Fighting With Faith- Thirty-Ninth Entry


Starut cursed. Not only was he cheated into thinking he had control over the Biovores, but he was also tricked into protecting them as they moved around, receiving orders from the unseen Hive mind, millions of kilometers into the depths of space and probably several hundred millions of organisms deep in its own festering bowels of the hive ship.
The advancing tide of enemy transports was like a wave of roaring metal, surging forward at incredible speeds, kicking up great clouds of dust and soot, plunging forward to lay waste the defenders of the warehouse walls.

A nearby hulking form of a Biovore spewed out its spore mines, giving an obscene belching sound as moist and sticky fluid spurted out of its opening on its wet and stretched back, flinging a cluster of spores into the advancing enemy. Although livid over his assigned mission, Starut was somewhat still satisfied with the positive contributions his brood of Biovores was doing. Hopefully, after this battle, Master Barnel would see fit to reward him with enhancements. They had managed to severely damage the advancing Titan, rendering its left arm unusable, probably unfixable till battle’s end. However they had not managed to thwart the many advancing enemy Chimera transports, of which Starut was sure had already infiltrated into certain parts of the warehouse, disgorging its troops.

Starut smiled at the thought of the hidden Ripper swarms, Hormagaunts and Termagaunts broods lying in wait along the walls, waiting to spring an ambush at the right time.
The dim room which Starut and his brood were in shuddered. Starut simply shrugged it off. It was merely an explosion, possibly a direct hit on an ammunition dump or a breach in the wall several levels down.

Starut’s cultist group of fifteen was huddled around the room, one of the hundreds of cultist groups deployed along the warehouse walls giving fire support to the defense effort. The room was dusty and dim, the only source of light coming from a massive crack on the wall which the Biovores spewed their spore mines through. Blocks of rockrete and rubble lay strewn around the room, giving the cultist ample makeshift seats and covering positions as they aimed their various range weapons to the oncoming mass of enemies and firing. Their weapons ranged from converted, looted or self-constructed weapons. Among such were laspistols, bolt pistols, lasguns, and even heavy support variants of missile launchers and lascannons.

“Starut!” Cultist Shaolsen, who was covering the backdoor, called out from behind, “Enemy troops broken in! They’re in the South hanger-directly beneath us. We have orders to hold our position and resume bombardment.” He said as the room shuddered lightly once more, sending dust raining down upon them.

“Got it.” Starut said as he sighted several straggling soldiers running towards the breach in the wall along the barrel of his converted lasgun and firing upon them. The soldiers were clambering out of an overturned Chimera transport, probably bombed out from the defenses on the walls. Several figures fell, too dusty and distant to properly identify their features. One figure, probably a medic, stopped and turn, running back to the victims. Starut laughed out aloud and aimed at his head. With the bobbing head of the medic directly in his scope, Starut fired.

Detonations, gunshots and shouting could be heard from the corridor outside the room now. The fighting seemed to be getting nearer, no less intense. Starut could hear the horrifying, yet assuring shrieks of various Tyranid organisms making their way to the source, in return receiving harsh chattering of lasguns and grenades. Starut could also make out the disturbing sounds of Asat Guardsmen screaming, being massacred as millions of years of evolving alien genes turned upon them, killing and slaughtering at insane speeds.

“Group! Form up at exit door, we shall thwart any attempts by the enemy to break into our room- protect the Biovores at all costs!” Starut bellowed over the cacophony of las shots and explosions.

Starut’s cultist group immediately filed out of the door, making quick sprints to covered areas along the corridor. Starut gestured for five of his cultists to cover the others as they moved down the corridor, nearing the tube shafts and emergency stairwells at the end of it.
The corridor was sparsely lit with glow globes hanging at the sides of it. Cracks and fault lines ran along the walls, as though the very matter of the warehouse was rupturing. Light shudders reverberated through the corridor, drawing cautious glances from the cultists around them and dust and rockrete to flake down upon them.

“Starut, behind. Hormagaunts.” Shaolsen shouted from behind.
Starut immediately stepped out of the way, into an alcove in the wall, just in time to see the slick and glistening forms of several Hormagaunts leaping towards the stairwell, claws extended and fangs revealed menacingly. The Hormagaunts seemed to not have noticed Starut and his group.
Why would they? They’re simply organisms with simple skills. Starut thought to himself.

Starut shuddered. He glanced warily around; making sure no one saw it. He may have served in the cult since it had formed several years ago, but he had not gotten used to the horrifying nature of such aliens.

Starut found it queer that though so different in traits and genes, they served the same purpose. Eradication of the weakling Imperium and perfecting their gene pool was their cause. However the deeds, thinking and philosophy of Starut and such Tyranid creatures were worlds, if not galaxies apart. Sometimes Starut wondered who was in charge.

The Hive fleet provided much-needed Tyranid warriors, numbering in the millions. The cultists in return sowed the seeds for corruption within the Imperium; ready to receive the benefactions and reinforcements form the unseen Hive Mother.
So far, Starut could not perceive the answer, the intricacies of politics amongst the Master cultist and Tyranids seemed to contain information Starut felt he was not capable of understanding yet, or maybe even comprehending.

The detonation of a frag grenade beyond the door he was hiding behind snapped him out of his reverie. The door swung open violently, smacking Starut hard on the face.

“Shit!” Starut hissed as he rubbed his sore nose. Starut stepped back out into the corridor, regrouping with his group. A sucking sound caught his attention as he walked down the corridor. Starut looked down. The floor was covered in slime, probably excreted by the many Tyranid organisms passing through it. Starut cursed.

The corridor was shaking visibly now. Small, thin crack lines could be seen wounding along the walls, and small chips of rockrete began pelting the cultists within. This caused Starut to wish he would be given the order to withdraw from the walls as soon as possible.

“No shafts.” Starut said as he walked past the tube shafts and towards the stairwell. Several cultist groups that had received similar orders to hold the walls emerged from nearby rooms, some covered in ash and rockrete fragments, entering the long and spiraling stairwell to provide resistance at the lower levels. “Can’t you all think? A stray bullet to the shaft is all we need to end up at the bottom under rubble.” Starut said irritably, annoyed at the quizzical glances from his cultists.

Starut and his group clambered down the stairwell, occasionally pausing to look over the railings. They were six floors above and all Starut could see was fellow cultists and Tyranids clambering, scampering and skittering down the stairs. The obnoxious mutants were already deployed at the lower levels, their vast numbers and expendability earning them their place in the defense.

Starut soon reached the bottom, looking at a scene which Starut himself felt so minute and vulnerable. The vastness of the South Hanger was displayed before him, with its high vaulted ceilings above the hanger that stretched over half a kilometre long and nearly a kilometre wide. Long cylindrical silos, suspended engines, broken down machineries and now corpses littered the area. From his perception, Starut estimated several thousands of cultists were already present in this hanger, with the same number or even more Asat Guardsmen pouring into the breach in the wall at the far end of the hanger.

The hanger was a war-zone; its walls were on the verge of crumbling, obviously not built to withstand such a pummeling. Fire and explosions were occurring throughout the compound, with grenades and gun chatter adding to the cacophony. Far ahead, near the breach in the walls, Starut could make out Tyranid and mutant forces combating the invading Asat Guardsmen. Even from where he was standing, Starut could hear the desperate screams and shrieks from the combatants.

A cultist group dashed past him, its leader bellowing orders for them to seek cover amongst the ruins and machines. Several groups ahead of him were forming up behind a collapsed silo, getting ready to mount a counter-attack at a weak point perceived in the Asat Guardsmen assault formation. Several rocket contrails flew over the hanger, ending in a fiery blast of heat over at the other side of the hanger. Gunshots, shouting and explosions were ever present.

Starut gestured for his group to join the converging cultist groups. As he neared, Starut nodded, calling out the other groups’ captain names as he was familiar with them and indicating their support.

The captains nodded, one of them, who Starut knew by the name of Altin, called him over.

“Starut!” Altin yelled “We are going to sneak around their spearhead, hitting them from the right side.” Altin said as he looked at Starut, eyebrows raised. “You got that?” He inquired.

“Yes!” Starut shouted back. “Orders are to hold the walls at all costs?” He said.

“Yes. I assume you too, and everyone else around here!” Altin yelled, gesturing to the running figures of cultists all around them.

Starut was about to reply when a whistle was blown. It was high pitch, piercing through the mighty roar of the battle.

“That’s our call! CHARGE!” Altin bellowed to everyone as the three hundred or so assembled cultists began making their way over collapsed silos, wrecked machines, burnt out husks of vehicles and hideously mangled corpses.

Starut began running, taking extra care not to trip over any pipes and debris on the floor. He could see the yellow coloured uniform of the Asat Guardsmen, spitting on the ground in distaste. Several of them turned and saw the approaching wave of cultists; however they were silenced before they could utter a word.

They looked like stains in the hanger begging to be cleared! Starut thought.

“Shit, shit!” A cultist beside him hollered in pain as a las round through his right thigh. Starut looked down at the prone figure and grunted. He could not afford to stop and help him. Killing was needed to be done, not saving. He thought.
Even if there was no killing to be done, I wouldn’t be bothered either. Starut thought to himself again.

Starut charged on, shooting occasionally at a passing enemy as the cultist wave neared the weak point in the Asat Guard’s assault formation. If they were to succeed, Starut knew the forward elements of the enemy’s attack would be cut off from the main force, giving the cultists, Tyranids and mutants forces ample time to slaughter them and marshal their forces. From there, with the spearhead of the enemy’s attack blunted, it would be possible to repel the remaining Asat elements within the hanger.

***

The cultist wave smashed into the Asat force. Men died within seconds as their enemies came out from nowhere and killed them. Bayonets, blades and guns were stabbed and shot into the backs of the unbeknownst soldiers, drawing pathetic cries from their drowning throats as blood, bone and sinews tore and splatter. Several Asat Guardsmen however did manage to realise the direction from which their assailants came from and fired upon them.

However, as how a well drilled military body reacts to sudden situations, the remaining Asat Guard army eventually turned upon them, drawing out close combat weapons and flinging curses at the cultists. The cultists responded with eerie silence, gesturing the Guardsmen to put their words into action and leaping into bitter melee.

Starut swirled around, slashing and hacking away. He was skilled in the art of close combat and soon he was covered in the blood of his enemies. He breathed heavily as he beheaded another Asat Guardsmen, with more blood splattering onto him. Starut blinked away the grime and sweat in his eyes and looked around. The cultists were fighting hard, with many dead Guardsmen already at their feet. However their numbers were little compared to the still reinforcing Guardsmen coming in from the breach. This could not go on.

“CULTIST!” Starut bellowed over the cacophony of grunting, screaming and cursing. “WE CANNOT HOLD THEM, RETREAT!” he said as he turned his back on the fighting and fled. Cultists that head him turned and fled too, joining Starut as they made their way back to friendly lines.

Starut began running away, stopping occasionally to snap off a shot or two from his converted las pistol as the pursuing enemies. He continued this way for five minutes before realising his mistake.

Starut was lost. After all the intense fighting, he had forgotten from which way they had attacked. He now traveled through unfamiliar parts of the hanger, occasionally chancing upon a cowering or injured enemy and ending his misery.

“Shaolsen, split up. We can’t be caught together. Whatever happens, meet up back with the Biovores. Take care.” Starut said, as he turned right heading down a small avenue littered with collapsed silos and burning materials.

“Yes Starut. May the Hive Mother watch over you.” Shaolsen replied as he turned the other way and continued running.”

The other cultists were left to decide whom to follow, several branching off, finding their own way.

Starut had no time to stop to watch Shaolsen go, but deep inside he felt a twang of sadness. Shaolsen is a good soldier, he thought. He fights, listens and obeys. He was also a thinking soldier, which further proved his worth to Starut.

Starut continued walking. He trod quietly through the ruins, careful to make as little noise as possible and gesturing for the other cultists following him to do the same. He also was on full alert, constantly observing his surroundings to detect anything moving.
A sound of crushing metal could be heard from ahead. Starut stopped, straining to hear what the sound could be.

What is causing such a sound? He thought as he resumed his pace and neared the source of the sound.

As he neared, the sound of crushing metal became louder; it seemed as though the metals being crushed had feelings and were screaming in agony at their disposition. Starut soon saw what was causing it and whirled around. Without a word, he began sprinting from where he had come from, telling himself to never look back.

The loyal cultists that still followed him stood dumbfounded, looking at the running figure of Starut, only to soon realise their folly a moment to late and were mowed down gruesomely by twin-link bolters mounted on advancing Chimera transports. The wave of metal machines with the strong and bold Asat Guard emblem engraved onto its front hull moved onward, spiting bolter shells into the flailing and writhing bodies ahead of it. Several cultists did managed to react in time to run away, however many more were shot mercilessly down.

Heedless of his dying brethren, Starut ran and ran and ran.