My Brothers' Keeper (40K-Space Marines)

[Imperial Overlord]

Las beams crackled and blazed gleaming lines through the air. Chunks of concrete splattered away from the impact. I stepped out from behind the corner and opened fire at the rebels behind the barricade about one hundred meters down the street. My bolt rounds blew apart of one of the traitors' heads and removed the front of the skull from another. Their bodies tumbled back. The two with grenade launchers brought them to bear on me. I had no desire to test the strength of my armour against the power of their krak grenades. A burst from my bolter caught one in the neck and decapitated him, blood spraying high into the air. Brother Cadius put rounds into the other's chest.

"Grenades," I said over the coms. I flicked the lever on my bolter and loaded a frag grenade. My autosenses painted the proper firing arc as a trail of glowing lights. I discharged my gun and so did my brothers. A line of frag grenades exploded behind the enemy barricade. "Storm!" I yelled.

"STORM!" my battle-brothers echoed back. We burst from cover and into the street, a wave of black armour moving at the speed of a galloping horse. Several las beams flashed from windows and we fired back without breaking stride. I don't know if we hit anyone. Brother Tybalt was hit in the shoulder and Brother Darius took a hot shot round to the abdomen, just beneath the breastplate. The beam penetrated and he grunted and broke stride, but sped up and kept pace. We reached the barricade.

Two of them were still alive. Their flak armour had saved their torsos and heads, but their limbs had flayed and shredded by the multiple shrapnel bursts. We finished the survivors with our bolters, not out of mercy but as a precaution.

"Grenades to the sniper's windows," I ordered. My battle-brothers complied. If they were smart, they would have moved on already, but the intelligence of anyone who fights against the Emperor and might of the Adeptus Astartes is open to question.

As my brothers stood watch and mowed down any heretic foolish enough to show himself, I activated my coms. "This is Brother-Sergeant Alexus. We are twenty meters from Point B. Minor heretic resistance. No casualties."

The voice of Lieutenant Marius came through. "Proceed with your squad Brother Alexus. Brother-Sergeant Bastian and is approaching Point C. Loyalist Guard elements are advancing from the east."

The Argent Flames does not regard the rest of the humanity with contempt, unlike chapters such as the Flesh Tearers. Only those who fail the Emperor recieve our disdain. It does not matter if the heretic dies by Marine bolter or Guard lasgun as long as he pays for his blasphemy with his life.

I considered the course ahead of us. The heretic resistance had been quite light. My squad had slain merely a hundred a so in the last hour as we had fought our way forward. My battle-brothers were too diciplined to complain, but they felt I was going too slowly. My caution was rooted in a bone deep certainty that the enemy had set a trap. I was the sergeant. My brothers' lives were my responsibility. I will not fail them.

We move down the street, towards the central square. Resistance is pitiful. A few men snipe with lasguns from windows and a few men at the last barricade. We answer with bolters and grenades. Brothers Rudolphus and Spicus blow the improvised barrier to pieces with their plasma guns. Frag grenades and bolter shells finish the survivors. I am almost ready to reconsider my opinion of the enemy strength, that perhaps the last few battles had been consumed the last of his reserves with my auspex begins to send back readings. Jamming had confined the range of surveyors and only now do I see the truth.

The central square is deserted. Across from us the great palace of governance is as quiet as a grave. Their are no gun emplacements or barricades, no defenders poking weapons from windows, no shield generators crackling with power. Rats cross the square and ravens feast on day old corpses. The enemy is gone.

I try my vox. "Brother-Lieutenant Marius, the square is deserted. No sign of the enemy."

"Brother-Sergeant, what of the enemy head quarters?"

"Brother-Lieutenant, it appears deserted."

"Take your battle-brothers and search through it. Take prisoners brother. No elements report break out."

"Affirmative Brother-Lieutenant. The Emperor protects."

"May He guide your ways."

I turned to my battle-brothers. They were a magnificent compay. Each one was a proven warrior, each one a devoted servant of the Emperor. They could match an ork in strength and almost match eldar speed, but no xeno could match their strength of purpose or their devotion to Him on Earth. On each shoulder pad was the symbol of our chapter, a black skull in a tongue of silver flame. "My brothers, Brother-Lieutenant Marius commands us to advance and search the head quarters of the traitors. Be cautious. The treacherous heretics may have left traps. Let us be wary of the machinations of the enemy."

"We obey," said Brother Tybalt. He thinks I should be more aggressive, that I am to cautious. I do not waver in my devotion to the Emperor, by my faith in myself is not as strong. I am young to hold such rank among my battle-brothers. I do not wish their blood to be forfeit to my mistakes.

"Advance!" I yell. My brothers and I surge across the square.

[Imperial Overlord]

There are no mines scattered across the ground, no concealed explosives to shred ceramite and flesh. No snipers fire upon us and no desperate rear guard trying to sell their lives as steeply as possible. There is only the sound of my breathing in my ears, the beating on my heart in my chest, and the thunder of our ceramite books on the cement.

The doors were huge, big enough to drive Predator through. Thick, dark wood, bound in chromed steel, tall as four battle-brothers. We blew them apart with our bolters and poured inside. An empty hall greeted us. Stalls were banks of clerks once sat were empty. Loose paper fluttered where petitioners once qued up. A pair of stairs and a lift cage allowed access to the upper levels.

I directed my battle-brother's to stairs on the right. Brother Tybalt spots them first. "Mines!" he bellowed. Indeed there are. Laser trip wires acting as the triggers on shrapnel propelling shaped charges. Sufficient to shred Guardsmen or ork and a minor risk to marines. Our bolters chatter, blasting them apart. We have warned any who are waiting for us that we are coming, but that does not matter. They can no more outrun us than they can out fight us.

I lead the way up. The gallery is empty of opposition. Week old corpses and bloodstains mar its checkerboard pattern marble floor. A maze of corridors and offices streches before us. "Pairs," I order. Faster this way. No group will be further than a few seconds away from reinforcement, on the unlikely chance that they need it.

Spicus comes with me. It is comforting to know the canny veteran has my back. I smash through a door of glass set within a brass framework and into a room set on either side with a row of cubicles. Some of the servitor data processors are still there, connected to their terminals with tubes and wires. Some of them are alive, others dead. We pass through into the next room.

Las bolts slam into my armour. I break left, firing my bolter at the hip. The room isn't particularily tall, no more than four meters, but its length and width make it seem cavernous. The floor is transplex, allowing one to see the room below. Lines of shelving and racks dominated both of them, with each shelf full of counltess scrolls, books, boxes, data crystals, and other information storage facilities. The amount of information that had been reposited here by Administratum was staggering, the shear investment of resources of was awesome. I didn't hesitate in opening fire.

My attacker was crouching behind the end of a shelf. My bolter rounds tore through books and blew the end of the shelf to pieces. He darted away, keeping the shelf between us. That meant exposing himself to Spicus, but he was busy at the moment. Our attacker wasn't alone.

Off to my side was the flare of his plasma gun and the sound of a body hitting the ground. Bullets smacked into my armour and into the wall around me. I kept moving. A krak grenade struck where I had been a moment before, blasting a huge hole in the wall. I walked bolter fire across the shooter. He had a las with an underbarrel launcher. His chest exploded in a rain of gore and he collapsed. I paused long enough to get set up a good shot and blow apart another heretic's skull. Then I charged forward.

I ejected the empty clip and reloaded as I passed among the shelves. They could shield me from enemy fire as well as the enemy and I had no desire to test my armour against krak grenades or worse. I heard the discharge of Spicus's plasma gun on low power. I pushed through the stacks to the other side.

A pair of heretics were off to the side, maybe six meters away. Both had lases with underbarrel launchers. Excellent equipage for heretics. I forward two steps, firing as I went. One heretic went down as blood fountained from the three wounds I blew in his chest. I side leaped back behind the stacks as I did so, causing the other heretic's grenade to miss. The stack began to topple forward from the force of my impact.

I leaped back out. The heretic was beginning to reload his launcher. I seized his weapon by the barrel and tossed it away. He reached for a blade, but smacked him in the chest with my left hand. He groaned and folded.

"Spicus?" I asked.

"All dead, brother-sergeant."

I switched to all squad channel. "Enemy resistance. Live prisoner." I recieved their acknowledgements.

"They are probably nearby brother-sergeant," said Spicus.

"True," I replied. "We'll follow up and leave this one for interrogation." I seized his right arm and broke his elbow with a heavy blow. I repeated it with the other arm and then shattered his kneecaps before tossing him across the room. "He'll keep." I marked his location on the map display for our battle-brothers. "Let's go."

[Shroom Man 777]

I haven't read it yet, but HUZZAH! Finally, the long awaited fic about the Emperor's Finest. The Imperium's First, Last and Only Line of Defense!

EDIT:

Read it, loved it. I want more! And I want really over the top stuff, chainswords and slaughtering heretics and purging and all that! But this is good. Though half-ton seven foot-tall power armored supersoldiers doing close quarter combat seems kinda odd. Why don't they fall off the floor?

And why the hell would anyone fight against Space Marines?

[GeneralTacticus]

Nice, but what's with the tense? You shift from present to past and back to present again practically every paragraph. Is this deliberate?

[Imperial Overlord]

Nice, but what's with the tense? You shift from present to past and back to present again practically every paragraph. Is this deliberate?

The time shift is deliberate, a first person jumble of action as it's happening or actions and explanations just after. Alexos is a little introspective so he does think about his actions as well as just react. So past tense explanations are coupled with the orders he just issued a moment ago.

And I want really over the top stuff, chainswords and slaughtering heretics and purging and all that! But this is good. Though half-ton seven foot-tall power armored supersoldiers doing close quarter combat seems kinda odd. Why don't they fall off the floor?

The transpex is thick enough to support massive shelving and people easily. Space Marines aren't a problem. And you want chainswords while questioning what they're doing in close quarters combat?

In this case, he's taking a prisoner.

[Shroom Man 777]

And you want chainswords while questioning what they're doing in close quarters combat?

Err... ummm... ehhh... write a new chapter, dammit!

[Shroom Man 777]

*pokes thread with chainsword*

[Ford Prefect]

It's important to remember Shroomy that IO is a very busy man; he has numerous fics to write for, and he will get around to each in turn.

[Imperial Overlord]

Having finished "First, Best . . " I will be getting to this tonight. Along with more In Memoria.

[Ford Prefect]

One day I'm going to read In Memoria, but it is a daunting task.

[Imperial Overlord]

One day I'm going to read In Memoria, but it is a daunting task.

It's presented in nice, digestable bits. Take your time and read it a piece at a time.

[Imperial Overlord]

As our battle-brothers closed in on our location Spicus and I raced ahead. The door lead to long corridor lined by doors. At the opposite end two more heretic troopers were waiting. They wore mail shirts over flak armour, like the others. One had a lasgun/grenade launcher combination. The other held a plasma gun.

I ran forward at an angle, firing from the hip as I came. My bolter rounds chewed up the wall as I walked them over the plasma gunner, blowing open with chest in a fog of blood before he could bring his weapon to bear. The other fired a krak grenade which struck the wall behind me. An intense violet beam struck him and he was blown to ash. Blackened bones and twisted metal fell to the ground.

These troopers were far better equipped than most of the heretic cannon fodder we had encountered. They were certainly an elite unit of some kind, especially given that when confronted with Space Marines they stood and fought. So why were they here?

"Follow up on my position," I barked into the vox as I jogged for the doorway. I ejected the empty clip from my bolter and reloaded on the move. The only reason I could think of for crack heretic troops being here was to cover the retreat of someone or something valuable.

"Lieutenant Marius, Brother-Sergeant Alexus here. Reporting contact with enemy crack troops. Following up on them."

"Affirm," came Marius's voice. "All other units have only reported contact with regulars." Dispossable troops suitable for a casualty intensive rear-guard action. "I am redirecting Squand Bastian to reinforce you."

"Affirm," I replied. The doorway lead to another corridor running perpendicular to this one. Autosenses brought the scent of human fear stink and unwashed but live bodies to me. "This way!" I ordered. Spicus followed. I could hear the sound of my other battle-brothers coming towards us.

The scent was coming from a stairway. I started running down. A heretic at the bottom fired up, las bolts spraying around me. I dropped a frag grenade. He bolted out the door and slammed it shut. The grenade went off and a few pieces of shrapnel bounced off my armour.

I reached the bottom and charged the door. It slammed open, carrying me outside to a loading area behind the building. Several APCs were present. I was more focused on the three heretics pointing their guns at me. I fired. My first shot missed. The next two blew open the chest of the closest heretic. They fired back.

One was carrying a high powered las. He hit my chest plate twice and cratered it, almost burning through. The other had a las/grenade launcher combination. He fired the launcher. The grenade hit my left shoulder guard and detonated.

The plate shattered and my blood splattered over my arm. The pain was nothing I could not master. My arm didn't want to work, probably broken bone and torn muscle. I raised my bolter with my right arm and put two into the shooter's chest, blowing his heart and left lung apart. There was a flash and Spicus incinerated the other with his plasma gun.

I was already surveying the area. Several burned out wrecks remained in the lot. The other vehicles were the important ones. Two APCs, Chimera knock offs with turret mounted light autocanons and hull mounted heavy stubbers were at the end of the lot. A third one was close by, maybe ten meters away, with the hatch to its troop compartment open. A heretic sergeant was closing it up. At the far end of the lot was a Wolfhound medium tank.

That was going to be a problem. Heavy autocannon and heavy stubber in the turret, hull mounted heavy stubber. Slopped composite armour. May that heretic Protector Deraiden burn forever in the hell of the Warp for spreading this design to every would be heretic warlord in three sectors.

I broke left. Spicus followed my lead. "For the Emperor!" I shouted.

[Ford Prefect]

Rockin'.

[LadyTevar]

Short, but sweet

[Imperial Overlord]

Neither me nor my brothers were kitted out for anti-armour work. This was going to be tough. Very tough.

I slung my bolter as I circled around the side of one of the APCs. With my left arm out of action, I needed my right hand free. Fortunately, I was completely unequipped for this contingency. As I ran by the side of the APC, I triggered my grenade despenser in my left arm and caught the walnut sized sphere with my right. I set the krak grenade for three seconds and attached it to the side of the vehicle.

The side armour on a heretic Armoured Personel Carrier will stop a hell gun beam. The detonation of a krak grenade is a different matter entirely. The focused blast punched a half meter diameter hole in the hull. I grabbed another grenade and kept on going. I slammed it onto the back of the APC.

Spicus didn't reach for grenades, but he didn't need to. He had the plasma gun. He halted for a moment and fired. The violet beam struck the other APC in the side. The vehicle's armour was vaporized and violently blasted away from the impact point. Which meant the interior of the APC just got a taste of hell. Fire licked back out the hole. Hatches opened and the crew started to bail out. Spicus closed with it, using the wreck as cover.

The I wasn't so lucky. Neither of my grenades had managed to take out anything vital. The third APC retreated out of the lot, rotating its turret to bring its autocannon to bear on me. I started running back the way I came, using the wounded APC as cover. I was too close for it to bring its autocannon to bear on me.

I triggered a third krak grenade and set it to blow out the tracks. It detonated with a lound bang and the track mas missing a half meter section. The APC turned towards me as the driver struggled with his wounded vehicle. A hatch was right next to me. I wasn't interested in ignoring any favors fate was sending my way.

Merkos and Sevastian came out the door firing. The bolters didn't do anything worth talking about to the Wolfhound's armour. The tank stopped playing cat and mouse with Spicus as it brought its autocannon to bear on my battle-brothers. Neither of them were fools. The both headed for cover. Merkos didn't make it.

The Wolfhound's heavy autocannon fires one round a second. The gun blew holes in the Administratum building we had just come from as it tracked my battle-brothers. One of the shells caught him in the side just before Merkos reached shelter. The impact blew him off his feet and he lay still.

Spicus rose and fired. The plasma beam struck the turret at the base of the autocannon. The turret armour held, but the autocannon barrel didn't. Half of it was eaten away by the blast. But I had my own concerns.

The hatch was locked, of course, but that didn't stop me. I was a Space Marine who's strength was augmented by power armour. It tore it open and dropped a frag grenade inside. Then another. Shrapnel nicked my armour. The bodies of the heretic tankers were shredded by the blasts.

Three soldiers exited the APC's hold. I didn't bother with them. Sevastian gunned them down with his bolter. The heretics never had a chance.

The wounded Wolfhound was trying to escape. With its main gun down, it didn't have anything that could crack our armour. The driver turned it to leave. I started running for it. The crew owed my brothers a blood-debt.

It takes time to get a tank up to speed, especially from a standing start. They didn't have it. I leapt on the back of the tank and slammed a krak grenade down on top of the engine. It blew through the armour and the tank ground to a halt with a terrible grinding sound as smoke poured out of the hole.

The commander tried to pull himself out of the top of the turret. I brew my bolter and shot him in the gut. Blood and chunks of intestines splattered the top of the tank. I sprung to the top of the turret just as the driver pulled himself out through a front hatch. I shot him in the spine, just about heart level. He collapsed, screaming. I yanked the mortally wounded commander out of the tank and got a chest full of shotgun pellets for my trouble.

The gunner had a cut down autoshotgun. A nice weapon, but inadequate for dealing with Astartes. I reached down and yanked him up. I wasn't gentle. He left some skin inside and I broke or dislocated his left shoulder. He was screaming. I tossed him off the side of the tank.

That left the third APC, which was no where to be seen. It must have exited during the fire fight, which meant it was probably the one with the important cargo. Throne!

"Alexus to Marius. One APC escaped, two APCs and Wolfhound accounted for. Brother"

"Prisoners?" he asked.

"Two," I replied. "Brother Merkos is heavily injured."

"An apothecary is on the way. Hold your position."

[Shroom Man 777]

MORE!

[Ford Prefect]

And that's why Space Marines kick arse. You write well, IO.

[Imperial Overlord]

I was kneeling in the chapel when the message came. "Brother-Sergeant Alexus?"

I looked up. The church had only been recently reclaimed, scoured free of heretic symbols with a flamer, and reconcencrated to the Emperor. A modest altar with a polished brass aquilla was the only surviving decoration. There was something pure here. A simple altar, created by liberated artisans with what little they had. A church retaken by the faithful. There was no elaborately robed priests or fancy decoration, but simple piety.

I rose and turned. "Yes Brother Sevastian."

"The apothecaries say that Brother Merkos will survive and eventually make a complete recovery."

"Good," I responded.

"And yourself, brother-sergeant?"

I flexed my left arm. "A broken bone. Damaged muscle. I will be fit for duty soon."

"I am pleased to hear that, brother-sergeant. Lieutenant Marius wishes to speak with you."

"Thank you," I said. "I will attend immediately." I exited the chapel and walked towards the building we had taken over for our command center. I was wearing simple robes as I was not on active duty and my armour was being repaired by the tech marines. I would have prefered to do it myself, but the damage to my arm limited my ability to conduct repairs.

Two battle-brothers guarded the converted three story buidling. It was sqaut tower of ferrocrete construction that had only suffered minor damage in the fighting. Servitors had cleaned it up. Most of the bloodstains were gone. The battle-brothers recognized me and let me pass. Inside several servitors and chapter serfs attended equipment while Episolary Caine, Leiutenant Marius, and Captain Valorian consulted several displays. Marius turned towards me. "Brother-Sergeant."

"Brother-Lieutenant. How may I be of service?" Marius was short, by Marine standards, and broad. His dark hair was cut into a short fringe. Six ten year service studs were implanted in his forhead. As soon as a slot opened up, it was likely that he would be promotted to captain."

"The apothecaries tell me you are making a rapid recovery and will be fit for duty soon."

"That is true. This pleases me greatly."

"Did you get any look at all at what was within the last vehicle?"

I shook my head. "I am afraid not, brother-lieutenant."

"Unfortunate. It must have been quite valuable to get have such a strong escort. How would you like to rectify the situation?"

"I live to serve the Emperor."

Marius smiled. "We have traced the enemy's route. The only possible direction of travel was toward Tyran. We will be beginning offensive operations there shortly. If it is still there, we will have another chance at it. After we have killed all the other heretics."

"I look forward to it."

"Of course you do."

[Shroom Man 777]

Could we have more of what Space Marines do in their off-time?

[Imperial Overlord]

Could we have more of what Space Marines do in their off-time?

They don't have off time. That's why they are hard to write. No hobbies. Pray. Study. Tend to weapons. Fight. Repeat.

[Imperial Overlord]

The city of Tyran was surrounded by three concentric rings of defences. Coils of razorwire guarded trenches and gun emplacements. Pillboxes and gun turrents overlooked the approaches. Tanks rested behind earthworks and in sunken positions. Legions of infantry waited in underground barracks and in trenches to repell any assault.

Thunderous explosions errupted and earth was thrown high into the air as the Earthshaker rounds exploded along the enemy lines. A trio of Baneblades lead the advance of the Imperial armour. The super-heavy tanks shrugged off autocannon rounds and cruised ahead, blasting away with turret mounted battlecannons, the short barrelled, hull mounted demolisher cannon, and the weapons in their hull mini turrets.

Two double lines of Leman Russ tanks flanked the Baneblades, supported by lesser numbers of other designs. Behind them came Chimera's packed with assault troops. A pair of Shadowsword super heavy tanks in the rear fired their volcano cannons in support of their comrades. The immensely powerful lasers sliced through even the heaviest heretic armour and fortress walls like it was tinfoil.

On the far right flank came the forces of Argent Flames. Six Predator tanks lead ten Land Raiders towards the exposed flanks of the heretic positions. Astartes gunners were aided by the advanced systems of their vehicle's machine spirits and fired with deadly accuracy.

The heretic lines crumbled. Heretic armour burned and pillboxes were cracked. Hellhound tanks fired their inferno cannons, turning trenches in firepits. The Imperial spearheads punched through and the Chimera's began disgorging their cargo of Stormtroopers and picked men. With flamer and plasma gun, lasers and grenades, they took the fight to the enemy.

The Imperial advance slowed as they fought their way through the enemy defensive works. The Argent Flames ranged ahead. They weren't intersted in holding ground. They would leave that task to the Guard. The Astartes shattered tanks, gunned down infantry, and burned gun positions but did not deploy their troops.

As the Astartes reached the outskirts of the city, Alexus looked over at his battle-brothers. He hated being confined in the cramped close quarters of a Land Raider. He had rearmed for close assault, trading in his bolter for a bolt pistol and a chainsword.

Tybalt looked back at me. My silent critic. I know he is judging me. Too timid, he thinks. Not aggressive enough. Too worried about casualties, not enthusiastic enough to bring firey death to the Emperor's enemies. Sometimes I think that he is right and wonder why I was chosen to be sergeant.

I know that answer. It is because I think about things, in moments like this. Because I think about problems and consider salutions other than blind assault. An Astartes must be bold, but an officer should think. They are evaluating me and my actions.

Then the time for thought passes. Imperial agents, probably members of the Officio Assassinorum, have located the enemy headquarters in Tyran. They have converted a manufactorium for their use, taking refuge behind its fortress like walls and converting the plush managers' offices for their leaders.

"Everyone out!" yells brother Cyrus. Hatches swing open automatically. Tybalt is out first, his bolter yammering in his hands. I follow.

We are inside the loading bay of the manufactorium, the doors having proven to be no obstacle to the Land Raider. Heretic soldiers fire at us from the upper level walkways and from behind packing crates. The twin linked lascannons on either side of the Land Raider blast through cover effortlessly while the top mounted twin heavy bolters rake the upper levels. We are in.

I rush a cluster of heretics firing from behind a stack of crates. Autogun and lasgun fire mark my armour. I fire a bolt and explode a heretic's skull in a spray of bone, brains, and blood. I fire again and strike another heretic in the throat. The bolt detonates, decapitating him in a geyser of blood. I bring my chainsword down on the skull of the last. His helmet breaks like an eggshell and I drive the blade down to about mustache levels. Bone chips and fragments of grey matter fly from the wound.

My battle-brothers are finishing up the rest of the heretics. A full squad of battle brothers and a Land Raider against a thirty odd men. It really took no time at all for us to slaughter them all. Now we were inside. The prize would be close. It would not slip through my fingers again.

[Shroom Man 777]

FOR THE EMPEROR!

[LadyTevar]

Once again, you've done a fabulous job! More, More!

[Shroom Man 777]

My, my, this lady has a penchant for senseless 41st millenium carnage

And she's right, you know? MORE!

[technomage]

Could we have more of what Space Marines do in their off-time?

They don't have off time. That's why they are hard to write. No hobbies. Pray. Study. Tend to weapons. Fight. Repeat.

Well... The more liberal chapters do allow 15 minutes at the end of the day for the Marines to reflect on their duty to the Emperor. And that's only allowed because Guilliman's Codex Astartes has a line about using your leisure to reflect on your duty. Still, many consider those 15 minutes to be a dangerous self-indulgence.