Re: [Epic] Insurrection Story

From: Oki Purwanto <oki_at_...>
Date: Mon, 21 Jul 1997 09:37:31 +0800

At 02:51 PM 7/18/97 -0400, you wrote:
>Oki, I'm really sorry but I screwed up and lost the first 2 parts
>of the Insurrection story again. If you still have them, could
>you please mail them to me? Last time I ask, I promise...
>


You are hereby advised to turn in your HDD for immediate cleansing and
yourself for checking of Warp influence.

Regards
Oki


>Scott
>shupes_at_...
>
>





"Insurrection"
Part I

   Brother-Sergeant Ezekial's boltgun barked staccato destruction all around
him. Feet firmly planted, he and the members of his squad fought with all
their strength to resist the advance of the enemy against their line.
   Explosions blossomed everywhere about them, showering them with shrapnel
and dirt, but Ezekial's example of bravery inspired his men to give no
ground. Triggers depressed, their bolters spat round after round of denial at
the oncoming Eldar. Despite the best the alien foot soldiers could do, the
Marines held out, standing firm in the face of the horrors of war.
   Tremendously outnumbered, the Dark Angels had been fighting a constant
slow retreat since their arrival onplanet. No more than four days had passed
since then, and already the complete obliteration of the landing forces
seemed certain. Of almost a full company of Marines and two battalions of the
Imperial Guard, only a handful remained. None of their intelligence reports
had indicated such a large number of the alien Eldar in the system, nor of
their determination to take this planet at all costs.
   Mraba IV was a lucky find for the coffers of the Imperium. Settled during
the Age of Expansion by human pioneers, it was the center of a vast web of
trade far out on the southern frontier of the galaxy. The subsequent ages of
war and peace saw Mraba's fortunes grow and decline, but always, always it
was a source of technological inspiration. Whole new theories of mechanical
systems originated in the minds of the Mrabans; ordinary machines became
brilliant tools in their hands. The Dark Age of Technology practically began
on Mraba IV. In many ways she even rivaled Earth herself.
   Its isolation by warp storms for millenia was a severe blow to Humanity
during the Age of Strife; mankind had much need of good machinery then.
   Its existence had been rumored for centuries, a phantom planet luring
adventurers to their doom with promises of riches untold. Some were able to
find their way through the swirling confusion warp space wrapped about this
world, only to be trapped here the rest of their lives. For the remainder of
the galaxy it was a legend, nothing more.
   Until recently, that is. For unexplained, unknowable reasons, the warp
storms had cleared, leaving the star system's four planets ripe for
rediscovery. Rogue traders had first reported on its apparent rebirth, and
Imperial Survey teams had been quickly dispatched to verify the stories
trickling in. When its identity had been confirmed the High Lords of Terra
had authorized its immediate acquisition; their orders: return its secrets
back to the safety of the Imperium at any cost, before the warp storms sealed
it off forever from future contact.
   Thus had the Imperial Navy been sent to blockade the system, stopping
smugglers and aliens alike. The advance scouts had reported the Eldar
presence prior to the Navy's arrival, but by all accounts they were few in
number. The Eldar were always few in number and were always first to a find
of such significance, almost as though they had foreknowledge of the event.
It was one of the things men least understood and most feared about them. But
this time the scouts were wrong: there were a great many more Eldar onplanet
than anyone knew, and they were determined to prevent the reclamation of the
artifacts by the humans. Why?, no one knew. The Eldar simply did such things.
   Sergeant Ezekial knew nothing of this planet's past, and cared little for
its current state. His sole interest was in ridding it of the non-human
infestation fighting for its possession. And right now, at Location 993, Grid
reference AX-39, designation the City of Might, he was winning.
   The Eldar foot troopers called "Guardians" had been repulsed with heavy
casualties, while Ezekial's men were unscathed. The torrent of destruction
laid out by their rapid-firing boltguns had stopped the advance of the
enigmatic aliens. Even their shock troops, strange wailing women called
"Banshees," had been unable to dislodge the Emperor's loyal soldiers from
their bunker stronghold.
   "Bunker" was, however, a totally inappropriate description. Whoever had
lived on Mraba once had wrought amazing things, and this small fortification
was evidence of their abilities. Reinforced walls, clear lines of fire,
blast shields stronger than adamantium...and all apparently of an age defying
belief. If the Tech-Priest Engineers were right, everything on this world
pre-dated the founding of the Imperium. It was a mother-lode of valuable
data: an STC of STC's.
   Ezekial had fought in nearly four hundred campaigns since his Initiation
into the Dark Angels Space Marine Chapter, and never had he seen a building
as well constructed as this one. Many was the time he was glad for having one
of the Imperium's sturdy Bastions at his back -- those portable, nigh-
indestructible buildings used throughout known space -- but none compared to
the City of Might. Even though they had been unable to actually find an
entrance into the strange building, its intelligent design had afforded them
numerous safe firing positions from which to fight. The Techmarines of the
Chapter had been in a state of elation at the prospect of finding working
Standard Template Constucts systems on Mraba IV. And if this stronghold was
any indication of what could be accomplished with that knowledge, then
Ezekial would do all he could to procure it for them.
   With the temporary retreat of the Eldar -- for he knew it only to be
temporary -- Ezekial looked around to assess the situation. His squad of ten
men, originally part of a much larger detachment, was intact. The rest were
gone, killed in the first few hours by ambush before they'd stumbled on this
defensive fortification. Their Imperial Guard allies -- mostly from the
Stirkan 43rd Regiment, although there were others as well -- had been almost
completely demolished: the landscape on this part of the planet was not
conducive to the effective use of heavy armor, and frequent ambushes from the
rocky spires and shadowed outcroppings had reduced the Guard to no more than
a handful of stragglers. Most had deserted, only to be killed alone; the rest
stayed with the Marines, loyal and a credit to the Imperium.
   Now all that remained of his recon-in-force detachment was holed up near
the City of Might awaiting reinforcements. With the death of Captain Invictus
in a hail of shuriken fire Brother-Sergeant Ezekial was the ranking officer.
Even though Interrogator-Chaplain Vicconius had served with the Dark Angels
for three hundred years longer than Ezekial, he was technically outside the
chain of command. He preferred to remain unattached to any specific squad
and instead be able to lend his presence wherever it was needed on the
battlefield.
   At the moment, however, he was poking around in the shadows of the fort.
Covered in fine powder, making his normally jet black armor appear gray, he
stomped to and fro, shining a small lamp into every alcove. Where his armor
showed pure black was where explosions had blasted it clean, tearing great
rips in his bone white Deathwing robes. Now they hung almost in tatters
about him. Despite their precarious situation, his energy and faith were
undampened. He was too preoccupied to hear Ezekial's attempt to contact the
rest of the Dark Angels' Fifth Company. There was no response.
   This in itself did not worry the Sergeant. There could be any number of
explanations for a lack of communication: Eldar jamming, a damaged receiver,
strange planetary fluctuations, even something in the City of Might. What
was worrying was the thought that he might be all that was left of the
Space Marine landing forces. The ignominy of failing in their appointed task,
of falling short of the Emperor's expectations..._that_ would be shameful.
Better to die here, now, than to be the only survivors.

[continued in Part II]


"Insurrection"
Part II

   Ezekial's pensive mood somehow attracted the Chaplain's attention after
all. Shafts of dusty light glinting off his Crozius Arcanum -- his badge of
office, and weapon of choice -- he strode over to the soldier.
   "Brother-Sergeant Ezekial," he said, deep voice resonating from his helmet
speakers, "you appear distracted. Your men need guidance and preparation for
the coming fight. Is there not enough inspiration around you to lift your
spirits to lead them?" With his Crozius he indicated the mounds of dead Eldar
strewn about them. "Truly your courage in the last attack was tremendous. But
now is not the time for reflection."
   For emphasis he swung his weapon down against the smoothly rounded armor
of a Guardian, killed by bolter fire. The Crozius hit with a flash and a
flare of blue light, splitting open the warrior's helmet, revealing the face
within.
   Ezekial regarded the dead Eldar's features in silence. The Chaplain was,
of course, right. The Sergeant was slow to react, more contemplative than
combative, and had always been so. Something in his earliest days had touched
him, and he carried the effects even now. It troubled him, and was a constant
source of private bitterness, yet its origins were unknown to him. No amount
of personal meditation had revealed it to him. The rest of the Chaplains in
the Chapter were justified to watch him closely, and his self-recriminations
only served to spur them on. But anger made him strong, and strength for the
Emperor was the only thing that mattered.
   It was unfortunate then that so much of his strength was gone now. Four
days of, literally, constant fighting had taken a toll on them, despite their
super-human capabilities. Ezekial had no thoughts to spare for the welfare of
the regular human troopers accompanying them, save for how it impacted their
fighting abilities, but he could see they were exhausted. Even Interrogator-
Chaplain Vicconius was tired, although no sign of it showed to less than a
very watchful eye. It was for this reason, Ezekial told himself, that he had
let himself become less than the leader he needed to be.
   More guilt, more shame. He could feel the Chaplain's eyes watching him,
measuring him against strenuous standards. Vicconius was waiting for an
answer.
   "Vicconius...." Ezekial began.
   "Brother, you must lead," Vicconius interrupted. "Your men await."
   With the toe of his armored boot, Ezekial nudged the dead Eldar. Even in
death the beautiful aliens looked graceful. Their smoothly proportioned
limbs and faces bespoke of their strange and unique culture.
   "They look so like unto us," Ezekial found himself murmuring.
   "That is the source of their abomination," Vicconius immediately replied.
"They would seek to be human, and yet are not." The Chaplain's armored
helmet, molded in the shape of a leering skull, swivelled to face Ezekial.
"Do not be fooled by their surface beauty, Brother-Sergeant. They are as much
the enemies of our immortal Emperor as any other foul monstrosity."
   "This is known to me, Brother-Chaplain," Ezekial snapped. The black-clad
soldier was beginning to nettle him. "I am familiar with their particular
brand of heresy. It was merely an observation. I am no longer a green scout
under your care." He was, after all, a two-hundred year veteran Space Marine.
His anger continued to rise, forcing his shame to recede.
   Vicconius matched Ezekial's glare, grinning skull to faceless armor. "Then
behave as such, and lead your men." And with a swat of his Crozius against
the face of the Eldar, forever marring its perfection, the Chaplain returned
to his searching.
   Biting off a curse, Ezekial watched him leave. After a further moment's
consideration, he put all his hesitations aside, turning his back on the
disfigured Eldar.
   "Captain Horatio!" he bellowed.
   The Imperial Guard Captain, tattered and unkempt, hobbled over from where
he had been standing. Wounded on the second day of fighting, he nevertheless
had met all challenges, even going so far as to kill traitorous Imperial
Guard troopers himself after Commissar Block died. Now the blood-soaked
bandages were filthy from dust and dirt, but Horatio made no complaints. It
was men like the Captain who restored Ezekial's faith in the humanity he
protected. Such a man might have made a fine Space Marine himself. For this
small acknowledgement, Ezekial made extra efforts to deal fairly with the
soldier.
   "Captain," he began, "we have little time before the evil spawn come upon
us again. Were any of your men able to find entrance to the City of Might?"
   "Negative, sir," Horatio replied. There was, technically, no need for the
Captain to address the Space Marine as "sir." But it was impossible for an
ordinary man to talk down to one of them; they towered above the Guardsmen,
their black-green armor making them even more imposing, their helmet eye-
sockets glowing redly. In one sense Horatio actually outranked the Marine --
he was, after all, a Captain whereas Ezekial was only a Sergeant -- but only
a fool in their circumstances would try to take command away from someone
with centuries of experience. He even felt that some of the other Space
Marines would as soon kill the Guardsmen as the Eldar. All except for the
Sergeant, that is; something about the way Ezekial spoke with him hinted that
this was a more "human" Space Marine.
   "We have searched as well as time permitted," the Captain added, "but no
door is to be discovered." He punctuated his report with spasms, coughing
hard. "It is possible that this building was entered only from below, through
tunnels or holes." Blood flecked his lips. Ezekial could see that the
Captain's condition, already exacerbated by strenuous fighting, had worsened
markedly in the last assault.
   "Possible, but not likely, Captain," Ezekial answered. "Such beautifully
designed defenses are useless if one cannot get inside to defend them."
   "Could the strange inhabitants of this world yield a clue?" Horatio
whispered. Despite his deteriorating condition, he apparently refused to
acknowledge it. The Sergeant, intuitively understanding the Guardsmen's
pride, respected his decision.
   Ezekial briefly considered the question. Mraba IV was supposedly a dead
planet, but numerous forms of lower life still inhabited its rusted cities.
Some of these lifeforms exhibited a remarkable similarity to humans, at least
in appearance, and this was not surprising given the number of adventurous
traders rumored to have been stranded here in their search for the warp-
wrapped world. Yet they were human no longer, for now all the natives had
metal skins, weirdly immune to direct applications of psychic energy. They
died readily enough to boltgun fire, though, and to Ezekial's mind any
creatures capable of wroughting the City of Might would be capable of
protecting themselves from smaller guns.
   "No," he said, firmly, "though they may be the twisted descendants of true
humans, these natives are no longer the masters of Mraba. They had as little
to do with this building's construction as you or I. No, there must be an
entrance if we can but find it."
   Horatio sighed heavily, closely watching the Marine's faceplate. Like the
Sergeant, he gave no indication of his thoughts. "We will begin our search
again, sir," he offered. "I need only to rest... a few moments... then we
will... will --" His voice trailed off as he died.
   Ezekial caught the Captain's body before he fell, and effortlessly carried
it out of view of the Eldar advance. "Of course, Captain Horatio," Ezekial
murmured, "when you have rested. But for now I have more urgent needs."
   Spinning to his feet, the Space Marine Sergeant began barking orders.
"Brother-Chaplain! Brother-Chaplain Vicconius!"
   Directly the dark-suited figure appeared, stance unreadable. "Yes,
Sergeant Ezekial?"
   "Brother-Chaplain, I wish you to commend Captain Horatio's soul to the
Emperor," he answered. Vicconius stopped him as he turned to issue more
orders.
   "Brother-Sergeant," Vicconius rasped, pitching his voice to carry only to
the Space Marine, "he is a mere Guardsman, not a Dark Angel. Let one of his
own tend to him."
   Ezekial's temper, already worn raw from fatigue and shame, flared bright
at the Chaplain's words. This time he did not restrain his anger. "Brother-
Chaplain, _you_ are our lord Emperor's representative here, thus it is
_your_ responsibility. This man may have been ordinary in body, but he was a
match for any Space Marine in his soul, and I personally found his loyalty
beyond question. It would please me greatly if you would send his soul
safely to the arms of the Emperor!"
   Not waiting to see if the troublesome Chaplain obeyed him, Ezekial instead
stormed off to the end of the defenders' line. His helmet's auto-senses
showed him, however, Vicconius bending low over the fallen Captain. The
stares of the remaining troopers -- Guardsmen and Dark Angels alike --
followed his advance. The unsuited humans looked on with surprise and
respect. The power-armored Marines' expressions were blank; their emotions
were hidden behind thick ceramite plating.
   Checking his suit's chronometer, Ezekial realized there was not much time
left before the Eldar attacked again. Each attack previously had allowed only
enough time for the aliens to regroup before pushing forward. The Space
Marine reviewed his options as he strode over the dead at the base of the
City of Might.
   With so few troops, he had no way of determining the enemy's strengths.
Every last man had been needed to repulse the attacks; there were not enough
to spare for a reconnaissance mission. Reinforcements were unlikely; no
contact had been had with the main Dark Angels force in several days, and the
Emperor's Light Chapter of Marines were not expected for three weeks. More
Imperial Guard legions were due to arrive continuously in the days following
the first landing, but they would no doubt have their hands full upon
arrival. And Ezekial's detachment was a long way from the Guard's projected
landing points.
   Sacrificing themselves uselessly against the waves of Eldar was
unacceptable. The Emperor's reserves were vast, and to die in His service a
great honor -- but to die in vain would cast yet more shame upon Ezekial, and
upon his Chapter. Retreat was also unacceptable, although in this case there
was nowhere to retreat to: the Eldar had them efficiently boxed in.
   No, the only alternatives available were to die, and take as many Eldar
with them as possible, or to find an entrance inside the City of Might. From
such a vantage point, Ezekial was confident they could fend off the hordes of
aliens trying to bring them down.
   An explosion ten meters away signaled the end of their repreive. Through
the dust and swirling smoke his armor's photovisors could make out the
approach of the brightly-clad Eldar warriors. Grimly clutching their
weapons, they stalked forward. They would soon in be range. His decision had
been made for him.

[continued in Part III]
Received on Mon Jul 21 1997 - 01:37:31 UTC