# In The Service Of The Emperor



## ILGraenis (Mar 6, 2009)

There are a great many things that man desires. Family, Peace, Money, Power. Of all these things, it is power that corrupts the most. It can be any sort. Power over an individual, power to make your own choice. But in the end. Power corrupts, and absolute power, corrupts absolutely. The Warmaster Horus had power in droves. Not only was he a skilled Orator, he was also super-human. One of the legendary Primarchs. Leader of some of the most feared soldiers humanity could field. The Space Marines. This story concerns power, and the corruption that it brings, but it isn't about a huge fall from grace. No, that sort of story is better left for the storytellers of old. No. This story is about a man, and his struggle with power.

~*~

Franklin looked around himself. There was nothing different. Grey earth walls ran into a grey sky. The field above his trench was also grey. Mud plastered everything. The equipment, the soldiers. 
'This is one hell of a planet to be stuck on' mused Trooper Jones, next to him. His greatcoat melding to the trench wall. He was right. What was meant to be a year long war of skirmishes, had become a ten year war of attrition. The cassualty rate was high, that much was certain, but Franklin wasn't privy to such documents.
'Shut yer cake-hole and keep your eye on the field. Inteligence reports say that another attacks imminent.' Franklin growled. He hadn't asked for the position of Sergeant. It just happened he was the last one from his squad. And command had decided if he could survive, he could lead others too. _Bunch of noble farts._ he thought to himself.

Further down the trench, Trooper Callidan looked through the perescope mounted to the trench wall. A distant rumbling could be heard. Reminiscant of thunder. As he looked, he could see a grey cloud growing larger and larger, coming closer, and the roar of the thunder grew to a deafening Cacophany. 
'INCOMING' He yelled, and rushed over to Franklin. 'Sergeant. We have incoming artilery. A rolling barrage.' he gasped out. Franklin gave him a look of disdain. 
'Thank you Trooper. Did you think I couldn't tell. There are no clouds, what else did you think it could be' He replied, not taking his eyes from the field. Without waiting for the reply, he ordered Jones to hand him the Vox-Set.
'This is Sergeant Franklin, Devos 235th. We have incoming artillery, rolling barrage. Keep low, prepare to repel invaders. The Emperor Protects.' Handing the set back to Jones, Franklin turned to his squad with a savage grin. 'Have you settled all scores with the Emperor men? Cause your about to meet him.'


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## Dessel_Ordo (Jul 28, 2008)

interesting settup, might I humply inquire when you will post the next installment?


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## Crimson_fists (Oct 19, 2008)

So, power corrupts? Sounds like i'l have to continue looking in to see what happends to sergeant Franklin then. ( could you pm me when you send the next one up?)


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## ILGraenis (Mar 6, 2009)

@Dessel, Right Now infact 
UPDATE:
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Franklin gripped the firing step hard hard, his knuckles turning white with the pressure. The Artillery Barage had almost reached the edge of the trench. And as soon as that was over. Then Hell would really start. Many philosophers over the years had described hell as pure fear, a land of boiling lava, and burning brands. They were all wrong. Hell was crouching in a trench. A lasgun in your hand, and knowing that in just a few moments someone would come over the top, trying to gut you. Hell was a stretch of frontline in the battle for Asphix, a backwater planet in the Regarde subsector.

As suddenly as it started, the barrage stopped.
'Stand ready men. In only a few moments you will be face to face with your worst enemy. Even Callidan's Mother, the old harpy, is afraid of them. but stand firm, and trust in the Emperor, and you will survive another day. But then again. Thats another day here, so, what have you got to loose, eh?' Sergeant Franklin called to his men. 'Up on the firing step lads, keep fire disciplined. And keep your cool. Every shot must count.' With that, he mounted the step, and simed his lasgun over the parapet. They were coming.

Out of the grim darkness, clouds made up of mud and body parts, they came. Walking slowly forwards, silent in all things, the skull masks they wore bearing inscriptions to the dark gods. As one, they opened fire. Raining death upon the defenders in the trench. This was the Lirguld Elite. And this was how they won wars. Sergeant Franklin ducked as a bullet embeded itself in the dirt three inches away from his face. 'Their in range lads. FIRE!' ass hie finished his sentence, he rose his head again, taking aim down the barrel of his lasgun, and started shooting. Each shot was systematical, and precise. Hitting the target in a place that would incapacitate it. But it wasn't enough. 'Prepare to repel.' He started to shout, but his world was blown away as a frag grenade went off in the bottom of the trench.


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## Commissar Ploss (Feb 29, 2008)

sounds good so far. I'm really digging the trench warfare. keep up the good work!

Commissar Ploss


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## Crimson_fists (Oct 19, 2008)

Good work mate, and may I say that was quick getting it up, oh and thanks for telling me you posted the next one ILGraenis.


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## Kreach (Mar 25, 2009)

About time for another update  it's been too good so far to leave us hanging like this!


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