97th Conglomerate's Tyrannic War
This is a fanfic that is essentially based on some gamefag's campaign. Not too badly written, and almost legitimately good... still expect some heretical and sometimes very out-of-place comments and actions (luckily of the non-sexual variety).
Gamefag's identity is mostly unknown. Only known information is that he plays Men with Balls of Steel and goes by Sir William.
Fluffy Backdropness
753.M41
Hive Fleet Behemoth, although having ravaged the Eastern Fringes, and testing the resolve of the Ultramarines at the Battle of Macragge, were defeated in 745.M41 at the Battle of Ultramar. But the Hive Fleet had not satisfied its unending hunger. On the Hive World of Moranis VI, the Basilisk Tendril of Hive Fleet Behemoth has found the perfect world to restore their strength. The highest concentration of biomass on a single planet is perfect to replenish that which was lost in the crushing defeat at Ultramar. Most of the cities have already fallen, but a single bastion still stands. The city of Terragrad, the capital of this doomed world, is all that prevents an outright Exterminatus. In hopes to stall the slaughter, the 97th Conglomerate was dispatched to defend the planet. The city's outskirts, the frontlines, are manned by 1st Company. These veterans are here to test their mettle, if not for the Emperor, then for the desperate citizens of a world under siege.
Prologue Part 1: Deployment Day Minus 3
Private Samson sat uncomfortably in the velvet covered seat of Colonel Cronus’ office. The Colonel had stepped out, for what, Samson didn’t know. He was here for one reason alone; he had seen combat before. The 97th never took recruits from a vacuum. They only ever plucked men from the forces of the Astra Militarum who had seen a battle before. But this wasn’t where Samson belonged.
I’m a coward… He told himself, trying to think of a way to get out of seeing combat again. They called him weak, blasphemous, heretic. He damn near jumped when the door opened again.
The Colonel was a tall, intimidating man with a chiseled face and sunken eyes. His officer’s cane was tucked tightly under his arm alongside a thin file folder. As he made towards his desk, he possessed an authoritarian presence and a regimental gait. He sharply pulled his chair, Samson clearly seeing the extensive bionic reconstruction that had replaced his whole right arm, and sat down across from Samson, who simply sank in his chair, cowering in the face of raw Imperial authority.
“Private Alexandre Samson…” Cronus began, flipping open the folder in his hands as he crossed his legs, sitting at an angle. “Age: 22; Height: 6 foot even; Weight: a little on the lighter side; Years of Service: longer than most.” He put his own slightly cynical spin on how to address Samson’s qualities. He started sizing up Samson skeptically. “How in the Emperor’s bloody name have you served as long as you have and still managed to get put through our screening?” He asked dubiously. Samson inhaled and went to answer, but was realized it was a rhetorical question when the Colonel simply continued. “Have you ever fired an autogun?”
“I’m sorry, sir?” Samson responded, trying to make sure he heard the Colonel correctly.
“An autogun…” Cronus said again, slapping shut the file with the hand he held it in.
“Um, I’m not sure I’m following sir.” Samson replied once more. Cronus gave a brief chuckle – well, more of an amused huff – at the Private’s response.
“Not important.” The Colonel continued. “Report to the quartermaster in the Guardsmen common areas tomorrow, where you’ll be issued your gear and assigned to your squad.” He tucked the Private’s file away into a drawer of his desk. “You’re dismissed.”