HAVOK - THE COMBAT REPORTS

Most of the troops that were released for Havok came with a little data card that both gave the troops rules and had short fiction that went alongside.

Here we have the fiction archived for your enjoyment

1 - TROOPER

The order crackled across the com-net:

"PREPARE TO ADVANCE AND HOLD FIRE - ADVANCE''

A thousand Imperial Troopers closed ranks and formed their attack column.

At six hundred metres the enemy heavy assault cannons engaged, releasing searing bursts of laser that cut through the dense ranks. On they marched. Three hundred metres from the lines, enemy small arms tore into them. Troopers in the front of the column were cut down, but the ranks behind stepped forward, over the bodies of their comrades, to take their place of honour at the front of the column. A hundred metres out they hit the defence mines before breaking through the laser wire. Finally at 25 metres the order came:

''HALT - PREPARE TO CHARGE!''

The chatter of a hundred sluggers being cocked was barely audible above the maelstrom of fire.

Svengis smiled. This is what he had been promised. His Emperor had not disappointed him. The enemy line looked strong but these rebels lacked Imperial discipline. Svengis broke himself from his calm reflection as the awaited order was barked over the headset:

"CHARGE!"

Thirty troopers leapt forwards.

Svengis gave a scream of joy as his slugger jerked its death song into the foe. A moment later, his weapon empty, he was running, power sword in hand towards the first of the enemy trenches.

On a ridge a thousand metres away, Warmaster Hengist watched with satisfaction as the attack column finally withered and died.

"The diversion has succeeded in pinning the enemy reserves. Launch the main attack."

Svengis lay on his back and looked skyward. His body was broken and shattered. All was quiet. He turned his head slowly to the right, the enemy line was perhaps five metres away. He thought to crawl forward, he still had his frag bombs, but the pain returned and he sighed softly, as everything closed to darkness.

2 - WARRIOR

Ketcha stood in the centre of the ring.The day had come when he would become a Klan Warrior and return honour to his kin, or die and so find rest from his shame.The dishonour of his father had led to their family being struck from the lists of the warrior caste. None from outside the caste could assume the mantle of a Klan Warrior and to the Karn - if you are not a warrior you are nothing. Only by undergoing the Trial of "Hassim-Ra" could Ketcha restore himself to the warrior caste and so regain his family's honour.

Ketcha cast his eyes around the warriors who lined the ring. They were seasoned veterans, the same council that had ruled against his father. Ketcha could feel their hard stare and the enmity they held for him. But he would not cower before them and he drew upon his courage to hold their stare and mask the doubts that ran through his mind. The dirt circle seemed to shrink as his opponent stepped into the ring.The warrior was powerfully built, his body and arms well muscled. The thick pink scars of many such contests stood out from his tanned body and Ketcha wondered how many had gone before him and faced this warrior.The warrior stood before him. Each man assessed the other, searching for the smallest sign of weakness. l am the Guardian of the List. Defeat me and your name shall be etched onto the roll of warriors. Fail and your life is forfeit. Do you accept?"
Ketcha nodded, not wanting to risk a reply less his voice fail him.Both warriors stepped back and drew their Klectas, the curved fighting dagger used by the Karn. They leveled their blades towards their opponent as a mark of honour and acknowledgement before a single dull drum beat signified that combat commence.The warrior did not hesitate: as soon as the drum sounded he launched into a furious attack. The blades glistened as both men wove intricate arcs, punctuated by the shrill ring of steel on steel. The warrior was highly skilled and twice Ketcha felt his opponent's blade glance across his right arm. The warm blood running down his arm made the grip on his own weapon sticky and unsure.

Ketcha felt the strength draining from him. He summoned his courage and hurled himself forward in a bid to unsettle his opponent. The warrior was forced onto the defensive and took step after step backwards before the fury of Ketcha's assault. But the older warrior judged his opponent's desperation and as he reached the edge of the ring, stepped swiftly sideways. Catching Ketcha's forearm with his left hand he punched the blade of his Klecta into the young man's side.

Ketcha fell to his knees, trying once to rise before falling to the ground. Looking upwards he saw the warrior standing over him. He knelt beside Ketcha and whispered:

"Go in peace. You have died as a warrior."

Ketcha felt no pain as the blade of the warrior's Klecta pierced under his left armpit and lanced his heart. He faintly heard the assembled warriors give the death shout in honour of the fallen as all faded to darkness

3- DARKEST SUNS

The thick clouds of brooding smoke hung in the air. They had all but consumed the morning sun and rolled out towards each horizon as the fertile land yielded itself to the flame.

Soon the Darkest Suns would etch one more bloody conquest in their hall of glory.

Mildrenkor and his warriors stood on the planet surface. All around them the battle raged. More than six hundred warriors were here in this one valley. Each squad had been given a tactical target: Mildrenkor and his men were to take the trench position before them.

Dust and ash blasted their body armour as the drop ship rose into the acrid sky. Mildrenkor settled once more into the familiar, cold detachment of command. Adjusting his scanners to local conditions, he checked his position.

He could see that the Darkest Suns were winning but at a high cost. These were good opponents. Perhaps some of them could become auxiliary warriors and wear the Imperial crest. But first they would have to be cleansed and absorbed into the Empire.

There were more than three thousand enemy troops, mostly well armed. Yet it would make no difference. Mildrenkor had seen too many campaigns to doubt the outcome of this one. He barked his commands and the troopers responded instantly. Each followed their practised routines for a rapid assault of prepared defences.

Overhead the drop ship commenced the first of its attack runs on the enemy positions as the "Suns" moved forward to the attack. The air shimmered with the penetrating heat build up of a hundred Purgers. The savage flame weapons are the trade mark of the "Suns" and the scorched wastes of countless planets lie as testimony to their effectiveness.

One hundred metres from the enemy lines the "Suns" halted. The defending troops rushed from their bunkers to man the trench lines as the barrage from the drop ship lifted.
Yet before they could fully reach their positions Mildrenkor gave the command to fire.

The air before them erupted into flames, engulfing the enemy line.

Without hesitating, the 'Suns' charged, their sluggers dealing death to those that had survived. Within moments it was over. Mildrenkor and his 'Suns' fell to one knee, gave thanks for their victory and the further glory of the Karn.

High above in the atmosphere, aboard the assault ship "Purify", a new objective was identified for Mildrenkor and his men. Mildrenkor acknowledged his new orders and punched in the co-ordinates to his Battle-Com. The day would be long . . . and hot.

4 - KAI-UNES

Hengist stood at the centre of the Katechism.

The dim light allowed only the faintest outline to be seen of the twelve niches spaced evenly around the chamber. Inside each sat one of the Proctors, the regulators of Karnian military doctrine. This was to be his trial of worth. Success would entitle him to the 'Ritual of Becoming', where he would receive his Nanodroid implant. The Nanodroids would enter into his blood and travel his body, healing and repairing the effects of age. Hengist could expect to live for hundreds of years.

Failure in the trial, a moments hesitation, and he would be denied, he would live out the rest of his days and fight with honour. But the limitation of his natural life would prevent him from completing the years of training required of those aspiring to wield the baton of an Imperial General.

The order erupted from one of the niches behind him. The vibrations penetrating through his chest.
"Declare yourself!"
"l am Hengist, son of Brishkor of the Kaelii"

Then began the barrage of questions. Hour after hour they were shouted, the answers demanded of him. The echoes of questions answered filled the chamber, drove in upon his senses, pounded his brain, testing his will, his alertness, pressing the very limits of his sanity.

"What is your greatest weapon?"
"Initiative. Assail the enemy mind, crush his confidence, lead him to your will and drain his resolve."
"What is your worst enemy?"
"Fear, fear is the mind killer. It robs us of our initiative."
"When is the best time to attack?"
"Always, even in defence - attack. If not with troops with dis-information. Deny the enemy rest."
"When should you avoid battle?"
"When the enemy most seek it. An enemy can be led to defeat himself, through his own exertions."
"Who is the voice of the Emperor?"
"When in command on the field of battle mine is the voice of the Emperor"
"Kneel"
"The trial is a battle, the Katechism a battle field. Here I rule, I am the voice of the Emperor I kneel for no-one!"
"KNEEL!"

The order was repeated, Hengist did not move nor answer. The echoes still murmured around the chamber as Hengist heard the low grate of metal on stone. The gates had been opened. This would be the final part of the trial . . . combat.

He slowly turned, scanning the still darkness. Drawing his Klecta he crouched, controlling his breathing he tried to discern the sounds within the chamber. Hengist listened as they spread out around him. There were two of them. The first ran in . . . a mistake. The sound of his movement betrayed him. He fell, his scream cut short as Hengist's keen blade opened his neck. The second made his move, Hengist dropped to one knee the warm blood soaked through the course cloth of his students habit. He reversed the knife in his hand and swung his arm to the side and backwards catching his attacker in the chest.

The lights intensified, Hengist stood once more in the centre of the chamber. Two sharp claps from the assembled Proctors signified he had passed. He saluted stiffly and stepping over the body of his fallen brother left the Katechism.

**********

Four hundred years later Hengist pondered on his performance that day as he surveyed the battle field. The fight had been brief and bloody, yet at no time had he doubted that the victory would be theirs. The pattern of the enemy dead showed they had fought stubbornly. These were worthy foes, troops against whom a victory brought honour. The years of training had been demanding, yet he had excelled in every one of them. Today he would grant rest for his troops and give prayer; for his thousandth victory tasted sweet, as had his first. . .

5 - SUMA-KAI

The last of the attackers fell to the ground, cut down in a withering cross fire. The hill fell silent, though the sounds of battle, the plasma blasts and the screams of the dying still echoed in the ears of the survivors. Inside the bunker the Nexus troops looked out upon the carnage with stunned disbelief. The ferocity of the attack had shocked even the more seasoned warriors within the unit. Master Sergeant Klintz reported the SITREP:

"We've six dead and thirteen wounded but we estimate eighty-five enemy dead."

Commander Thorin nodded in satisfaction as he looked down on to the holo screen. "Thank you Sergeant. Tell the men to check ammunition. Sensors have detected movement on the perimeter. It looks as though they're sending in small assault squads."

The Nexus troopers scanned their designated firezones for movement. The hill seemed calm, a soft breeze gave life to the smoke. It caressed the bodies of the dead before slowly thinning, creating layered tendrils that stretched across the hillside. One by one, fresh shadows formed through the smoke, huge powerful forms. The horror on Sergeant Klintz's face was easy to read:

"SUMA-KAI''

His warning came too late for one fire team. The encasement exploded violently inwards tearing ragged chunks from the troopers caught in the explosion. The troopers automatically switched from thermal sights to optic as the first of the Heat Grenades blossomed on the hillside with a dull crump. Once again the sounds of battle encased each warrior in his own thoughts. Mentally the troopers switched to automatic, drawing on their training, their actions instinctive, instant.

Despite heavy fire, the attacking troops clawed their way forward. Their advance seemed almost effortless. Each member of the attacking force moved in sequence. Sergeant Klintz could not help admire their discipline, their movements were cool and deliberate. Their disregard for the defending fire was almost contemptuous.

Psychological balance of the battle tilted. The defenders ceased to see the bunker as an advantage; the thick walls no longer promised to protect them. This was their tomb, from here there could be no escape. Once the enemy had secured the main port, the clearance would begin. Slowly, room by room, they would be driven into the heart of the complex - it would only be a matter of time before they were all dead.

The moment's delay it took for the troopers to consider retreat sealed their fate. Two synchronised explosions and a frantic exchange over the comm net signalled that the main port had been taken. The fire on the hillside died down as the troopers faced inwards to fight the intruders.

Sergeant Klintz ran towards the main port to organise a defence team. As he turned the corner he was thrown backwards, his leg reduced to a mass of tattered flesh. He raised himself up on one elbow and swung his slugger round. Another blast tore into his arm and he felt the weapon fall from his grip. He looked upwards at the warrior before him.

The Suma-Kai stood almost seven feet tall. He was well muscled, his body firm and poised. Yet mostly it was the eyes that Klintz saw. Intense, confident, alert, devoid of emotion and proud. Klintz snatched at his proximity grenade, but the Suma-Kai was ahead of him. A strong hand cracked down on his neck, breaking the bones. Klintz felt his last breath slip from his lips as he looked into the face of his foe and the eyes of his Nemesis

6 - HEAVY WEAPONS

The Klan Warriors waited.

Elgrist cast his eye once more over the point in the road where he knew the mines to be hidden. The lead vehicle would trigger the ambush when it hit the first mine. His men would then open fire from their vantage point some thirty metres up the rocky slope that rose from this side of the road. The enemy troops would dive into the ravine on the far side of the road, there they would fall upon the anti-personnel mines. Elgrist was confident that the ambush would go well. Even so, he held one small reserve in case of trouble.

The three heavy weapon troopers sat in the shallow gully behind him. Each had been expertly trained in the use of his chosen weapon. These were elite warriors, they had kept to themselves during the preparations for the ambush, avoiding the distraction of idle chatter with Elgrist's warriors. Elgrist concentrated on the morning sounds. Barely audible was the regular high pitched squeaking of tank tracks. Elgrist pressed the throat mike closer to his neck and spoke softly,
'Hold fire until my order.'

Moments later the enemy column came into view. Six armoured personnel carriers ( APC's ). The lead vehicle was ten metres from the mines when suddenly the left track froze as the APC wheeled sharply to the left. The top mounted auto-cannons opened up as the Nexus troopers began pouring out from the vehicles that had now formed an armoured wall along the road below. Elgrist was stunned. His warriors, robbed of the element of surprise, were now outnumbered by a superior foe. Elgrist bellowed the command to his men,
'Open FIRE!'

The Klan warriors laid down a heavy fire but were out gunned. Elgrist checked his men, six had been killed and the remainder were fighting for their lives. They could not retreat, for to leave their cover and scramble back up the slope would make them easy targets. He turned back towards the vehicles below and threw one of his remaining grenades, swearing as it exploded harmlessly.

Suddenly the lead vehicle exploded in a ball of flame. The Nexus troopers that had been sheltering behind it were thrown violently into the air. Elgrist swung round to see one of the heavy weapon troopers lock onto a second target. The heavy barrage rig that he held above him still smoked from the last devastating salvo. The trooper braced himself once again as he fired the second salvo. Six of the 'Ripper' missiles exploded from the barrage rig. Thin smoke trails darted towards the second of the Nexus vehicles which a moment later was torn apart as the missiles lanced into it. The troopers backed away from the fireball. Elgrist's men picked them off with tight controlled bursts of slugger fire.

Another of the heavy weapon troopers now leapt up from the gully behind Elgrist. The Laser cannon pumped arm length bursts of intense laser energy into the mass below. They punched through the APC"s thinner armour sections. The vehicles hurriedly reversed from their positions. As they retreated the Nexus troopers were caught in the open, some scrambled into the ravine on the far side of the road. The antipersonnel mines exploded in quick succession dispatching all of the troopers who had sought safety there.

The last of the heavy weapon troopers now fired. The Heavy Slugger slung in front of his chest kicked violently as each round pounded into the troops below ,da-duuvv, da-duuuvv. Each round exploded on impact, the deadly shards of hardened Amitte erupting into the enemy nearby. The Nexus forces were now in full flight.
He smiled satisfied that the mission had been accomplished. In future he thought,
'l will always request a heavy weapons team!'

7- BATTLE FORM

The Klan Warden had spoken the words of enchantment for the Form Warriors of the Korps. Cruzar could feel his adrenal glands pulsing, his enhanced lungs started to draw larger and larger breaths. The thick cords of muscle that ran across his massive skeleton began to twitch and pulse, clearing themselves out before the assault.

He knew that this was to be a good day for the Korps. Another enemy would be neutralised. Today it was to be the people of some wayward system who would be re-absorbed into the Karn Empire. Rebellion would not be tolerated, Cruzar and his comrades would see to that.

He turned around to face his alto chamber. The chamber doors hissed open and Cruzar's Battle Form stood opposite him. It was twice his height and made of materials so hard that Cruzar had stopped concerning himself about its true nature. The surface of the suit was pitted and painted with various camouflage patterns and liveries from its exploits over the last four thousand years. Numerous tubes and cables fed into and out of the suit at several points and across its panels small dots of laser light started to blink. Cruzar let his robe drop and he stood there naked. The lights on the great helm of the battlesuit winked into life and the helm lifted of its own accord.

"It's good to see you again, Cruzar", the voice grated out from a grille in the chestplate. "Let's do it", snapped Cruzar and spun round with his back to the alto chamber. The seals on the front of the Battle Form zzunged open revealing the wet, crimson interior, then the suit calmly walked forward and enveloped the form of Cruzar in its shell. Outside Cruzar's alto chamber cell, his single scream signified the renewed fusion of man and man machine. Along the cell corridors could be heard a dozen other screams as the Form Warriors of the Korps prepared for battle.

**********

On the planet Klamon VI, the rebel troopers celebrated their victory. The siege had lasted over twelve years yet now as they stood on the inner ramparts of the Fortress Bregan the Karn forces could be seen retreating in all directions back across the Dithulian plains.

**********

Cruzar felt the sudden jolt as the Quad Carrier, that held three other Battle Forms as well as his own, was jettisoned from the Planetary Assault ship 'Killitras'. His Claw Formation of four Battle Forms had been ordered to take the strong point of the rebel lines. This single Nexus fortress had withstood all Imperial efforts until at last Admiral Kiminsk had ordered that the Korps' Form Warriors be summoned and deployed to the assault. The Form Warriors had had to complete sixty-two higher priority missions before at last their Planetary Assault ships entered close attack orbit over Klamon VI. Cruzar re-checked his attack co-ordinates and displayed the multi-directional scan of Fortress Bregan.

**********

The cheers had died down. The Troopers were once more hunkered down in their defence positions as they surveyed the new threat. Striding across the plains below could be seen four large forms. The senior of the rebel commanders recognised them as lmperial Battle Forms though no-one in the command had ever fought against them.

**********

The battle that followed was short and bloody. The Battle Forms calmly tore their way into the defences. The rebel weapons had little impact on them. The shells and bullets ricocheted from the tough outer casing. The mines exploded violently beneath them as they marched into the narrow gorges, yet as the dust and debris cleared the Battle Forms could still clearly be seen making their way ever deeper into the heart of Fortress Bregan.

Behind them the Karn forces had gathered themselves once more on the plain and were set to make the final assault.

Cruzar opened the coms-net to his brother Form Warriors.
"The mission is accomplished. Rendezvous as planned l'm calling for airlift."

Moments later the quad carrier appeared in the sky above Bregan. The massive craft descended and clamped each of the form Battle Forms into one of it's arms. The launch rockets exploded into action and the whole craft lifted upwards. lnside of his Battle Form Cruzar down loaded the last of his de-briefing to Admiral Kiminsk. The Admiral satisfied that the mission had been achieved tapped into his target priority net:

TARGET 43562... HELINATH PRIME
REQUEST BATTLE FORM ASSIST FOR CLOSE ASSAULT AND CLEARANCE OF GRETORIAN BUNKER SYSTEM.

Kiminsk punched in his acknowledgement and called up all information on Helinath Prime

9- BANSHEE / NEXUS HAMMER (TWO PART STORY)

The battle had been won.

The Nexus troopers stood wearily on the hill top that had cost them so dear. For six days they had fought their way, step by step, up the bloody slopes. Now the hill seemed strangely quiet to the soldiers, still numbed by the past few days' fighting. Yet there was no time for rest. The men busied themselves for the counter-attack that was sure to come.

Dersee, the Nexus Commander, scanned the valley below. There was no sign of any Karn troops. Suddenly the Sergeant tapped his shoulder and pointed to the horizon,
'There Sir, Glaive Warriors!'

Dersee looked through his image intensifier at the two small dots speeding across the hilltops to the east. The awful thrumming from the pulsing grav-engines grew louder as he focused on the lead machine.

It was a dark, angry object, with the fearsome, chilling menace of a predator. The slender fins, angled down on either side, supported the deadly clusters of 'Reaper' missiles. Protruding from the top of the craft were the compact pods of 'Stinger' missiles; whilst hung below, at the front, nested the cruel 'Venom' Assault Cannon.

There was no mistaking the grim outlines. These were Banshees, the dreaded Imperial ground-attack thopters.

As they charged ever closer Dersee, could see the Glaive Warriors. These heavily armoured troops flew alongside the Banshees. The powerful thrusters of their jet packs hurtling them into battle with ferocious speed. These were warriors to fear. Their Alto suits were charged with power, the generators strained to the limit. Every micro-server, every weapon seethed with pent up energy. Their power in battle was legendary, so was their fate. Sooner or later the generator of his Alto suit would go critical. The Glaive Warrior, and his enemies, consumed in a final, glorious fireball.

Dersee's Sergeant ran back from the observation post, bellowing commands as he frantically organised the Nexus troopers. As they scrambled into position the first salvoes of 'Stinger' missiles ripped into them. The needle like smoke trails lanced into the Nexus positions and burst in a series of quick successive explosions. Moments later came the larger, earth shattering eruptions as the 'Reaper' missile tore apart the very ground on which the Nexus troopers stood. Those who survived this torrent of destruction were cut down as the 'Venom' assault cannon spat it's death in a merciless swath of molten fury.

Dersee stood amidst the mayhem.

The hill that he and his men had battled for six days to take had been lost in one savage and brutal assault. He cursed his foe as he assembled the remnants of his command. With the aid of his mortally wounded Sergeant they awaited the onslaught of the Glaive Warriors, and the death that fate had cast upon them.
Commander Dersee hurled the Karn Glaive Warrior over his shoulder. The warrior landed heavily on his back with a sickening crack as his Alto suit ruptured and his back broke. Dersee knew, with the Alto suit ruptured, the Glaive Warrior's generators would go critical. He desperately threw himself into a nearby trench as the Glaive Warrior's body erupted in a searing fireball.

Dersee shook himself down. Two other Nexus Troopers lay at the bottom of the trench, both were dead. The situation was hopeless. He and his men had battled six days to take this hill that dominated the valley, now all had been lost. The counter attack by Karn Banshee Attack Thopters and Glaive Warriors had devastated his command, Bravo company had been almost annihilated. Dersee loaded the last of the magazines into the Stormer assault rifle, he had three Frag bombs and ninety rounds, more than enough to ensure he would not die alone. He took three deep breaths as he prepared to leap from the trench.

Then he heard it . . . a feint crackle. He turned and looked at the anguished face of the dead young trooper beside him. His headset was still on and Dersee could just make out the transmission through the interference.
"Bravo company this is Marcus, I have you in sight. Rowenna's on her way!"
Dersee laughed out aloud. Marcus was a Nexus Assault Tank Commander and 'Rowenna' was the name he had given his 'Hammer'.

The high pitched squeaks of the Hammer's tracks cut through the din of battle. Dersee peered over the edge of the trench as 'Rowenna' reared up over the ridge. The front of the monstrous tank rose ever higher into the air before the balance of her weight tilted her forward, pounding down with a thunderous crash that shook the earth. A great cloud of dust was thrown up about the Nexus tank but even before it had begun to settle Rowenna unleashed her fury.

The two turrets at the front of the vehicle fired their twin Pulse Lasers. The intense energy bursts cut through the Karn Glaive Warriors fighting in, and around, the Nexus positions. Along Rowenna's flanks the small gun ports opened, as the Storm Troopers inside opened fire. The deadly, controlled bursts, of Stormer fire from these elite troops decimated those Karn still pressing their attack. The main turret now rotated left, the 150mm Kanone locked on to the Karn forces assembling on the opposite side of the valley. The suddenness, and violence, of the Hammer firing it's main gun shocked both Karn and Nexus alike. The massive explosion momentarily swamped the clamour of battle, as the awesome atomic 'Titan' shell roared across the valley. Rowenna jerked backwards with the brutal recoil as another cloud of dust was thrown up around her heavily armoured hull. On the far side of the valley a great section of the ridge erupted into the air.

The doors at the rear of the Hammer now swung open as eight Nexus Storm Troopers rushed out from the troop compartment. With a great cheer Dersee and his remaining men leapt from the trenches to reclaim the hill once more. From the top of the main turret, Marcus pumped round after round into from his Storm Cannon.
"Give 'em hell Rowenna!"

10 - BORKIAN MERCENARIES

The Borkian home worlds were poor in resources and they had long since turned to large scale mercenary contracting as an alternative means to supplement their exports.

Most Borkian males joined one of the 'Companies' These were led by elected Captains, who through their years of experience were trusted by their men to undertake the most lucrative of contracts, and look after the well being of their warriors.

**********

The lean figure sat arrogantly in the command chair with his back to the door as Captain Jamelik entered his office.
"You have completed the contract Jamelik?"
Jamelik immediately recognised the man from his close cut white hair. This was Kilish of the Klan Regus. Jamelik despised the Klan Regus, they were abominations, cold ruthless killers who conspired against all but their own. They had no honour and lived by no code. Yet Jamelik was a mercenary too, as were all Borkians. The Klan Regus, though he hated it, were the most important clients to the Borkians and as such had to be tolerated.
"The colony on Giletheon IX has been destroyed. What have you done with the prisoners?"
"Prisoners Captain? I thought Article 43 of the contract forbade the taking of prisoners."
The deep blood red eyes were cold and conveyed no feeling, betrayed no thoughts. The man smiled, the thin lips ran like a scar across the pale skin.
"These were taken from a civilian transport in close orbit awaiting docking instructions. Only non-military personnel were on board and I . .. ."
"Kill them!"
Jamelik bit back his anger.
"Yes Kilish." Over the years he had learnt to lie as easily as the Regus.
The man stood, his long black coat clung to the man's slender figure. He walked past Jamelik almost contemptuously, as he reached the door he turned once more to face Jamelik.
"Payment will be forwarded in the usual way"

**********

Jamelik thought back. It had taken his warriors ten days to destroy Giletheon IX. Even after careful planning he had lost almost nine and a half thousand warriors on Giletheon. The defending Klan Warriors had fought stubbornly and with skill. The battle had been close fought, blade and fist augmenting the bursts of slugger fire that had so decimated his men as they descended into the defence lines. He and his warriors had launched a classic Borkian attack.

The troops had been deployed to the planets surface and then advanced rapidly towards the defence lines using the Warfins. These micro wings allowed the Borkian warriors to make massive jumps of several hundred units. Once in sight of the enemy, Jamelik's company leapt to the attack, closing the range rapidly to engage in hand to hand combat, the preferred fighting style of the Borkians.

Jamelik rubbed at his shoulder, it was still sore from the knife wound he had received in the closing stages of the battle. The enemy warrior had lunged at him from the side driving his Klecta deep into Jamelik's right shoulder. A single shot from his Thud-gun put had paid to this....

The surgeon had repaired the tissue damage to Jamelik's arm, yet he knew it would be several days before the muscles were fully healed and it would take a another few weeks beyond that for the suppleness and strength to return. He punched at the inter-com.

"Zetcha take the prisoners and have them dispersed through the homeworlds. I'll not bow to the butchery of that Regus scum! Then bring me the outstanding contracts. I don't want the company idle for long."
Zetcha acknowledged, he knew which contract Jamelik would choose . . . it was always the same- the toughest

11- NEXUS TROOPS / TRIBUNES (TWO PART STORY)

Fire and smoke blossomed all about them. The troopers stood shoulder to shoulder in a loose circle, desperately trying to survey the room around them. The complex interior structure confused the scanners and the laser targeters were unable to penetrate the thick smoke. Sergeant McPhail tried in vain to keep the more nervous of his men from wasting ammunition firing at phantoms in the murk.

Trooper Rabert stepped forward as a shadow took form in the smoke before him. He raised his slugger, switching to automatic, as a great claw suddenly swept from the side. The trooper was caught full in the chest, his light body armour shredded as easily as cloth. Rabert screamed as he was dragged from his comrades into the darkness. Thirty-four men had been cut off from the main assault group and had taken refuge in this part of the spaceship hull. Now only seven survived.

McPhail had no name for these creatures. Nexus had a score of contact reports similar to this, yet the files had been classified. The foe had a name, however, and soon the rumour of the new enemy would spread, and men everywhere would learn to dread the Pteravore.

McPhail took stock. The last attack had been the fiercest yet and he had led what was left of his command on a mad dash down corridors and stairs to this position. Their flight had taken them deeper into the ship.

"Kammon, have you established comms with CHQ . . . Kammon?"

McPhail looked around, but the young signals trooper was nowhere to be seen. The six remaining warriors looked drawn, and grey-death was written on each of them.

Rourk started babbling and stabbing at the air with his assault knife. He was cursing the unseen enemy and calling down the vengeance of his homeworld gods. Tearing off his body armour and tunic, he cut two lines across his chest. McPhail could only watch in horror as Rourk evoked the death mark and charged screaming into the fray. There was a momentary sound of battle, the clash of steel on bone, then the sounds abruptly ceased. Rourk staggered back into view, his body torn and tattered. Yet still he held on to his vanquished foe as they both slumped to the ground in their deadly embrace. Now we are five thought McPhail.

The troopers slowly continued their retreat, cautiously feeling their way along the blackened corridors, desperately hoping to find a way out from this living hell. A few moments passed; McPhail found the respite puzzling. "Perhaps we've lost them, maybe they are holding back, Rourk's attack has unnerved them." For the first time in over an hour McPhail started to feel a little hope rising in his heart. The confidence, gained by years of service, started to return and he once more felt in control.

From behind came a sharp hiss. McPhail swung round as the unseen bulk head opened beside him. He pulled hard on the trigger exhilarated by the expectant rhythm of death, the battle song . . . . but his slugger was silent. McPhail swore and frantically reached for his reserve magazine. He looked up expecting to see his Nemesis and stopped . . .

The warrior before him seemed to be seven feet tall. The man moved forward towards the exhausted troopers as though he was on a moving walkway. Two great power weapons thrummed with energy and their blades glowed in the darkness. McPhail stared behind the warrior, beyond the doorway, at the crumpled bodies of a dozen Pteravores. The warrior was closer now and McPhail could see the great black totem, festooned with tiny charms and medals, which the man carried on his back. In the dim light McPhail could just discern the characteristic scars and tattoos on the man's bald head. McPhail knew that before him stood a Tribune, one of the revered cadre of fighters, most exalted in the Alliance.

The Tribune tossed a dark pod to the ground. It rolled across the floor before coming to a sickly halt. The Pteravore head glistened with its own internal fluids. Thousands of fine teeth ran around its large lamprey-like mouth and its prehensile tongue now lolled stupidly to one side.

"Are you all that remains of this unit, Sergeant?" The Tribune's voice had a calm, dead quality, as if the sort of carnage that surrounded him held no new horror.

"No, Tribune - there is another section that assaulted the far end of this craft. We have not had contact with them for over two hours - they're probably dead."
"You are not! Do not be so quick to relinquish hope for your comrades: to do so is to condemn them." There was no anger in his voice, yet the words had steel.
"What orders have you for us?" McPhail asked, the weight of command lifted from him.
"I give no orders and I take no orders. I am of the Released and follow no command but my own, and heed only the call of my brethren. You and your men have done well, now go where you will. I go to the heart of this sick wreck to drive my axe into the devils that dwell there."

The Tribune turned and moved off towards the access corridors that were now faintly visible as the smoke cleared. He spoke no other words and did not wait for the troopers to follow. McPhail later found ten of the other troopers surviving in the hold of the ship. They were surrounded by dismembered creatures but there was no sign of the veteran warrior except for the sharp, clean cuts in the enemy dead. McPhail was not to see the Tribune again for ten years. Then it would be different for he would stand alongside him and together they would answer the Calling.

12 - NEXUS KINSMEN

The Admiral looked once more towards the screen which displayed the battle raging on the planet below...he was losing.

The defending Karn troopers were putting up a bitter resistance. Time was running out; soon Imperial cruisers would arrive and he would be forced to order the fleet to disengage. Yet without re-supply they could not flee for long. The battle had to be won and soon.

The Admiral looked up, his face lit from below by the blue screen.
"OK Lieutenant: summon Bressov"
The Kinsmen Commander strode into the command room. His hair was closely shaved, his eyes blue and alert, everything about him spoke order. He was a professional soldier, hard and confident. The Admiral studied the screen again.

"Where do you want you and your men dropped?"
Bressov pointed to the screen: "Here"
"But that's right on top of the enemy position. You'll be cut to pieces"
"Shut up Lieutenant! Commander Bressov is well aware of the risks" snapped the Commander.
"Very well Bressov, prepare your men. I'm sending you in. You realise if Karn ships arrive in force I'll be forced to leave."

Bressov nodded: "l need fifteen minutes." As he turned and walked to the door he had already begun to issue commands via his Battle-Com.

**********

The situation was getting worse. The Nexus troopers were stationary, the assault had lost its momentum and had been halted. The Admiral cursed: without the pressure of the troopers assault, the Karn troops could divert all their fire on Bressov and his men. Even now he could see the Kinsmen's drop ships moving towards the centre of the enemy line.
"Lieutenant, Abort the mission. We're leaving."
The Lieutenant punched the command in.

The Admiral looked to the screen as the troopers began falling back to the drop zone.
"Has Bressov acknowledged, Lieutenant?" The Admiral stared at the drop ships that still made their way towards the heart of the enemy position.
"There's no response. I can't raise him on any channel."
The Admiral watched in horror as one of the ships disappeared from the screen. "They're under fire."
The remaining ships continued onwards then stopped . . . The Kinsmen spread out forming a tight all round defence formation. The Karn closed in on all sides . . . the image became confusing.
"Give me maximum magnification. Now Lieutenant!"
The view expanded. Nothing could be seen but a mass of red. Thousands of Karn troopers converged onto where the Kinsmen had been.

"It's all over; they were totally overrun, massacred." The Admiral moved away from the screen. The Lieutenant stared in stunned disbelief. Stepping closer he saw first one, then two green dots amidst the mass of red.

"Admiral, look!"

The centre of the red mass was opening; more and more green Kinsmen could be seen. Within seconds the scene had changed. The Karn were falling back in all directions as the Kinsmen expanded to form a hollow ring. On the far side of the command centre the transmitter crackled.

"Bressov here. We have a secure perimeter, casualties 60 percent. Send down the cargo loaders."

13 - NEXUS BROTHERHOOD

An early morning mist hung thick across the coarse moor.

Major Herman huddled close to the small fire that barely warmed him and his men. Out here in the open Herman felt exposed. They would be easily visible to any Karn patrols and his small command would have little hope if attacked. However, intelligence had insisted that the planet was clear of Karn troops. This information had eased his conscience about allowing the fire to be lit. It was their eighth night in this god-forsaken wilderness and he knew the men would benefit from the warmth and a hot meal.

His company, only a hundred strong, had been ordered to accompany the twelve brothers to a ridge 6000 units out from the main Nexus positions. Herman glanced over his shoulder at the small group of brothers, they still hadn't moved. For days they had just sat there. He scanned around the camp perimeter, this position was open, very open . . . he didn't like it.

The figures sat in a loose circle away from the rest of the company.

Brother Benjamin opened his eyes slowly as the trance faded. His limbs ached. For six hours they had maintained the thought image. He looked around at the others, each faced inwards. They were in deep concentration, eyes closed they reached out with their inner mind first to each other and then beyond.

Father Tristian lifted his head and pulled back the cowl that covered his face.
'Come brothers. This time has come.'
The brothers rose. Dropping their habits to the ground they began to calmly unwrap the embroided cloths that protected their Natas. The ornate weapons were unique to the brotherhood. Each Nata staff was psy-linked to the brother warrior. Through this link the brother could 'mould' the psykic energy of the Nata to form a cutting edge, a heavy weighted hammer, serrated saw, whatever was required. The rich cloths were carefully folded and placed into the simple pack carried by each brother.

They began to go through a series of slow exercises. Stretching their muscles and preparing for the battle to come.

Herman watched from a distance, curious. This was the most activity he had seen from the brothers since they arrived. He looked back towards his men, beckoning the young corporal to refill his mug, that was when he saw them.

The speed and ferocity of the attack momentarily stunned the troopers. By the time Herman had leapt to his feet, shouted a warning and drawn his Stormer nearly half of his men were dead. He cut one of the attackers down in a controlled burst of automatic fire from his Stormer. Fighting down the initial panic he began to exert his will on those around him,
'Troopers on me. On ME!'
The troopers began to fight and move towards their Major. Twenty troopers managed to reach the major's position, surrounded on all sides they fought stubbornly, with the savage determination of the doomed.

The Borkians had attacked from out of the sky. The Warfins allowed them to make short controlled flights, Herman guessed that they must have launched the attacked from the far side of the ridge. He knew there were too many of them it would be only a matter of time before he and the rest of his men were overrun. The brothers would be destroyed. He had failed, it angered him, it really angered him and he fought all the more tenaciously, maddened to the thought of a final savage penance for his sin.

The brothers moved to the attack. They fought with ease. Their movements lacked the ferocious activity of the other warriors. Their fighting flowed, their Natas were wield with precision, eloquently penetrating the defence of their adversary to land a single swift blow that killed or maimed. The brothers faces were what most confounded Herman for they were mostly expressionless. The brothers did not shout, they did not scream in battle rage or fear. Each brother concentrated on their inner colour, a calming aura in which they dressed themselves. [For Brother Benjamin there was no single colour, just a myriad of the brightest hues. It was perhaps for this reason that Father Tristian called him 'gifted' Father Tristian was not the only one that had suggested that Brother Benjamin could be the Soeza; the great spirit it was believed would one day lead their order.]

Brother Benjamin fought effortlessly. Each hissing arc of his Nata cut down another of the foe. The Borkians were caught completely by surprise. The brothers, hidden by the 'suggestion' planted into the Borkians minds that they were not there had made them invisible. The Borkians simply did not see them until it was too late.

The battle ended as suddenly as it had started. Herman looked about him, only twelve of his men remained. Father Tristian smiled, his face serene.

"Thank you Major. We have accomplished our mission. Zecha and his Borkians are dead, I am sorry we could not inform you of your roll in this assignment but had you known your thoughts may have betrayed you."

With that he and his brothers joined in a single prayer then filed off back across the moor towards the Nexus lines.

13 - NEXUS 47TH LINE

The Imperial base was situated on a shallow rise that rose in the valley floor of the great Shanilith valley. Many of the Karn troopers lay asleep, whilst others relaxed in the rest rooms, drinking and singing. The base lay deep within Karn held territory and none could have suspected the ring of death that was closing ever tighter about them.

Marshal Abadov had spent months planning the campaign that would see the Nexus secure this planet. The plan was daring and required that the enemy line be penetrated quickly, it was imperative that the momentum be maintained. One obstacle threatened to delay his advanced forces, the Karn's mighty firebase which dominated the Shanilith valley. It was for this reason that one of the most valued regiments in the Nexus now lay hidden, poised and ready for the final command that would unleash their deadly assault.

Marshal Abadov reviewed the map in front of him, he had studied it too long, now was the time for action.
"Send them in."

**********

The Karn trooper lay upon the floor, the blood about him glistened like a thick, oil black, pool in the moonlight. The shadowy figure that crouched above the dead warrior signalled with his left arm.

Without a sound four other shadows emerged from the darkness to run stealthily past. Each ran to a different point at the edge of the base, crouched low and scanned the compound and buildings. A moment later each gave a signal and yet more of the silent warriors ran past the dead sentry.

They fanned out. Some ran along the perimeter before cutting in between two of the outlying buildings. Others ran to the edge of the compound. As they entered into the soft light that seeped from the flood lights above they dropped to the ground and began to cat crawl to their allocated positions. Still hidden within the shadows other troopers edged along the walls of the main buildings, stopping beneath the shutted windows. There they waited.

A wild dog sniffed at the still warm corpse of another Karn trooper. lt moved to lick at the trooper's bloody face but was startled as a group of Karn warriors burst from one of the barrack buildings joking and laughing. The dog scurried unnoticed around the corner and into the night.

The troopers made their way across the compound, the irregular cadence of their steps sharply brought into line by the stern order of their Kai-une from the far side of the field. The troopers halted and formed ranks as the Kai-une approached. He inspected each of them before issuing a series of commands. The troopers split into pairs and fours and marched towards their allotted positions to relieve the guard.

A soft smoke trail rose into the sky, the gentle 'fffffffutt' caused the troopers to look skywards as the night erupted. The flare exploded illuminating the compound in a blue-tinged light. The troopers stood frozen for a second before they instinctively ran for cover or dived to the ground. It was too late.
The quiet of the night was destroyed by the chatter of a hundred Lance assault rifles. The warriors that had been crouched below the barrack windows now stood and swung the heavy, weighted satchel charges through the shutted windows and into the rooms beyond. The muffled explosions echoed around the compound, the air shaking with the, inter-laced shockwaves.

Karn troopers ran from the horror behind them into the night Sluggers blazing at the expected foe.

Yet the enemy were well placed and the Karn troopers, exposed as they were in the harsh light, were cut down by their shadowed enemy. The light from the flare flickered, casting sporadic shadows across the battlefield, then died. The night was returned once more to darkness, the sounds of battle ceasing just as abruptly. The air was thick with the smell of cordite. All was still and quiet until a single command broke the momentary silence.
'CLEAR'

From around the compound a hundred soldiers stood and moved cautiously to the centre of the field. Others remained near the perimeter of the base scanning the night beyond. In the light of the floodlights there could be no mistaking the pale green uniforms of the 47th Line Regiment. These were warriors of the Nexus, perhaps the foremost regiment in the coalition.

14 - NEXUS ASSAULT TROOPS

Engleman stood motionless.

He stared hard into the smoke at the end of the corridor, desperately trying to make out the silhouettes that moved within. At this point the corridor was perhaps five metres wide, the enemy, if that is what they were, would be able to make full advantage of their superior numbers. Only the two Backer brothers Steffan, and the giant Matteus, remained of Engleman's small command. The Assault Troop had originally numbered ten, but the fighting in the last few hours had been hard and brutal.

All was silent. The shadows in the smoke continued to move forward. Engleman waited to be sure . . a second later he had his answer. The lean outlines of the Pteravores were unmistakable. His heart sank and he swore under his breath,
'Damn it!'
Turning he gestured with a simple hand command to the two brothers. Each moved to one side and began to count in their head . .'one. . . two. . . three'

Engleman crouched low and moved the selector switch on his Shock-Gun to fully automatic. He too counted silently. . . four. . . five. . . six!

The three warriors opened fire.

Matteus fired the Storm Cannon from the standing position. The rhythmic duuw-duuw-duuw sent shell after shell down the corridor. The giant warrior seemed un-concerned by the savage recoil that kicked into his shoulder with each shot. lt was widely known by Nexus Assault troops that the fierce kick of the Storm Cannon caused the fall of shots to arc up towards the right. Consequently, when fired, most troopers pulled down to the left, to compensate and keep all of their shots on target. Matteus made no such adjustment. ln his firm, bear-like grip the shots punched home, one after the other - exactly where he wanted them. The small thumb sized shells slammed into the Pteravores. Exploding on impact they obliterated the creatures at the front of the group.

Steffan had also opened fire. The Pulse Laser stabbed short bursts of intense blue energy that cut through the mass of creatures before him. Between each shot Steffan waited for the re-charge tone to whine ever higher before firing again. lt was possible to fire more rapidly but the less time allowed for re-charge, the less powerful the energy discharge. The early skirmishes with the Pteravore had shown only the most powerful of laser blasts had any effect.

Engleman pumped round after round into the Pteravores that escaped the fire of the two brothers. As each Shock Gun cartridge detonated, a murderous hail of explosive pellets spewed out before him. Engleman fired until all his cartridges had been spent.
'CEASE FIRE!'

The two brothers checked their fire and scanned the area before them. All movement down the corridor had ceased. As the smoke cleared the bodies of at least a dozen Pteravores could be seen. Despite terrible wounds these creatures had made no sound, no cries of agony . . . no screams of fear. Engleman removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow.
'Check the net, any word?'
Steffan shook his head. It had been over twenty minutes since they had last had contact with the rest of the squad.
'We'll continue to retrace our steps to the previous rendezvous point' The two brothers fell in behind Engleman. They passed the bodies of the Pteravore dead and came into the blackness of the corridor beyond.

15 - NEXUS MAULER TANK /NEXUS DOOM GUARD (TWO PART STORY)

The Mauler spun to the right throwing up a great cloud of dust as the right track froze. Back down the road, over forty other Maulers had performed the same manoeuvre. Now they waited, hidden on the reverse slope of the gully, poised for the attack.

Group Commander Derian tapped his driver on the shoulder and the command vehicle lurched up and over the small ridge. He surveyed the plain before him. The ground was being torn apart by Nexus heavy artillery, each explosion throwing up a mass of dirt, rock and men. The dense ranks of Karn troopers that pressed through the murderous fire could only just be seen beyond the thick clouds of smoke that drifted across the battlefield. Derian checked his watch, silently congratulating the Nexus artillery as he heard the barrage stop exactly on time.
'MOVE OUT'

The Mauler engines growled as the line of armoured vehicles launched themselves into the attack. They accelerated with incredible speed. Angry plumes of black smoke were thrown skywards as the Mauler crews engaged the turbo charges. These were the light attack tanks of the Nexus, fast yet able to deliver a hefty punch. The Mauler crews were determined and resolute warriors. They were often thrown 'en masse' against heavier Karn vehicles soaking up the brunt of their firepower until the heavier Nexus forces engaged.

As the dust settled from the barrage the Karn troopers steadied themselves for the assault they knew would come. The rank upon rank of Karn troopers parted allowing the Heavy Weapon teams to rush to the flanks, and front of the column. By the time they engage the swift Nexus Maulers had already covered half the distance towards the Karn column.

At 800 metres the Maulers began firing. The stunted barrels of their 105mm Kanone fired deadly air-burst shells that exploded violently in a rain of death over the Karn troops. As the Maulers closed still further with the enemy, the vehicle commanders opened fire with the Heavy Stormers that were mounted in front of the command hatches. The firepower was devastating, cutting the column apart. However, the battle was far from one sided. The Karn Heavy Weapon teams succeeded in destroying four of the Maulers and crippling a further seven.

Derian choreographed the battle. He knew too well that the real target lay beyond the wretched remains of the attack column. Nexus troopers had now joined in the counter-attack and their additional firepower was enough to silence the remnants of opposition. The Maulers passed over the position where the column had been destroyed, the light tanks riding over the debris of battle. A short distance beyond lay the four dull silhouettes that were the real target. Derian gave the preparatory order,
'Prepare to engage Battle Forms'

The Mauler gunners changed to the heavy 'Slammer' armour-piecing missile. Derian's command vehicle shook as the Mauler to his left erupted in a ball of white heat. It had begun. The remaining Maulers, fifteen of them, halted as they acquired their targets.

The gunner to Derian's right barked his confirmation.
'Target locked and waiting. Sir!'
Derian paused momentarily, judging the moment, 'Take him out'

A moment later, the 'Slammer' missile erupted from the Mauler's Kanone. Within a split-second the stabilising fins had snapped into place as the booster rocket ignited, propelling the missile with ferocious speed towards the first of the Karn Battle Forms. Derian listened to the frantic chatter between the Mauler crews as they tried to co-ordinate their attacks. The dialogue was savagely punctuated by the abrupt screams as another Mauler crew perished in a ball of flame. Derian closed out the din of battle as he focused on the Battle Form ahead. The 'Slammer' missile smashed into it's chest, in the same instant a blue aura erupted around the Battle Form, the blinding explosion obscured his view. Derian felt sick to his stomach as the debris cleared. The Battle Form was unharmed, it seemed the Karn had perfected their close-energy defence shields. Tracer rounds burrowed into the ground alongside the command vehicle as the Battle Form returned fire. The blue aura about it rippled then faded as the Battle Form moved forward once more to the attack.

Derian ordered his formation to withdraw. One of the Battle Forms had been destroyed, the remaining three would have to be dealt with by the heavier 'Hammer' tanks located to the rear. Derian checked in with his Mauler Commanders . . . six tanks remained.

The time had come . . .

The morning sun cast long shadows across the barren plain and silhouetted the grim warriors against the vermilion sky. All was still . . . quiet, save for the soft whine of servos and the low hum of chargers as the Maulers drew power and tested their many motors. Battle-Com VDUs threw soft green light upon the stern faces as the thin laser targeters criss-crossed the plain.

Silently they waited . . .

The harsh sand winds had faded their once rich colours and given a more brutal appearance to these noble warriors. Yet, behind the dented armour, the broken and twisted plasma shields, one could still recognise the unity of spirit, the proud bearing that separated these few from the many . . . and made them elite.

Still they waited . . .

The ribboned, warm red clouds of the morning were a good omen - the day would go well. It was just as it should be . . . for all knew it would be their last. Eagerly they scanned the horizon. From within the shimmering morning haze, grey forms began to distil. Soft, gentle forms hardened into the unmistakable hunkered outlines of Reapers, smallest of the Imperial Battle Forms, though no less deadly than their larger brethren.

The warriors upon the ridge looked on . . .

The enemy could not easily be counted. The Emperor had flattered them for at the head of the host strode the Brothers of Flame, the Emperor's finest - the Darkest Suns. Their presence suggested that, even now, the Imperial high command was plagued by doubt. Even with the nine worlds at their feet, they could not feel assured of total victory.

Still, thought Storm . . . no victory is ever total.

He smiled and gently nodded. His glory was assured for the day would not be lost until he had spent the last of his energy. There will always be those who remember the few - the songsmiths who tell of the heroes who have stood against tyranny. Storm would make this a story worth the telling, a legend to inspire, for one day another would come - one more to walk the glory road as he had done. He eyed his loyal companions and saw in them the same resolve that coursed through his veins.

"Power up. Fix shields, wedge formation, interlock fire spreads and energise on my mark".

Storm lowered his own combat visor and recited the mantra of his forefathers. Then his eyes opened, burning with purpose, casting the aura of battle rage. His voice reverberated with a new power; the battle-lust had begun.

"MAARK!"

They rose as one, each feeling the sudden surge of power as they were violently thrown upwards by their Hosts standing. Then, with long, deliberate strides, the Doom Guard opened the battle the only way they knew how . . . they attacked!

16 - NEXUS HUNDRED BATTLEFORM

The battle had raged for weeks.

Thousands had fought and fallen on this long, slender bridge. Wave after wave of Karn had swept across it, trying to burst through and send the Nexus troops to their end in the raging inferno below.

The bridge spanned a yawning gulf, a great cleft in the crust of the planet that revealed its very heart; a welling, boiling globe of lava. From time to time, the bleeding planet would vent huge mushrooming clouds of sulphurous black and orange flame.

The Karn stood once more poised for the attack. At a signal, the Karn troopers parted and a wedge of Suma-Kai advanced, solid, confident of their strength. Fired by their ancient defeat at Manbelbrod, the Suma-Kai fought as those with a debt to settle. Men spilled from the bridge as the awesome warriors battered their way across the bridge. The Nexus forces began to fall back, anxious to escape the certain doom that the Suma-Kai promised.

A deep clang rang along the bridge. The warriors of both sides paused for a moment, unsure what this signal would herald. The clang was repeated and the besieged Nexus cheered . . . for there stood one of the Hundred.

They were the precious few, the most potent of the Nexus armoury. Won from the Karn many thousands of years before, they represented the ultimate in personal weaponry. The goliath warrior stood, covered in antiqued blast armour and bristling with heavy-calibre, high-yield firepower. Inside each lay a Form Warrior of the Hundred. The warrior fought as one with the Battle Form, man and machine fused together with an ancient technology.

The wedge of Suma-Kai halted. They, too, had heard of these, the 'Lost Souls' of the Karn. They knew that, if they defeated this creature, they would win back some small part of their honour but, if they were to recapture it, subdue it without major damage, they could claim a large part of the debt they owed.

Ayato was the leader of the Suma-Kai. He uttered a word and the group moved forward.

Inside the Hundred Battle Form, the Form Warrior lay, his hands resting on the controls of his weapons. Their intent was plain to him. He calmly flipped off the safeties. As the Karn neared the enemy, they split into two and completed their attack run from opposing directions. The weapons on the Hundred flared as the Karn giants closed around.

The Nexus cheered as their hero twisted at the waist and sent half of the attacking Karn tumbling over the edge of the bridge to a fearsome end. The remaining Suma-Kai on the left attacked. One of them managed to introduce the edge of his warblade into a chink between powered arm and body. Triumphantly, he levered his weapon into the joint jamming the Hundred's left arm. The form warrior cursed and flipped a blue switch on his right commstick. Millions of volts of electricity pulsed through the outer shell of the Hundred. The Suma-Kai was fried as the shock went through him. As he fell he dragged the weapon clear and the arm was free once more.

Only Ayato remained.

He faced the Battle Form, his multi-slugger weapon charged and ready. The form warrior watched him intently. The giant leapt to the side and discharged his slugger into the exposed joints of the Hundred. Great sparks and gouts of fire erupted from the side of the machine. Inside the form warrior smiled and flicked a switch. The machine went dead. The Suma-Kai watched the man-craft intently, waiting for any sign of life. The machine stood near the edge of the bridge. Ayato ran at it and launched himself into a flying kick, both feet raised. At the last instant, the machine jerked back into life. The Hundred stepped back and the Form Warrior watched the disappearing dot that was his enemy fall into the lava below . .

17 - PTERAVORE RAZORS

Karn Tribe Warrior Regar had seen twenty years of savage battle in the Service of his Emperor. He had fought in the searing heat of the Halindar Desert and had seen most of his command perish in the sub zero wastes of Deros IV.

He could not remember the number of times he had swallowed his fear to lead an assault, and the faces of those who had fallen under the swath of his slugger had melded into one. The carnage and debris of battle did not shock him, and he could not clearly remember if they ever had. His life had been one long campaign, a continual trial of combat to which he was accustomed.

Yet here was a new foe . . . and the nature of it had awoken his fear.

Regar checked his weapon and recovered extra frag bombs from the bodies around him. These had been good warriors-his warriors. They had been ambushed on the way to the escape capsule and it had been over in a matter of seconds.

These creatures moved with speed and purpose. Their attacks were well co-ordinated and yet.. (Regar puzzled trying to find fault in his recollections) they made no sound. That they communicate with one another Regar had no doubt, for their combat awareness and speed of reaction were too highly tuned to be pure instinct.

They fought without fear or hesitation. They had openly charged armed warriors. The sluggers had made little impression on them, for they had total disregard for even the most grievous of wounds.

Having gathered what he could from the dead, he considered his next move . . . it still had to be the escape capsule. That was at the end of the corridor. He stood and loaded the last of the storm cartridges into his slugger. Regar steadied his breathing, formulating his best means of attack. Stealth or Blazing Fury? He chuckled to himself, "When have you ever gone for stealth?"

**********

Regar finished his report: The mad, blind assault down the corridor;The Explosion that had destroyed his left arm; and the loss of memory during the weeks he floated alone in space.

The three council members had listened intently to Regar's account. The room was dark, and Regar sat on a simple chair in the middle of the floor bathed in the only light. The three Generals had not seemed disturbed by his account.

General Forst stood and walked round the table towards Regar.

Throughout his report the three had whispered to each other, and consulted with a multitude of papers and data-cells.

"This was not the first encounter was it?" Regar's question was direct. The two generals sat before him, stared angrily at him, but did not answer.

Interrogation by General Forst

"You now of these creatures don't you?"

General Forst stood behind Regar and laid one hand on his shoulder.

"Answer me, damn you!"

"We know of them, warrior. They are the Pteravore. The Karn have fought them before, during the years of the "The Terror", a time before we built the Empire. You are not the first to have encountered them in recent years, and you will not be the last . . ."

Regar knew nothing. A momentary flash and a jump of his heartbeat as the shell exploded into the back of his head. His body slumped forwards, then sideways onto the floor.

A quick dispatch

["The return of the Pteravore cannot be known, we shall not be consumed by our fear of them. I am sorry, Warrior, for you were a fine son of the Empire."

General Forst re-holstered his gun and moved towards the door. He glanced once towards the other two men at the table:

"That will be all gentlemen."]

18 - PTERVORE SCREAMERS

The company had been patrolling across open ground when the first of them had been spotted silhouetted against the skyline on a ridge a hundred metres away to the left. Hargle had called the company to halt as one by one more of them appeared along the ridges to the left and right. He put the company into an all round defence. Some of the troopers had fought this foe before, yet for most this would be a new adversary.

The very word Pteravore instilled fear into the younger troopers. They had heard of the savagery of these beasts. They fought in hand-to-hand combat using the long, serrated, bone like scythes that formed the lower part of their arms. Hargle moved from one trooper to the next pointing out their fields of fire. He knew from personnel experience that the 'Stormer' assault weapons could stop Pteravores but only at close range. He encouraged his men placing the more seasoned troopers intermittently with the less experienced.

He looked about the surrounding ridges. There were ten of the Pteravores, Hargle had a hundred and twenty troopers.
'We'll stop'em" he thought to himself.
There they waited. An hour passed and the Pteravores remained motionless on the ridges. There was something unsettling about them. Hargle had fought Pteravores before, yet it had always been frenzied assaults, brutal, unrelenting attacks. Yet these Pteravores waited, for what? They did not move they made no sound, the shallow valley was silent.

Then it began. . .

A low drone at first. The troopers looked around unsure from where the sound was coming. The sound built slowly, inexorably. The pitch grew ever higher. Then came the first of the screams. Long drawn out wails that ululated across the valley floor. There could be no doubt it was the Pteravores that were generating the sound. The group to the left would issue a series of spine chilling screeches and this would then be echoed, yet louder from those on the opposite ridge.

The troopers below began to shift nervously. The sound seemed to surround them, it pervaded their minds, distracted their thoughts and summoned from the depths of their consciousness the visage of their worst nightmares. The intensity of the sound was such that it reverberated through the troopers' chests. Hargle gave the order to open fire. He knew at this range the fire would be ineffective but he wanted to calm his men. The troopers opened up, but at long range the fire coaxed no reaction from the Pteravores. Hargle allowed the troopers to fire twenty rounds each then called for them to cease fire. As they ceased fire the screaming suddenly stopped.

Hargle looked about. For a moment longer the Pteravores remained were they were then they began to advance. They did not rush to the attack, they moved slowly, deliberately. As they did so the sound began again, yet this time it was different. The Pteravores took it in turn to issue forth a great scream, the focus of that deafening screech somehow directed to a single target. The first trooper so hit screamed himself as his inner ears crumpled under the weight of the sound, a moment later his face shifted in a sickly fashion as his skull fell inwards.

The Pteravores increased the rapidity with which they screamed their death song. Hargle's men were being mown down. Their only chance was to break the ring of Pteravores that were slowly closing in around them.
'Company on my position, follow me, CHARGE!'
The troopers rose from their defence position and ran after their commander Stomers blazing. The three Pteravores before them stopped and crouched low. Each raised up their arms which the troopers could now see were like hollow horns from which came their deadly howls. As the troopers closed within fifteen metres they bellowed their rage, a second later the Pteravores screamed in unison. The sound was like a scythe that cut through the troopers at chest height. The savagery of the sound sent out shock waves that pierced through the troopers bodies bursting lungs, hearts and spleens.

Hargle groaned as his body was shattered he fell forwards, rolling to his right as he did so. All about him the other troopers fell.

**********

The Pteravores stood in a loose circle about the carnage. Not one of the Nexus troopers remained alive. They lifted their arms skyward and emitted a single ululating scream of victory. As the sound died away the Pteravores turned and marched to the east, back along the route that Hargle and his men had taken, along their trail towards the Nexus firebase and the next battle . . .

19 - PTERVORE HELLHOUNDS

The attack had come late in the evening.

Jalek had been on guard duty. He remembered looking back towards the fire as his comrades enjoyed their supper. They joked and laughed, as young Gurith walked between the seated warriors filling their drinking horns from the wine skin. How quickly that scene had changed into one of horror.

Poor Gurith had been the first to die. The savage jaws ripped into the back of his neck. He had watched as the young man realised in a heartbeat he had met his death, his face contorted into a final look of anguished despair as the jaws closed about his head and crushed the boy's skull. As the warriors leapt to Guriths aid a dozen more of the beasts leapt into the firelight. Their powerful paws tore into the unarmed warriors, others pinned to the ground were savaged by the serrated jaws.

Jalek thought to run to their aid . . . but it was too late, as he gazed upon the scene he saw two of the beasts look up towards him. Jalek turn and fled.

**********

He was breathing hard. His chest burned with the exertion, yet still he ran. He could hear the pounding of the beasts paws close behind him, desperately he searched in the failing light for some means of escape. Yet each time he thought to change direction the beasts moved to cut him off.

Jalek broke free from the woodland and onto a narrow track. He darted to the left. The line of trees to his left dropped away down a steep ravine whilst to the right a scree slope rose rapidly. He realised he had made a mistake. There was no choice but to run along the path. He thought to risk the steep ravine to his left but sound of the crashing river below dissuaded him. Even if he survived the descent he would then have to swim the river. It's banks would be swollen with the thaw of the highland snow and Jalek would rather die fighting than drown in the cold waters below.

He concentrated on the path ahead, as he did so he glimpsed two of the beasts tumbling down the ravine towards the river. Every avenue was being cut off, every time he thought to act they were ahead of him. He was tiring, he dug deep into his inner will to drive himself on. Washing his mind of thoughts other than the rhythm of his running. He looked down at the ground before his feet as each step pounded into the stony path.

Despite this Jalek knew he could run no more. He stopped, and span round drawing his hunting knife, expecting to see the first of the beasts spring towards him, but they were nowhere to be seen. He crouched low and looked back down the track, then down the ravine. He could see them now, perhaps six of them, milling around near the stream. He had lost them. He decided he would double back before climbing into the highland. Yet as he glanced down he could see the pack racing towards the very point in the path he had chosen. Jalek cursed,
'These beasts do not track by sight, sound nor smell. They track my thoughts!'

He scrambled frantically up the scree slope his eyes closed as his concentrated on the image forming in his mind. He visualised the path the steep slope to the right, the ravine to the left, he tried to think upon the rhythm of his running. The sound of the paws grew louder, but he dared not let his concentration break and he thought more deeply, straining to add every detail he could to the image in his mind. At last when he judged the beasts to be below him he fell flat on his face against the loose stones. In his mind he continued to run, harder and harder . . .

Jalek lay there. The night grew cold yet still in his mind he ran and ran. Finally he awoke. He scanned the path, the beasts were nowhere to be seen. Pulling himself up he began the long trek back. He cast the horrors of the previous night from his mind, indeed to be safe he thought as little as possible until at last he reached Karn outposts.

Two days later the search party found the campsite. There had been no other survivors. Jaleks report was filed and the beasts given a name. It was generally agreed these had been Pteravores, though unlike any encountered before. Jalek himself had proposed their classification . . . 'Hell Hounds'