The weapons they carried were called Fleshborers by the men of the Imperial Guard. This was because of the nature of the small but voracious living creatures they fired from the mouths of their living weapons. These 'fleshborers' ate through anything they came in contact with, including armour and bone. A man's only hope was to take his own life before the pain became too much to bear.
The first wave of termagants came flowing out of the trees and across the clearing towards the hastily constructed trenches of Logan's Scouting party. How Beren expected a mere thirty men to defend the outer perimeter he had no idea but they would fight to the last man if necessary, and he thought that this would be their fate.
The aliens were in the trenches before his men had time to fire more than a few rounds. His men were falling around him as their armour was torn away and their organs obliterated by the feasting of the symbiotic Fleshborers. He turned just in time to hack off a limb of a Termagant that had leapt at him over the body of one of his fallen comrades. Logan sliced the creatures head off and turned to blast another alien with his laspistol. The situation was already looking desperate as he hewed the head from another alien that was busy clawing at the chest of one of his dead bodyguards.
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The alien tide was breaking as the remaining few guardsmen hastily despatched the last few Termagants with flamers and knives. Of his scouting party only seven guardsmen remained but they had held off the first assault.
Logan called his men to him as he contacted HQ for orders over the comm-link. The distant voice of Captain Beren crackled over the radio, "Pull back to the inner perimeter and wait for support, try and hold the Tyranids back and slow them down by any means you can."
Suddenly he was jarred from his thoughts by an ululating cry that emanated from the trees to his left.
He could feel the menacing presence of the Hive Mind, even though he was many miles away from the core of the invading Tyranid Swarm. He knew that there could be scouts of the foul, alien abomination in the same jungle sector as him and his squad. He was confident, however, that the Imperial Guard stationed on Bathalimus Secundus could repel the invading menace. Logan anticipated a long, drawn out campaign which would more than likely send him to be among his ancestors with the Emperor. He had already advanced to three times the average survival span of a senior Guardsman, perhaps it was time his luck ran out...
Awaiting the order from HQ to move out, the Guardsmen were becoming increasingly nervous. They could hear the cries of the aliens, each one closer than the last. Their only hope was support from the Adeptus Astartes but their signal for aid was long since transmitted and they had, as of yet, heard nothing.
Beren watched his men with interest. This was, if nothing else, a proving ground for the youngsters under his command. How would they deal with the aliens? Would their fragile human minds be broken as soon as they realised what they were facing or would they stand and fight to the last man like true warriors. Only time would tell.
The heat of the jungle was becoming oppressive. Beren turned to Haldar, his lieutenant, and raised his eyebrow inquisitively. The young, headstrong Catachan was checking and rechecking the loading mechanism on his autorifle. The powerful, young Catachan looked up at his Captain and realised that he had been watching him for the last five minutes. "Just making sure", he mumbled, embarrassed at his nervous habit. "Don't worry yourself about your equipment, Haldar" , said Beren knowingly, "the weapons were checked earlier and anyway, you'll be lucky to get a shot at one of the filthy creatures once they begin their assault."
Haldar looked up and nodded slowly. At least his knife was sharp.