Damn this is some coolio stance. One of the nices I have seen ever. 

Fighting With faith- Thirty-Fourth Entry

The twin suns were reaching the apex of their ascent in the luminescent yellow sky. The troop column marched down the winding dusty mountain ridges, the cacophony of boots marching and soldiers’ muttering were drowned out by the howling winds, creating vivid orange swirling pillars of irritable sand spins, drawing an occasional curse by soldiers when sediments flew into their eyes, mouth and ears.

The troop column stretched for nearly a kilometre, with twenty-five companies compromising it. The recent cultist uprising in the main hall was brutally but effectively taken down. Losses were at minimum; fourteen injured and two dead.

Bel Company was amongst the troop column, somewhere in the mid section of it. Its associates within it were having no better a time then having foot drills under the twin suns’ hateful glare.

Benlian marched in silence, with a fidgety Joil Trong at his side. their boots kicked up sudden swirls of sand which sailed gracefully through the air before disspating into nothingness again. Both had their lasguns slung around their shoulders, always at arms length ready to be reached in case of trouble. They had been marching for an hour and had no idea how long it will be before they reached their destination.

After fifteen minutes, a call was sounded from the front, initiating for everyone to stop. They had reached the foot of the mountain, at long last.

Here, the environment was different. More greenery grew on the ground, and boulders of various sizes, most likely ones that fell off the treacherous mountain slopes, lay about on the ground. Not far off, was their prime target; the huge, massive warehouse. An air of corruption and hysteria seem to enshroud it, standing in the middle of nowhere, amongst ruins of other manufactorium structures of varying sizes.

The companies were made to assemble around the clearing to which they had arrived. It was a natural shelter; tall, mysterious rocks were erected at random around, as through a huge hand was trying to pierce through the ground.

The companies partaking in this massively coordinated assault on the main warehouse had already been extensive briefed on the plans, tactics and stratagems that they would adopt for this mission.

Three hundred and fifty companies were to assault the main warehouse from fourteen different insertion points, with another fifty companies in reserve. When broken into, the fourteen insertion groups would then conduct a clearing of the compound, destroying, purging, and cleansing any foul Tyranid entity.

Bel Company was in the fifth allocation of insertion points, where their main objective was to break into a breach of the warehouse wall and make their way to the main generatorium of the compound. They would then plant charges which would detonate to bring about a sudden energy loss to the Tyranid worshippers. After that, their job was done and they were to assist and support other insertion groups if possible.

Benlian could practically recite the whole mission plan out fifty times but still couldn’t see how the hell they could breach the walls. It stood high at over five stories and breaching it the conventional way would be suicidal.

Suddenly, a low, distant booming sound could be heard. All chatter ceased as everyone turned their heads to see where this ominous sound was coming from. Then, after two agonising minutes of waiting and straining their eyes and ears, a figure began to emerge from the mountainside, amidst swirling dust and sand.

“Holy Lords of Terra...” Joil gasped out aloud. His eyes grew wider then his mouth as he, along with everyone else, raised their heads to take in the full view of the deity which stood before them.

The thick, gothic fonts of the name, “AZRAEL” was emblazoned beneath its heavily armoured metal of a cockpit, with leering forms of gargoyles and Imperial Aquila engraved on its sides. Bristling with guns and turrets of various sorts, Benlian could recognise a Volcano Cannon mounted on the forefront of its right arm of metal meat. Its left arm sported a weapon of mass destruction which Benlian had no recognition of.

It stood at over forty metres tall; towering high above even the largest edifice of rock on the plain. Its legs were thick and powerful; mighty pistons and cables pumping and lifting. Small, bounded servitors could be seen manning small arms along the length of the giant. Several seemed to be fused into the machine as merely auxiliary purposes

It raised its right hand to bring it up against its cockpit head, in a smart salute of equal purpose to the troops down on the ground.

It was painted in black; a warning; an omen. It was a Titan.

Fighting With Faith- Thirty-Third Entry

After many months of training, Benlian, along with the rest of his company and others, instinctively fell prone to the ground. They had no natural cover around them and had to resort to detaching their bulky backpacks from their backs and lay it horizontally on the ground in between themselves and the back of the hall.

The various companies around the hall had already begun forming tight defensive perimeters amongst themselves. Bel Company itself with its twenty men strong force had begun scrambling nearer towards each other, forming a compact but complimentary square shape. All guns were drawn, raised and pointing ostentatiously towards the scene at the end of the hall which was escalating alarmingly. A new soldier had been drawn from the Asat Guard reserve detachments and replaced Zeralton’s place.

It seemed the cultists were more then enough for the Arbites currently present in the hallowed mess hall to suppress as bullets began whizzing past the air overhead Benlian, drawing fluent streams of curses from the mouths of everyone.

Marcum yelped in utter surprise as several bullets ricocheted off the rockrete floor several metres ahead of him and slammed home into his backpack.

“HOLY THR-” Marcum managed to bellow over the intensifying firefight before a frag grenade exploded somewhere at the end of the hall.

Klaxons began sounding off the walls, high shrill digital screaming being amplified even further from the vox-boxes.

Through the hissing whizzes of flying bullets overhead and shouts ricocheting and resounding off the hall walls, Benlian calmly signaled for everyone to wear their helmets with micro-beads attached onto their heads.

“Loud and clear everyone?” Benlian hissed into his micro-bead strapped across at the base of his chin whilst removing the safe catch off his lasgun and checking its ammunition bay.

“Loud and clear.” chorused Bel Company in reply.

Benlian raised his head, a mere millimeter or two above the covering of his backpack, but had to withdraw his head in a split second reaction, as he saw several gun muzzles flashing in his direction.

He lay prone on the ground, already beginning to breathe in shallow gasps as he recited a litany of grace to the Emperor. Bullets begun to pepper onto the other side of his backpack, causing the usually heavy and immobile object to judder and pulse, as though reacting to the high explosive rounds being pumped into it. He had been this close to death.

Benlian tried a different method; he gently nudged his backpack to a side, whilst remaining prone on the ground. Shralk, lying prone beside him turned his head to face Benlian with a quizzical look, but soon understood what Benlian was doing and gave a curt nod.

The scene ahead was something unimaginable in one of the most guarded compounds of the Asat Guard. Already several Asat Guardsmen and Arbites officers were on the ground, several injured with varying degrees of injuries. Two appeared to be dead; motionless on the ground. A smoky odour had begun to clog the hall as several more grenades were propelled towards areas of the hall.

Benlian strained his eyes against the rising steam and smoke. Somewhere ahead, he could make out around a dozen or more cultists, in their Asat Guard uniforms, with their backs facing the doors at the end of the hall. They were spraying their lasguns on full auto into the cowering Imperial soldiers and Arbites officers, yelling streams of curses upon the sacred Imperium’s name. They had a fanatical, almost insane look on their faces. A look of people utterly corrupted and manifested by the enemy without.

The sight of men of the same race, bearing the same insignia upon their uniforms, turning their guns upon fellow, hapless soldiers, was etched deeply forever into Benlian’s mind.

Benlian’s blood boiled. This can not be tolerated.

Benlian spent another minute observing the hall; its eight colossal adamantium pillars and alcoves built on either side of the hall. Several companies were already taking cover behind the bullet ridden pillars, snapping off occasional pot shots towards the enemy.

After a quick assessment of the situation, Benlian replaced his backpack and turn around on the ground to lean back on his backpack. A mental map was already formed in his mind as he began issuing orders to his company.

“Squad Belues, take a sprint to the pillar to your left, hunker down into the alcove beside it and report when reached. Squad Belart, same for you but head to the right. Forget your backpacks, go.” Benlian whispered competently into his micro-bead.
“Report when reached, affirmative.” Came the reply from the other squad leader of Squad Belues, Kennil Chihaot in an unusual low growl. He was usually a chirpy, light-hearted fellow but it seemed he had another side to him when battle came.

It was fortunate for Bel Company that they were quite a distance from the main fighting scene as they abandoned their position and filed quickly across the hall to either side. However, as the battle raged on, more pock marked holes were carved into the ground around them.

Benlian reached the alcove, stooping low to shuffle deeper into it as the rest of his squad eased into the alcove.

Almost at the same moment, when the last of his men filed in, came in the crackling voice over the micro-bead.

“Report when reached, affirmative.” Kennil said.

“Squad Belues, file down the alcove until you reach the last pillar. Do not step out, remain in alcove. Report when reached, go.”

“Report when reached, affirmative.”

Benlian gestured for his squad to follow him. Stooping low and lasgun slung over their shoulders, Squad Belart trooped down the tightly spaced alcove and proceeded nearer to the fiery fight.

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Men were sprawled on the ground, some with multiple wounds across their bodies. There were already several pools of blood flowing freely from the wounds. Benlian couldn’t tell which were cultists and which were not. The scene and structure of the fight was no different then what Benlian had witnessed earlier when they reached the last pillar. Both sides were stubborn to budge as they hugged walls, lay prone, or hid behind tables. In between them, bullets laced the air as though it was raining with bullets showering horizontally.

“Report when reached, affirmative.” Kennil’s voice suddenly sounded into Benlian’s ear.

Benlian was startled for a moment, suddenly aware of a voice in his ear. He was so focused on treading down the alcove without being noticed that he had forgotten the presence of Squad Belues, in such a similar state at the other side of the roiling hall.

“On my mark, head straight on through the alcove, until the end. Jump out of it and take down the enemy. Report when reached, affirmative.”

“Report when reached, affirmative. Emperor protects and see you when all this is over.” Kennil replied with a sense of pride and respect for such an execution by Benlian. An thinking soldier himself, Kennil knew that the cultists stood no further then five metres from the pair of pillars at the end of the hall and they would be taken by surprise. He almost laughed out aloud.

“One, two, mark!” Benlian exclaimed into the micro-bead as Squad Belart and Belues scrambled out of cover, into the dumbfounded and shocked faces of the cultists.

Long, shiny bayonets planted firmly onto lasguns punctuated the skin, cloth and muscles of the cultists as they were hacked mercilessly down by ferocious Asat Guard soldiers.

Benlian was at the front of the spearhead, kicking, punching, crushing and killing as he stomped through the rumpled ranks of the cultists. His squad mates followed suit as they brutally killed more cultists. They were punching into the right flank of the enemy force, effectively carving a trail of dead bodies and dying people in their wake. Across the other side of the hall, Benlian could hear vicious howls and bellows of anger.

The shooting almost immediately ceased at once as the cultists realised the new threat and turned around to deal with it.The Asat troops also ceased firing as they sighted Bel Company fighting amongst the enemy.

Ahead of Benlian, a cultist, previously lying prone on the ground, leaped gingerly to his feet. He smiled menacingly as he flexed and unclenched his fingers and fists. Benlian spared no further observation as he charged towards the enemy.

The cultist was more agile then Benlian expected as he capered to a side, narrowly avoided the blood dripping bayonet.

Benlian cursed out aloud as he ducked to avoid being decapitated by a huge blade being suddenly drawn out and swung wildly between the cultist’s hands. He was laughing hysterically as he stepped forward to deal the killing blow.

It never came.

Kennil Chihaot, fearsome in his full battle dress, reared over behind the cultist, his towering figure dwarfing the already slim and tall cultist. Kennil slammed the butt of his lasgun onto the side of the cultist’s head, breaking bone, blood vessels and brain. The force of such an impact immediately knocked him off his feet and he fell to the ground, like a rag doll, dead instantly.

Benlian looked up to see the blood smeared but yet warm and kind features of Kennil, He offered out a hand which Benlian grasped tightly and haul himself up to his feet.

“Report when reached, affirmative.” Kennil reported as a grin began to form on his face.