+++ 2nd Company +++
It was dark, that special dark you get where you can’t see your hand in front of your face. Harrington paced slowly; time seemed to drag. It was always the same on the graveyard shift. That special time of night reserved for the unlucky and the nocturnal animals on this gods forsaken world.
He cursed himself at getting picked for this duty. The Dark Warrior had chosen him due to his earlier failings at weapons drill. The monstrously oversized man could have killed him but something had stayed his wrath and that in itself was unusual enough to give Harrington a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
The Dark Warrior had turned, his robes drifting apart showing glimpses of coal black armour underneath. His dark eyes burrowed into Harrington’s mind like a worm into a rotten apple making Harrington squirm uncomfortably. It was not his fault the weapon had jammed. It was just bad luck or faulty ammunition. “That was it,” he thought “it was the Dark Priests fault.“ For this Harrington had been banished to a month on the graveyard shift. But still, it was better than the alternative.
Now in the final hours of his punishment, Harrington just wished for it to be over. To be allowed to sleep at night instead of the endless pacing round and round the compound.
A noise disturbed him from his thoughts. A small noise like the serration of grass in the wind but the night was still. He looked around, opening his eyes as wide as they could go, trying to scrape every particle of luminescence he could from the faint starlight. Something caught his eye, a darker patch in the night, close by and moving. It must be the Dark Warrior checking on him. He had done it on previous nights, trying to catch Harrington out or just prowling for his own secretive purposes.
The figure moved, the black armoured form, large and menacing approached. It must be the Dark Warrior; no normal man was of his size. A glint of silver, a warm feeling on Harrington’s neck as he slowly collapsed to the ground. The blades edge was so sharp he did not even realise it had ended his existence till it was too late.
Bending down to wipe the blade on the heretics clothing, Brother Sgt Neria of the Ravenwing motioned for his brothers to come forward. The way ahead was clear and the members of his squad quickly took advantage of the opening. They had left their bikes two days march away; the terrain had been unforgiving for motorised transport with deep gullies, swamps and wide rivers. Also the chance of detection from the many surveillance devices was so high that Neria had decided the only thing to do was to continue the mission on foot. This was not normal procedure for the Ravenwing but had been known to happen previously as situations like this dictated.
His brothers where utilising chest rigs, weighed down with extra ammunition, grenades and other equipment normally secreted on their metal steeds but it had to be done if they had any chance of catching their primary target off guard. The fabled Dark Warrior had arrived on planet six months ago and had already established a small army and a significant base of operations.
Chaplain Ketheriel had told Neria of the importance of his mission. He was to scout ahead for a possible Chaos Marine polluting the planet with his heretic preaching, locate the base and call the Deathwing to do their duty. The Chaplain had stressed that Neria was to take any steps necessary to complete the task and so he found himself far from his bike.
Even now the Deathwing waited aboard the Strike Cruiser, encased in their Terminator armour, expecting his signal to teleport down and strike.
Brother Sgt Neria was humbled to have been chosen to lead this mission and he would ensure that it succeeded no matter what he had to do to accomplish it.
Edited by elmo, 30 April 2021 - 05:04 PM.