Two Terras

Fear and Dead Men

Brother Munval of the 3rd company was clad in terminator armor, it made him a virtual walking tank and gave him the strength to wield weaponry that no normal Astartes could brandish. He walked through hails of bullets and even missiles like it were nought but an annoying wind. His assault cannon spat death at increasing intervals as more targets were made available. Far above the towering skyscrapers of this island country aircraft duelled in deadly concert. The wreckages of native jet fighters and a few Astartes craft rained down from the sky, they crashed into the cracked pavement and rubble strewn streets of "Tokyo." Munval's photoreceptor lenses decoded the firing arc of an incoming missile, he side stepped lazily allowing the explosive to smash harmlessly into a decimated truck behind him. He raised his gun arm and spat a short burst of explosive rounds into the missile launcher and its operator. Both weapon and man were gone once the smoke cleared. Behind Munval the other 4 Ancients moved up, each wielded a weapon tailored to their likes and ability. Brother Jursian used a Thunder Hammer and storm shield, Brother Dillren let his fury be sound through the crackling flames of a Heavy Flamer, Ancient Hullus carried the company banner and wielded a relic power sword alongside an ancient combimelta, finally came Brother Tuelios, a chainglaive on his right hand and a stormbolter on his left. The Terminator squad had been tasked with clearing the poverty ridden parts of the city, and they found themselves assaulted by all matter of dregs and ingrates. Their enemy wore no uniform and carried varied weaponry. They fired ancient autoguns at the Terminators, they launched non-guided missiles at Space Marines. It was bad comedy, and Munval almost felt sorry for the mortals so foolish as to think resisting the Imperium was possible. Munval had been told by the Captain of the 3rd to show honor to these people, they had fought xenos for a long time after all. So Munval did what he could, he offered them a quick death.

Wing Commander Estevan yanked the yoke of his Thunderbolt back, dodging a missile spearing for his port side. The missile detonated within a sky scraper, showering glass on Estevan's craft. He cursed and grit his teeth, pushing his Thunderbolt to act like its namesake. He looked back to find the enemy hot on his trail, the slim fighter plane bristled with missiles and had two underslung rotary cannons. Estevan smiled, a fair fight. He pushed the throttle to its max and touched the small aquila at his chest. "Holy Lord of Mankind, bless this craft with your love, Holy Lord of Humanity bless this pilot with your skill." Estevan muttered, he pulled the yoke side to side. The fighter behind him did not slow or stop firing. Hard rounds smashed into sky scrapers and pavement as the two machines raced against each other. The Thunderbolt's twin engines kicked into overdrive as Estevan swooped through bridges and towering statues. His speedometer began to tick at insane levels and Estevan's fingers began to grow numb. His breathing quickened and his head throbbed. Yet he continued to dance along the high rises of Tokyo. He ducked between the engagements his fellow Imperial's were engrossed in, missiles streaked like flies between the fighter craft of the Imperial Navy, Adeptus Astartes, and the Natives. Estevan streaked through a dog fight between a Stormhawk of the Space Marines and a slick native fighter. The two were dancing much like Estevan and his foe. Only the Astartes was pulling far more insane maneuvers. Estevan grimaced, he was determined to match the Angels of Death. His breathing slowed and Estevan closed his eyes. A bridge the size of an Imperial Frigate was before him, he let his hands drift away from the yoke. In his head he counted the seconds as they passed, a dull thump echoed in his cockpit. His foe had hit him, yet he was still alive. Estevan finally reached the point he wanted, and with a speed that could only have been learned over 3 long years of service did Estevan smash his throttle down and yank his yoke back again. 

The Thunderbolt, carried by its own momentum was arrested by the yoke's orders and began to flip. It froze ninety degrees from the ground as Estevan turned the engine off completely only a scarce few meters from the bridge. The belly of the Aircraft was close enough to the bridge that the residual heat began to cook the dew that had formed there. Estevan opened his eyes and watched through his mirror as his foe jetted underneath the bridge. He cackled wildly and slammed his engines into life once more, several tons of metal were suddenly gripped by the force of two engines once more and the aircraft climbed up and over the bridge, Estevan caught sight of his foe turning to face him. It was too late, Estevan's gunsights shook violently from the recoil of two bolt cannons ripping through the native plane.