“I make grave mistakes all the time. Everything seems to work out…”–Thor
“I make grave mistakes all the time. Everything seems to work out…”–Thor
What does the above color remind you of? If you said Pepto Bismol, then you’re in agreement with me.
I wanted more time to write. Well, I got it . . . at least for today. My boss sent me home early because I am sick; I think it’s a stomach virus. There is one going around here in my town and I think it decided to land on me. Well, I’m still not feeling very well and am so sick that I can’t think straight enough to put two sentences together.
And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. A good old Catch 22.
For those of you who were wondering where I went, I’m still here. I have been working a lot of hours at the institution (prison), but still writing when I have that most elusive of things: spare time.
I realize some of you are wanting me to finish the two Warhammer 40,000 (WH40K) fan fiction stories I started a while back. Well, I will probably do that, but just not right now. You see, Tuesday morning of last week I woke up at 3:00 AM from a dream about my own original storyline I’m working on for my book. I worked on and off throughout that morning until about 10:00 AM. During that time I came to a not-so-easy-to-make decision. That decision drastically altered the direction of the storyline. I had been writing the story that I thought others would want to read. Instead, I’m now going to write the story I would want to read, and hopefully, there will be others who will want to read it too.
I tell the truth that I will likely, at some point, finish the WH40K stories, but right now I need to write what I’m inspired to write, and for now, it’s my book.
Sergeant Andraemon Dolon sat alongside his squad in the boarding torpedo as it was loaded into the launch tube.
The Hunter-class Destroyer Midnight Stalker along with five others of its class raced across the void to intercept a pirate wolf pack that had its sights set on an Imperial transport convoy. Apparently, the convoy commander had employed mercenaries to provide security for the transports, but at the first sign of trouble, they ran. The Minotaurs were the closest Imperial vessels able to respond to their distress signal.
The pirate wolf pack employed a Murder-class Cruiser as its flagship. The remainder of the fleet was comprised of assorted escort-sized vessels of various classes.
As soon as the Astartes vessels were in torpedo range of the pirate escorts they fired their payloads of boarding torpedoes.
Frustration and anger. It consumed Sergeant Dolon. Being passed over for promotion to Captain again. So many times it had happened. How many times had he exhibited his devotion and loyalty to the Emperor and his Chapter? How much more did he need to do to prove his worthiness?
The boarding torpedoes closed the gap with blistering speed. The interior of Dolon’s torpedo shook violently as it impacted with the hull of one of the pirate escorts.
The tip of the torpedo penetrated the hull of the pirate vessel. Smoke filled the air and pieces of the hull along with assorted pieces of debris covered the deck of the targeted ship. The forward hatch of the torpedo opened and ten Minotaur Astartes exited through the opening, taking up tactical positions to advance down the corridor.
A score of pirates rushed down the corridor in masse. Armed mostly with autopistols and close-combat weapons save a few brandishing autoguns. They rushed towards the Astartes howling and roaring in a deafening cacophony.
Before the Astartes could open with bolter fire, Sergeant Dolon rushed headlong into the throng of pirates. Initially confused, the rest of Dolon’s squad followed their commander into melee combat.
Dolon was a buzzsaw of death and destruction. He pointed his bolt pistol and at point-blank range squeezed the trigger. The bolt round exited the muzzle and impacted the pirate’s skull, vaporizing it in an explosion of bone and blood.
As he moved his pistol to the next target, he swung his chainsword into the right shoulder of another pirate. The chainsword’s teeth bit into and tore through the upper right torso of the victim. The pirate screamed in agony as the weapon ripped through his vital organs.
The Astartes Sergeant shot, slashed and stabbed his way further into the amassed group of pirates until he had expended all of his bolter’s magazines and his chainsword’s blade was so clogged with human meat that it became useless as a cutting weapon. At that point, he resorted to using the two as blunt force instruments of destruction clubbing his enemies to death.
For what seemed to be an eternity, a fresh group of pirates rushed into the battle. A half dozen of them grabbed onto Dolon’s weapons and by their sheer weight alone, yanked the empty bolt pistol and inoperable chainsword from his grip.
Dolon punched straight through one of the pirate’s head. His punch decapitated the pirate and blood pumped forcefully from the torn arteries. As he drew his arm back through the spray of blood and it drenched his gauntleted hands.
Another pirate fired a spray of rounds into the back of Dolon’s Mark VI helm. The rounds ricocheted harmlessly off the helmet. The Sergeant turned around and slapped his open hand onto the bare chest of the pirate. The impact collapsed his chest and left a bloody handprint on the pirate’s chest.
With defeat obvious, the other pirates quickly retreated in silence.
Back aboard the Astartes Destroyer, he presented his report to his Captain. Captain Hurst listened to the report without interrupting. When Dolon was done speaking, the Captain responded, ‘Your men told me of your heroics, Sergeant. While your actions achieved the desired result, they were the actions of a World Eater Berserker, not a Loyalist servant of the Emperor. Your exhibited behavior is one of the main reasons you were once again passed over for promotion. You placed your squad in a negative position that forced them to follow your lead instead of obeying the dictates of the Codex Astartes. Until you become more Codex compliant, you will never achieve the rank of Captain.’
Sergeant Dolon silently nodded his head in reply, acknowledging that he understood the words spoken to him.
‘Very well, Sergeant. You are dismissed.’
A brooding Dolon walked away without rebuttal.
Sergeant Andraemon Dolon walked across the flight deck of the Daedelos Krata. The vessel served as the flagship of the Minotaurs Astartes large and powerful fleet. Dolon tried his best to not let the disappointment show. He kept his focus straight ahead as he made his way back to his Thunderhawk.
‘Next time will be your opportunity’, were the words spoken to him by the Space Marines under his command after another Astartes’ name was called out for promotion to Captain. Five times he had been passed over. Five times in twenty-three years. He would not wait for the sixth time. Enough was enough.
As the gunship made its way through the void back to Dolon’s assigned warship, he mulled over his previous accomplishments during his tenure as Sergeant. He recalled his stand against a Drukhari Drachon after thwarting a Xenos pirate raid on an Imperial supply convoy. He thought about the events of when he and his squad were surrounded and almost overran by an extraordinarily large horde of Termagants. He remembered his fight to the death versus an Astral Claw Captain during the Badab War.
The last memory played over in his head like a recording on an eternal loop. Lufgt Huron, the Tyrant of Badab, had rebelled against the Imperium and had been punished for his actions. The Blood Reaver, despite his flaws, seemed to respect courage and loyalty.
That evening in his personal cell, alone with his thoughts, he dwelled on the Astral Claws Captain he had slain during the war against the traitors. Perhaps the Astral Claws and their allies had been justified? The longer his mind lingered on his perceived slight, the more tainted his thoughts became. In the morning he would take action.
A longtime friend and coworker has petitioned me to write some more Warhammer 40,000 (WH40K) fanfiction and post it here on my blog so he and his son can read it. My favorite faction in WH40K is the Red Corsairs. They’re essentially space pirates who operate out of a Warp rift known as the Maelstrom. I plan on this being an ongoing miniseries that I plan on posting in at least three or four installments, perhaps more.
For those familiar with WH40K, and the forces of Chaos, in particular, these stories will be based on the game’s 3rd Edition rules, especially the Chaos Space Marines Codex known as 3.5 Edition. The most fun I have ever had with WH40K was with 3rd Edition, so that’s one of the main reasons I chose it as a background era.
In one of my previous posts I mentioned that retirement may be in my near future plans. Unless something drastic happens to change it, I will be retired from the Federal Bureau of Prisons by the end of November.
I do not as of yet have concrete plans for a second career, but I have various options on the table. Whatever I do for a post-B.O.P. job, hopefully more writing time will be a part of the plan.
To use an old cliché, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel now.