely muted within the enclosed space of his helmet.

He frees the clasps on his helmet and lifts it clear, savouring the cool breeze against his sun darkened skin and rubbing one gauntleted thumb across the heavy golden studs in his brow.

“Well Captain,” a Marine at his shoulder says, flexing the fingers of his Powerfist unconsciously. “What are your orders?”

Without answering, Captain Juan Jaurez of the Storm Hounds slips his helmet back on and reseals it. Stooping he picks a discarded bolter from the ground, ignoring the bolt pistol and powersword that hang at either hip.

“We do the Emperors will,” Juarez says softly, flicking his vox to the all squads channel. “Sergeant Ramirez, yours is the task of holding the breach. Sergeant Molina, pick your targets well and reap a fearsome toll. Sergeant Velasquez, strike hard, strike fast and strike often.”

Captain Juarez pauses, picking out the pounding beat of war drums and thousands of angry feet through his augmented senses and the enhancements in his armour.

“They have come. Now, commend your souls to the Emperor, for today your bodies are mine!” Whispering a soft prayer to the Machine Spirit of his armour and weapons Juarez steps to the barricade and climbs the few steps to the improvised battlements.

A wave of Orks almost ten thousand strong surges towards the compound, loosing off a seemingly endless barrage of shots with wild inaccuracy.

“Hounds,” Juarez says softly into his vox-link. “The Emperor knows your names, fire at will!”

From the few squads of Space Marines comes a withering hail of fire, smashing into the front ranks of the closing wave of Orks. Lascannon bolts, heavy bolter rounds and Krak missiles loosing first, joined by rounds from bolters and the storm bolters of the Terminators as the raging Orks swarm closer.

 

The battle rages around him, his body operating automatically to smash the butt of his now-empty bolter into the face of one Ork, even as his mind watches the rest of the battle unfold around him.

Juarez watches as another Terminator, a brother of a hundred campaigns, goes down beneath the powered claw of a huge beast. With a surge of anger Juarez hurls the bolter with tremendous force at the Ork, watching with satisfaction as it strikes the beast square in the head, producing a howl of rage.

Without pause, he rips the powersword from his hip and ignites the powerfield in time to carve through the arms of an Ork that goes to strangle him. A feral snarl creases his lips beneath his helmet as he carves his way towards the huge and bestial Ork.

 

Sergeant Velasquez howls in delight, projecting the sound out through his helmet speakers as he cuts in his jump-pack to slow his headlong fall and allow him to fire off a stream of bolt rounds from the pair of bolt pistols in his hands.

With curt commands her orders his squad to dive into the attack, cutting off his jump-pack and dropping feet first onto an Ork and crushing his skull, all the while losing rounds and roaring words of hate through his speakers, “Suffer Not The Unclean To Live!”

As one pistol flashes empty, Velasquez calmly clips it to his hip and pulls free his cherished chainsword, listening to the whirring of the blades as they spin up with a feral joy in his heart.

His joy turns to rage as he watches an Ork carve the head from one of his squad, flaring his jump-pack to life and surging towards the beast with chainsword outstretched.

 

The mighty Terminators of Squad Quintero pour forth a hail of hard rounds even while they swing powerfists and heavy flamers, decimating the foe with ease and yet not fast enough for the liking of Sergeant Quintero.

“This is Quintero,” the soft-spoken Sergeant says, clicking open his vox-link. “Brother Tellez has gone to the Emperor’s right hand. “We will not hold the breach much longer, Captain.”

Quintero watches a Brother-Marine staggered by a blow that glances from his assault cannon and up into his helmet. Ponderous as he is in his hallowed Terminator plate, Quintero proves too fast for the attack Ork, stepping across swiftly and bringing his powerfist in a tight arc as his storm bolter pumps rounds into the fiend’s body and clicks empty.

“Squad Quintero, hold as long as you and can then pull back, Sergeant Molina and his men will provide cover.” The new voice sounds in the vox-link of every Marine as the thundering sound of a flight of Thunderhawks reaches the battlefield.

Quintero exults at the words, swinging his powerfist with renewed strength and urging his men to greater effort.

 

Sergeant Casillas drops from the Thunderhawk with ease, barely waiting for the boarding ramp to lower before he begins to crack off shots from his sniper rifle, his men following his actions without the needs for orders.

He listens to the heavy pounding of feet as the Veterans of Squad Saizar form their firing line, the large figure of Sergeant Saizar himself gesturing with his plasma pistol at the Devastators of Squad Molina.

Steadily Casillas advances, pumping round after round from his rifle pausing only to adjust his aim to new targets and making his way to his Captain Juarez, who stands and pulls his powersword from the body of a dead Ork.

“Captain,” he shouts over the steady boom of his weapon. “The Symphony is on station and ready to extract. We must leave!” The words are punctuated by the steady sound of rocket detonations as a second flight of Thunderhawks vectors in and unleashes a storm of firepower at the main body of Orks, thin the ranks of those attacking Squad Quintero.

Juarez activates his vox-link instantly, “All squads fall back. Molina provide cover fire, concentrate on the breach. Sergeant Quintero fall back now, we have you covered.”

 

The journey from the planet to the Battle Barge Symphony is conducted in solemn silence, the Marine who share the Thunderhawk with their Company Commander keeping their distance as he sits with his helmet across his lap and his eyes closed as he mutters a prayer.

Veteran Sergeant Saizar watches his Captain intently through his armours autosenses, recognising the words of the Creed as they tumble from the lips of Juarez.

Internally, sealed far away from his conscious thought, Saizar mourns for his lost brothers and yet shows nothing to those about him, a face stony and hard locked inside his black helmet.

For Juarez it is a different story, his eyes burning with hatred and righteous anger as he activates his vox-link for one final time. “Symphony, this is Juarez. Prepare for orbital bombardment. Concentrate fire upon the following co-ordinates.” With a blink he transmits a series of co-ordinates to the Battle Barge waiting high in orbit, condemning the Orks below to death with literally the blink of an eye.

[Messanger of Death]

That was a good read and I don't feel that there is anything I can suggest on. The characters were developed in a way that makes them interesting and unique. Only spelling mistake I noticed when I read it was...

The words are punctuated by the steady sound of rocket detonations as a second flight of Thunderhawks vectors in and unleashes a storm of firepower at the main body of Orks, thing the ranks of those attacking Squad Quintero.

Hope you have a few other bits of fan fiction for us to read.

 

Messanger

[Captain Juan Juarez]

Thank you very much!

 

I've edited out the one spelling error, I'm quite proud there was only one because my typing speed occasionally means a few slip through the net and I suck at editing!

 

This is the only piece of fan fiction I have ever written, because in general it tends to be a bit cringe worth when based around other subjects. But with Space Marines they are such a wild and diverse group that almost anything you can imagine can come true.. Because you just can't imagine Harry Potter running around waving a powerfist now can you?