Editing 97th Conglomerate's Tyrannic War (section)

=== Part 1 - The Coming Tide ===

“Leftenant Caldwell!” A fresh-faced trooper called, running up to the motor pool.

It was early morning on Moranis IV, the dim twilight of a rising sun corrupted by a sickly green cloud cover. The lieutenant was a cavalry veteran of the Praetorian Guard, and as such was disgusted by the troopers lax attitude. The boy couldn’t have been more than 18 or 19, so he must’ve been PDF. Cladwell lowered his pipe from his mouth, his morning smoke next to his bike now interrupted, as he blew out a cloud of acrid tabacc smoke and barked.

“Trooper, stop there and stand at attention!” Caldwell cast a stern, piercing gaze.
The young PDF trooper stopped short of the officer about 3 meters away and stood up as straight as he could while short of breath. 

“Trooper Karon, reporting for duty, Sir!” He snapped a salute with his free hand, in the other one was clutched a rucksack full of equipment. 

“Undisciplined!” The officer barked as he strode over to the boy. He slapped the boys back to straighten it. “Unprofessional!” He jerked the arm to fix the salute. “And you call yourself a trooper?!” The young man gulped, Caldwell’s thick gray moustache inches from his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.” Karon replied as best he could as his bowles twitched in fear.

“That’s more like it.” Caldwell said, satisfied enough to step back. His back was ramrod straight as he put his arms behind them and then indicated with his left. “That bike shall be yours. Saddle up and prepare. We leave in 30 minutes.” 

“Permission to speak, sir.” Karon requested as his officer went to about face. The officer sighed.

“Granted.”

“I figured cavalry meant horses.”

“Aye, it normally does. But we lack the food and care to bring around such creatures, as much as I’d prefer them, so the regiment uses these mechanical wonders. 
Much faster and less toilsome to maintain.” He turned back around fully. “Chop chop, my boy!”

The rest of the scout detachment finished their preparations and mounted up, leaving out a small gate over a walkway that straddled the forward trench. Beyond the trench line, some 30-40 ahead, guardsmen and PDF were digging up holes to rig melta charges and other various explosives. Along the front of the trench, flamers were rigged into fixed positions to spew flames straight forward into any onrushing enemy. The regiment was digging in hard, as they were outnumbered and had little hope. The bikes were spun up, their engines roared as the machine spirits leapt to life. 
For 3 and a half hours they road in almost silence, all 10 bikes forming a V-shape as they sped towards their patrol area. Caldwell was at the head of the formation, his pith helmet secured to his head against the wind as the heat and stench of biomass grewer ever stronger. Storm clouds loomed over the horizon in front of him as he scanned it, his hands white knuckling the handlebars of his bike. A vox transmission cut his attention. 

“Caldwell. Come in Lieutenant Caldwell.” A voice of broken static called.

“This is Caldwell.” He replied curtly.

“We’re getting some movement on the long range, adjust course to your 1 o’clock, please. How copy?”

“Solid copy, adjusting course.” He replied as he leaned his bike to the right a bit, his entourage following suit. 
His motion sensor on his bike’s display chimed a sudden warning before the ground to his left exploded outward. The formation was broken and the bikes scattered, as were the rules of engagement. “Base, we have contact! I repeat, contact confirmed!” 

He drew the sawed-off shotgun from his leg holster and lifted it to the ready as he circled around to the crater that had just been created. From it burst forth a monstrous bioform, six arms yet snake-like with enormous jaws: a Mawloc. It bellowed a ghastly shriek as two other bikes came around to circle it, weapons firing off drive-by shots. They did little more than pierce its flesh and hit denser matter. Another explosion of dirt went up practically underneath Caldwell’s rear wheel and his bike was sent flying forward, throwing him from his seat. He avoided his bike from landing on him and rolled up to his feet, diving to it for cover. Another Mawloc erupted from that crater, followed by several lesser Gaunt bioforms. 

''This is too early...'' Caldwell thought to himself. ''We’re 15 kilometres from the target zone.''

As he turned around to check on the two bikes circling the first Mawloc, he saw as the PDF trooper, Karon, was thrown from his mount and sent rolling across the mud. A clap of thunder accompanied the eruption of a third crater as Karon grabbed his autocarbine and scrambled over to Caldwell. Gaunts and Warriors spilled upwards, clambering over each other to get at the fresh prey. Raveners, smaller variations of the Mawlocs, joined the surge.

“Trooper, we are going to die here!” He told Karon as he blasted a gaunt charging them with his shotgun. “Cover me, dammit!” Karon had a look of terror in his eyes as he brought his rifle up to release bursts of fire, Caldwell fumbling with the bike’s vox system before yelling into it. “Command, this is Lieutenant Caldwell of the 97th Regiment, 3rd Company. Catastrophic failure on our scout mission has occurred. The swarm is moving, and we have been engaged 15 kilometres before target zo-” A Gaunt leapt over the bike and threw the officer to the ground. He brought his shotgun up into the creatures gut and fired off two blasts, scattering acidic viscera all over him. It burned and seared his flesh, but he ignored the pain as he picked up the handset again. “Repeat, 15 kilometres before target zone. In Nomine Imperator!”

Caldwell threw down the handset as a Tyranid Warrior bioform lumbered a massive clawed foot on top of his overturned bike. He gave a roar before blasting two flechette shells into the beast’s head, reaching for the spare shells on his bandolier. He grabbed three and loaded them as fast as possible, slapping the charging handle and leveling it at the nearest bioforms before splattering its body with a cloud of lead. He turned his head to look at Karon, who was slamming a fresh magazine into his rifle.

“For feck’s sake, men...” He bellowed into the squad vox. “Die with a prayer on your lips and a fire in your bellies!” He leveled his barrel into the jaws of another beast, clamping its teeth around the barrel before pulling the trigger.


[[Category:Stories/Warhammer 40,000]]