Warhammer 40,000 - The Scouring of Belgade

[Primarch]

'For Russ and the Emperor!'
The battle cry roared from the speakers of their armour as eleven grey clad figures burst from beneath the frozen surface of the Belgade River. Bolt pistols spat fiery death as chunks of ice and sheets of water sprayed off their bodies.
The greenskins nearest the shore died in seconds, their bodies split apart like over-ripe fruit as the Space Wolves bolts found their mark.
With a feral grin beneath his helm, Durfast Spiritwolf, revelled in the deaths of the hated xenos. His plan had worked perfectly, utilising the air supplies built into their suits of power armour, Lord Spiritwolf and his Wolf Guard had advanced along the bottom of the frozen river, right into the heart of the Ork defences.
Even as the enhanced forms of the marines stepped foot upon the banks of the river the Orks were rallying to the defence. Gouts of water and ice sprayed up around the marines as the Orks returned fire. Whilst individually the Orks were poor shots, Durfast knew that en mass the posed a threat even to the thick armour of his warriors. 'Into them my lads, a cask of ale for whoever fells the biggest of these brutes!'
A fearsome howl erupted from his men as they sprinted up the muddy slope as easily as mortal men might stroll through a meadow. Chain blades revved and power fists crackled with energy as the warriors of the Imperium closed the distance with the Ork mob before them. In response, the Orks bellowed their hatred and with no care for tactics or strategy launched themselves towards the hulking figures of the onrushing Astartes.

Durfast ducked a clumsy blow from a choppa and decapitated it's wielder with a back hand swing of his frost blade even as he blocked another attack with his storm shield. The head of the Ork dropped to the ground, the blood steaming as it touched the frozen surface of the earth.
Keeping one eye on the readout within his visor and another on the swirling melee, Durfast kept himself appraised of the status of his company. Far away, across the opposite bank, Grey Hunters and Blood Claws were engaged with the vanguard of the Ork horde. The electronic readout provided him with data as quickly as his mind could process it, showing victories and losses, heroism and sacrifice as his men pushed forward into the alien horde arrayed before them.
Seven weeks previously the Space Wolves had made planet fall on Malgorn, and for seven weeks they had been pushing back the green tide of xenos until finally trapping them in the city of Belgade. Now his men moved from building to building, cleansing the rubble of the taint of the alien with bolter and sword. Both Durfast, and the men of his Great Company had sworn oaths of moment that they would purge this world of the menace that plagued it, bringing it back into the Imperial fold and under the control of the Warders of the Maelstrom. Chapter Master Huron himself had taken Durfast Spiritwolf's oath and affixed it to the pauldron of his armour.

Switching his attention back to his own situation, Durfast saw that the morale of the Orks was beginning to break. Already several boyz were splitting off from the fight and sprinting for the shadows.
'Cut them down, let none survive!' Durfast's command was largely unnecessary, the veterans of his personal guard all having many decades of fighting aliens and heretics throughout the realms of man. Spinning on his heel, Durfast kicked out, breaking an Orks thigh before pulverising it's skull with the energy field of his shield.

A mighty bellow of WAAARGH sounded from behind. Durfast turned to see a new mob of Orks sprinting across a nearby bridge. Significantly larger than the boyz they were currently fighting, it looked like the Wolf Guard had attracted the attention of the Ork elite. 'Finally, something worthy of a line in a saga' chuckled Jorgen off to Durfast's right. 'And a chance to win that ale.' responded Ulfgar over the vox.
Running his eyes over the information on his men's condition scrolling past in his peripheral vision, Durfast made his choice. 'Sven, Jorga, Vald, finish this scum off. Everyone else, with me'. Despite his troop's levity, Durfast knew the coming clash would be bloody. The seven Wolf Guard formed up on their lord as they broke off to engage the new foe.

The fresh opponent's were proving to be a tough proposition indeed. Already stout Halen was dead, a power klaw shearing him in two and old Balder was unconscious on the ground, his augmented body struggling to cope with the damage inflicted on his powerful frame. The Orks weren't having it all their own way though. At least five of the Orks were down, though Durfast knew that they could still pose a threat if not finished off properly.
A huge Ork bullied it's way to the front of the combat. A massively built klaw clacking together as it knocked another Ork prone to get to Durfast. Sensing that this must be the leader of the horde, the Wolf Guard moved back to give Durfast room to fight. The Orks likewise scuttled out of the Warboss's way, fearful of it's wrath.
Durfast struck first, his blade, Frosthowl tearing a ragged chunk of green flesh from the bicep of the massively muscled Ork. The Warboss swung back, its klaw clattering against Durfast's sword arm. Reacting with lightning reflexes, the Wolf Lord quickly brought his arm out of harms way as the klaw closed around thin air. Spittle flying from it's mouth, the greenskin roared it's frustration and swung it's klaw again. This time Durfast was ready, the crude energy field of the klaw throwing up fat yellow sparks as he deflected the blow with his shield. As the klaw skittered across the screen of force, scrabbling to find a purchase and chop through, Durfast swung Frosthowl overhead and into the thick gnarled skin of the Warboss's forehead. The shimmering blade bit deep into the Ork's skull, slicing apart bone and brain.
Despite the atrocious wound the Ork remained upright and continued to batter at Durfast's shield. With it's free hand, the Ork reached up, feeling around, until it's fingers closed around the haft of the axe. The lord of the wolves could only watch in astonishment as the Ork wrenched the blade free of it's shattered head. Blood and bits of cranium flying free as it did so.
Now weaponless, Durfast struggled under the blows from the power klaw as the Ork swung blindly back and forth. Realising that a lucky blow could spell his undoing, Durfast took two steps back and drew his pistol. As the Ork staggered forward, Durfast stepped back inside the Ork's reach, keeping the klaw away with his shield before pushing the bolt pistol's bronzed muzzle against the ruined remains of the Ork's head and emptying the clip into the beast's neck. One after another the bolts exploded within the body of the mighty warboss, ripping it apart in a shower of green gore. As one the Orks let out a wail of despair at seeing their champion defeated, then they leapt back into the fray, eager to avenge their loss.

[kris]

That's a great read! I just love this kind of fanfiction.
You should write some more!

[Primarch]

That's a great read! I just love this kind of fanfiction.
You should write some more!

Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

[Seb]

Me too, thank you for a very good read.

[jus]

oh fluff section, awesome.

mmm...a touch o' class. That was a good yarn. What happens next? chapter master Huron eh? sounds like this can be a precursor story for a badab wars entry. How's that brother captain durfast model coming along anyway?

[Primarch]

oh fluff section, awesome.

mmm...a touch o' class. That was a good yarn. What happens next? chapter master Huron eh? sounds like this can be a precursor story for a badab wars entry. How's that brother captain durfast model coming along anyway?

Thats Wolf Lord, not Brother Captain.
And you can check out the model in my log.