To my brothers: we raised merry hell under the banner of an Eagle-Globe-and-Anchor on three continents. This is for you.
It is the 41st Millenium, and as the God Emperor sits upon the Golden Throne, countless millions die in his name and for the sake of his dream. At the forefront of the fight for humanity's survival are the Adeptus Astartes. They have tactics, strategies and machines such that no foe can best them in battle. They are his bulwark against the Terror. They are the Defenders of Humanity. They are Space Marines and they shall know no fear.
Imperial Sons
Lightning slashed the sky in wagon-wheels, as the seas churned and frothed in rage. Out on the horizon could be seen the lights of cargo haulers, or perhaps fishing ships seeking a catch. Whatever the reason, they were out there, fighting against the peril-filled depths.
Nathaniel Dragonhammer watched it all with a heavy heart. He had joined the ranks of the Space Wolves from a sea-faring community on the Fenrisian coast. The great storms of the All-Father were a common sight in his youth, one he reveled in. And though this sight inspired awe, the mountain-sized waves falling from the sky as lightning pierced their dark depths, it reminded him far too much of home.
26 years I've been away he thought bitterly. Turning, he strode back inside the quarters which had been his since he arrived on Nippon. For 26 long years, the captain and his company had been stranded in the Nippon system, cut off from the rest of civilization by warp storms so massive no astropath, nor even a choir of them could pierce that chaos-damned storm! But if such should be the case, then they would make the best of it. The sons of Leman Russ were not want to sit idle, all allegations by Dark Angels to the contrary.
During the intervening time, they had raised and built an army. Quite literally an army. The system had a population of 40 billion, with moderately large forges. First they had increased the size of the PDF, building a well-trained militia. The next step had been to step up the forge production. Artillery pieces, tanks, infantry carriers, even vultures for air assault troops. The warp storms meant that certain supplies were unavailable, thus Baneblade hulls lay silently in storage. But what they could complete, they did. Then had begun the real work.
Retirees were called for, men who had served the emperor once before, and knew what it meant to stand in the line against cultists, Orks, Tyranids, the myriad enemies of the Emperor. These "Ancients" as they were nicknamed, became the cadre which turned part-time militia into full-time Guardsmen through simple, brutal, Darwinian training. 2% of all recruits died in training. NCO and officer candidate schools would claim another 3%. Social status mattered not a bit. Nathaniel had publicly executed the son of a nobleman who robbed his troops and raped one of their wives. The discipline was positively draconic by Civilian standards.
Nathan's reason had been twofold and simple: the more brutal and devastating their training was, the better chance they would stand and fight successfully against their enemies. Secondly, this was at heart a warrior culture. They had the stories of ages long past, before the Dark Age of Technology or the coming of Emperor. Fan the sparks and embers in the forge to build a roaring blaze.
His scouts were given the task of creating their human equals. On the seventh planet of the system, an untouched near-Death World, the very best of the line infantrymen were sent. Other worlds, other regiments called them simply scouts. But these he called 'rangers', giving them a name and a position to work for. The long-las rifle and black tantos were a mark of respect earned only by the very best.
There had been problems. Not all of the Nobility were so keen to change the status quo. Brother Skalthan lost his eye right and a portion of his jaw to an Assassin's bullet. The same assassin tried attacking two more brothers whom were with him. Shooting at a Rune Priest is only successful if he stays down.
If, however, he arises, blood coursing through his vein while a chemical cocktail strong enough to fell an Ogryn counteracts the damage and spurs him into combat, you are better off blowing your own brains out. This man had the presence of mind to do so. He was only the first though.
26 longs years. And each year, new units were created. Not all of it was Nathan's doing. Much of his Wolf Guard and many of his sergeants had stood shoulder to shoulder with Guard units. The Space Wolves knew their weaknesses inside and out. To that end, each infantry regiment was considered a light infantry unit, able to march 30 kilometers with full kit, then fight when they got there. Air assault school and qualifications were necessary too, as the Vulture production came online. Tank regiments, artillery by the score, and transport ships to move the whole of 4 Corps at the fastest rate possible.
If only those damned storms would leave the captain thought harshly. I might be able to leave this place and continue doing the Emperor's Will. His Wolf Guard had even taken to calling him 'The Second Shogun' for the considerable power he wielded nowadays. At heart, he knew it was a joke, but there was nothing he could do about that.
Still, he felt at a loss. Not knowing what else to do about the matter, he began pulling the Power sword from its sheath, then placing it at his feet. The bolt pistol mag-locked to his thigh came next. He sat down, legs crossed in the meditation pose he had learned as an initiate. Breathing slowed, heart rate dropped as he entered The Calm.
Scenes of his life began to play mentally. Recollections of his childhood. The first time he went out onto the deep with his father in a boat; learning how to wield a hammer at the forge, fighting for a place amongst the Wolves. He remembered his time as an initiate, learning what it meant to be a Son of Leman Russ. The name of his Primarch was now branded into the flesh of his arms, his service to the Emperor noted in the scars which crisscrossed his body. 338 years I've served now. And never once regretted it.
He remembered Baga's World. As a Grey Hunter assigned to be the Sergeant for a Swiftclaw Bike Squad, they had descended via Drop Pod in response to a request for help from a Salamander detachment under attack by Dark Eldar.
"Brothers hurry or we perish!" The salamander declared over the vox.
CRACK! The lead biker's body pitched backwards, a bloody hole shot through his neck.
"Enemy sniper, 12 o'clock!" Dane, rider to the sergeant's immediate right called out.
"Evasive maneuvers!" Nathaniel snapped.
The detachment scattered like buckshot zig-zagging every which way. All except for Nathaniel. He gunned the engine on his bike, bringing it up to full power. Across the broken terrain, such a move was ill-advised. Nathaniel didn't care though. It was no different than taking a boat out across the Fenrisian sea in a storm. And he was a son of the storm. The engine roared with a righteous fury. He hunched down over the controls to present a smaller target profile.
CRACK!
This time Nathan passed under the round. He had a good idea of where the Sniper was located.
"Follow me brothers!" He roared, then drew his plasma gun, aiming for the cluster of rocks where he believed the sniper lay. One, two, three bluish-white orbs sped down range. If nothing else, they'd keep the bastard's head down.
Bolters began to rattle, spitting their own payloads into the ranks of Eldar firing on the pinned down Salamanders.
Chain swords revved, and then they closed the assault, howling defiance at the treacherous children of Commoragh.
Two more Blood Claws would fall that day, but the Dark Eldar were annihilated. Nathaniel received a gift in thanks for his work. A master-crafted thunder hammer with a teleporter cunningly forged into the haft. When thrown, it could be recalled to his hand. And from that day forward, he was surnamed "Dragonhammer".
He remembered Golgam's bridge, where they pulled him out unconscious from underneath a pile of Orks, hammer in hand and a throat clutched in his gauntleted hand. The war boss had escaped over a pile of Wolf dead, leaving Nathaniel the last survivor of his Pack.
The great hall was boisterous as Nathaniel entered. It fell silent though as he marched straight to the seat of the Great Wolf.
"Lord of Wolves, I come to swear an oath."
"Do you seek the path of the Lone Wolf, Nathaniel Dragonhammer?" he asked in reply.
"Aye lord, I shall not return until I have BloodGutterz' head."
"Go, and may the All-Father be with you."
11 years passed. On the eve of Fimbulwinter, the chapter was gathered together in the Great Hall when the doors were kicked open. Through them stepped a man they had long since given up for dead. His armor had been cut open and smashed in. In his right hand rested a thunder hammer all knew so very well, and in his left, a large sack slung over his shoulder.
"Lord of Wolves! I come to take my place once more amongst the Sons of Russ!"
The ancient Chapter master stood to his feet.
"And what do you bring with you to earn such admittance?"
Dumping the sack open on the ground, revealed the disfigured green face of Warboss BloodGutterz.
"I come with the head of he who slew my pack brothers at Golgam's Bridge 11 Imperial years ago. I slew him on Gomorrah in the midst of the Waagh!"
"Brothers, what say you?" the Great Wolf declared. "Shall we allow this Lone Wolf to join our ranks once more?"
The assembled brothers howled in the affirmative.
"The pack has spoken, come Nathaniel Dragonhammer, be remembered amongst our ranks. Iron Priests, gather the Artificers and see if we can't do something about our brother's armor. And for the love of the All-father, will somebody destroy that damned head, I can smell it from here!"
Laughter filled the hall as a group of battle brothers turned their flamers on the offender, purifying the great hall with the smoky smell of burning promethium.
He remembered the day he earned his captaincy, on Alkamon VIII, fighting a Tyranid attack. Wolf Lord Jarl Fellborn had died carving a path to the Hive Tyrant. Nathaniel sacrificed his beloved hammer avenging his fallen Lord. For his courage and abilities, they gave him the 5th Great Company to command.
Nathaniel remembered coming to Nippon, the assignment placed before him by Great Wolf himself.
"These citizens are forming Guard regiments from their PDF in response to a Crusade. Because they are within our sector, the High Lords have requested that we oversee the matter. If they are judged fit to fight, they will accompany you to the crusade."
Nathaniel's eyebrow arched slightly. His chapter master huffed, then pressed onward.
"It's a strange request, I know. Especially given our history with the High Lords, however it is a good sign of things to come. I am sending you and your Company to handle the matter."
"Very well."
"You will also have your pick of one scout squad and three Dreadnoughts to accompany you."
"Lord?"
"Let us say, I have reason to be concerned."
The extra eyes and firepower will be warmly welcome then."
"See to your men, and let me know whom you choose to accompany you."
"Yes lord. All-father be with you."
"And also with you young man."
One day later, they left the Fang, headed for a battle barge sufficient to carry the entire company plus their support vehicles in a single lift. The company was in high spirits, especially the Blood Claw packs, all of whom had proven their mettle in combat before, and sought to prove themselves worthy of becoming Grey Hunters in the eyes of their fellow Wolves.
He remembered the Warp Storm's arrival, locking them here on this planet. Over the years, his Wolves had taken to the system and it's people quite well. Beneath the culture and class was a fundamental devotion to not only the Emperor but duty and honor. It had still been a close-run thing though. Only last year, a series of cults dedicated to the various Chaos Gods had arisen. Working quickly, all but one, a cult dedicated to Slaanesh were quickly eradicated. The Slaaneshi were tracked down, and it was with great horror that the company's rune priest learned of their intentions- to summon a lesser daemon through a portal in the warp.
The idiots had chosen to do it on a pleasure yacht far out at sea though. Upon learning of this, Nathaniel had ordered the assault on the boat delayed, much to Skalthan's chagrin.
"Lord, we must take that boat!" Skalthan bellowed, indignation written all over the Rune Priest's face. The idea of allowing a chaos daemon to enter the world unnopposed did not sit well with him. Not one bit.
"No. We must not."
"By the Emperor I will not stand for this!"
Nathaniel smiled then. "Peace brother. I never said I'd leave them alone."
"But you..."
Nathan pointed skyward. Up in orbit, their battle barge sat in silent repose. "Furthermore, have you seen our scouts lately? I think they might have gone for a swim.
Skalthan growled. "You're too smart by half you damned arrogant pup."
Far out at sea, they watched the explosion of Melta charges placed along the yacht's hull. Then a beam of light split the sky for an instant. A turbo laser battery on their battle barge had just eliminated any traces of the yacht, or the cult for that matter.
"The Emperor's Will is served" Skalthan intoned.
Nathaniel remembered, and relived all of it. What was he to do now though? What does a man do when his life no longer has purpose?
White light pierced his thoughts. Nathaniel blinked in shock, and when he looked to the center of that light, a man stood there in golden armor. A man he'd only heard of, and never seen. He dropped to one knee, closed right fist slamming against the cuirass plate of his armor in the ancient salute of the Space Wolves legion.
"All-Father!"
"Rise my son."
Ever so slowly, Nathaniel stood. The Emperor of Mankind was glorious to behold.
"I have hidden you here for my own purposes."
"My lord?"
The Emperor seemed to smile at his confusion. "Fear not, you have done all that I could ask of you. Tonight, the Warp Storms surrounding Nippon will end. When they do, go to the Dubrose System. There you will find your future."
"Yes All-Father!"
"Fear not Nathaniel Dragonhammer, you are my Angel of Death. And I am proud of you."
The light disappeared in an instant. Nathaniel's eyes snapped open. That couldn't have been real. It was impossible for the Master of Mankind to appear to a Space wolf such as he. That was when he saw it. A Master-crafted Thunder Hammer, shaped like a dragon's head.
His breath caught in his throat as a hand slowly reached toward it. It could not, should not be, yet here it lay. Picking it up, his hands wrapped around an old friend he hadn't touched in nearly three-quarters of a century. There was an inscription across the adamantine haft which had not been there before. Go forth my son, and do not fear. I am with you.
Activating the power stud, he felt a faint crackling course through his body. A strange joy filled his heart, one which he had not felt in years. In a moment, his head acknowledged what his heart had been telling him. Running out onto the balcony of his quarters, Nathaniel felt the spray of the ocean run across his face, tasted it's salty tang. He felt whole once more. Now to work...
The door to his quarters exploded outward and he swept through them, the Wolves stationed on either side coming to attention.
"Nils! Balim! Sound the alarm! Have the great company meet me on the launch pad! We march to war!"
Nils let out a howl of glee as Balim pulled on his helmet and began vox-casting the call up. Through the next doors were the chapter thralls and their Nipponese counterparts, waiting for any orders from their lord. Nils' howl had clearly woken them up.
"Is something wrong Lord of Wolves?" One of them asked deferentially.
"Takahata, sound 'on full kits' and 'board ships' across the system! Corps and division commanders are to meet me aboard my battle barge in 6 hours."
Without waiting for a reply, Nathaniel pressed onward. As he moved towards the launch pad where his personal Thunderhawk waited, the sounds of Power Armored Marines could be heard moving through the fortress. Far off in the city an alarm could be heard. Soon enough, squads of Guardsmen would be forming up in the streets and moving off to their assigned company areas. Heavy lift transports would be warming up on tarmacs as pilots received movement orders. Overhead, the fleet would be preparing itself as well.
On the rain and the lightning swept pad, 121 eager faces were waiting, helmets clipped to their belts. Squad sergeants stood in the fore, hoping beyond all reason that this was not a drill.
"Brothers, we march once more to war!"
"But what of the warp storms?" Sergeant Elkhorn asked dubiously.
"The Emperor will make a way." Nathaniel lifted his gaze across the crowd. "Be of good cheer my brothers, this day all shall know that the All-Father has not forgotten us!"
He could see it in them. They wanted to believe him. Desperately wanted to believe.
"Sergeant Ranthom, when we were on Gornica, did you doubt me?"
"No lord!"
"And who carried the day against those cultists scum?"
"We did!"
"Brother Helstan, you and your Lascannon stood with me at Lyrn-ta Pass for three days against the Greenskin tide. How did that end?"
Helstan's elongated canines positively gleamed in the lightning. "We kicked their asses back to hell Lord."
"I see in your eyes fear, the same fear that any reasonable man would be filled with if he stood gazing into the unknown. But know this, the Emperor is with us."
He reached under his cloak for the familiar weight that rested there. "And he gave me this as a sign!" Nathaniel held it aloft.
Brother Skalthan, the Rune Priest, looked dazed for a moment. He'd been there the day Nathan lost his namesake. Remembered it quite well. That it was here now proved beyond any shadow of a doubt from whence came their orders. And if he supported his Wolf Lord, the company would follow his lead.
"If the all-father commands, who are we to argue?" Skarthan's gray-green eyes flashed as he threw his crozier up into the air. "To war!"
"To war!" The company bellowed with one accord.
Thrall-captain Grimhold was the fifteenth man to command the Battle Barge Jormungand in its 9 centuries of service. A native seaman of Fenris, he hailed from the same coastal village as Dragonhammer, and had proven himself quite capable in his tenure. He wasn't sure what was happening now though.
Only hours before the thrall at the vox-station had announced that the Guard units were being called up a to prepare for embarkation. He knew that Wolf Lord Dragonhammer had come aboard, as well as the various corps and division commanders. What he'd said to them hadn't taken long, at which time they left the Jormungand and departed for their own ships.
The bridge hatch whisked open with a hiss, revealing. Nathaniel and his guards.
"Wolf Lord on the Bridge!" Grimhold barked.
The other thralls and several battle brothers stood to attention as Nathaniel strode in.
"My lord, we await your orders."
"Very well captain Grimhold. Is the fleet ready for departure?"
"Very nearly. The last transports are departing their assigned rally points now and will be embarked within the hour."
"Good. Have your navigator plot us a course to the Dubrose system, relay it across the fleet."
"What of the Warp Storm?"
"The All-father has told me in vision, he will prepare the way."
Grimhold looked at his sworn lord. There was no hesitation or doubt in his demeanor.
"Aye aye lord, we'll see to it. Navigator!"
"Plotting course now sir."
"ETA?"
"Thirteen hours sir. Emperor Willing."
"Very well, helsman, take us out."
The warp storms at the edge of the system were immense. As the fleet gathered, they still thought Nathaniel was crazy. But when he commanded, they obeyed. And they would not turn to the right or left with that man at their lead.
"Sir, the storm is receding!" A sensor tech called out.
"Onscreen!"
The purple-pink tendrils of Warp were rapidly fading into nothingness directly in front of them.
"Helmsman, as soon as we're clear, full speed for Dubrose!" Grimhold declared.
"Aye aye sir!"
A portal opened before the fleet as their drive engines and Gellar fields kicked in. Back to war Nathaniel thought with a growl. Back where the sons of Leman Russ belong.
Dubrose System
"Lord Admiral, Kill-Kroozas coming out of the asteroid belt!"
"Give me a count!" the Admiral snapped in reply.
The sensor-tech's face fell. "At least 20 sir"
"By the throne" the Admiral swore. His Battlefleet had taken heavy losses securing the orbitals here, and barely begun to repair the damage. They were in no shape to turn back 20 or more Ork Kill-Kroozas.
"Warp Portal opening off the starboard bow!" the tech cried out in near panic.
The Admiral felt his whole body sag. How could the orks have obtained such reinforcements already?
That was when his vox crackled. "This is the Space Wolf Battle Barge Jormungand, to any imperial forces in the vicinity, do you copy?"
"Space Wolves, I wasn't aware that they'd sent us a company, much less a battle barge."
"Admiral." It was one of the tacticians as he stared into a holo-tank.
"you're not going to believe this sir, but the battle barge and her escorts are going to come in right behind that Ork squadron."
the admiral's eyes lit up with fury. "Get me that barge!"
"Channel open sir."
"Space Wolf Commander, maintain present course and see what you can do to the Ork Kill-Kroozas coming out of the asteroid belt."
"It will be our pleasure, Jormungand out."
With so much fresh, additional firepower, the Orks were destroyed out of hand. The massive fleet following Jormungand broke for the planet as the last ork ship detonated. They moved swiftly and with a purpose, taking up positions in orbit, Jormungand at the center of it all. Transport craft streamed out of their hulls, and then the Lord Admiral saw it. Drop Pods, falling through the sky like meteors. The judgement of an Angry God was about to descend upon Dubrose I. He had no clue how right he was.