Family Ties, a warhammer fanfic

AN: This was originally going to be a one-shot but as it grew and grew, I had to face the facts that it was going to be two chapters at least. This is a nice what if story. We all know that a Space Marine gives up their family upon joining -- most can't even remember them and don't care much anyway. But I could not help but wonder, what would happen if a Space Marine and a sibling met again after his transformation? Thus, this was born. Hope you enjoy.

The world of Hivnom IV was aflame. Massive fleets clashed above the hotly contested planet. Admiral Maracko - -aided by by elements of the Lost Warriors Space Marine Chapter -- had finally broken through the Chaotic blockade and come to free his birthplace. The explosive flares of gun-fire lit up space like a thousand dying suns, the Imperial fleet holding formation even as it scythed through the Chaotic defenders.

The corrupted Chapter Master of the Red Souls Chaos Marines, who had been left to defend Hivonem -- was caught totally unprepared for the sheer ferocity with which Maracko returned to liberate his home. A massive corrupted ship bloomed crimson, flames rushing along to devour its side even as smaller craft sped from its launch bays -- as if fleeing the dying giant. They had no chance, with one last eye-searing explosion the ship died. Those that were not killed outright were smashed or destroyed by the flying debris. An additional two cruiser too close to the blast sustained heavy damage and were easy pickings for Maraco's flagship, the Protector's main weapons. They were torn apart with a viscous salvo even as the arrow-formation churned deeper into the defenders.

The withering counter-attack destroyed the loyal ships Domenus, In His Name and Imperial Glory they were reduced to so much floating wreckage, all lives lost. The fleet pressed on, like a living creature, each ship forming but a cell in its being. The cruisers Laoma, Eronis were sent to oblivion but the fleet carried on. Like a spear cutting into the very heart of the corruption, brave Warrior was reduced to dust. Still they fought in. For freedom, for glory, for the Emperor.

Now moving above the planet itself, the fleet moved to engage the defenders in more equal terms, the formation began to break and most of the ships ejected chaff that would foul sensor readings -- this was a key part of the plan, for even as the war above the planet raged. So would the war for the Hivonem itself. Drop ships, transports and most striking of all, Astartes cruisers shedding Drop-Pods like dandruff.

The defences of Hivonem had been captured intact, most of those dropping to the surface would never make it. Transport ship 34C was caught in the aft by a spray of laser-based defence turrets, burning a hole clean through its armour and causing it to lose control and start to burn up in the atmosphere. Drop-Pods swarms were totally obliterated even as they fell. Many Battle-Brothers died without a fight. Few other Chapters would have risked this tactic, fewer still would have done it for a worthless world like Hivonem. But the Lost Warriors were special -- they cared for this planet. It was theirs and theirs alone. Several regiments of Imperial Guardsmen had also been requisitioned for this task -- when a Chapter with as many connections as the Lost Warriors asks, you do not deny them.

It rained burning, dying men, corpses fell from the skies, shrapnel crushed buildings and devastated the already traumatized world. If there had been any civilians left free, they would have been terrified. But there were not, they had long since been rounded up and taken to the slave pens. The glittering star-light of the defence guns was punctured by the frequent flares as more ships died, the first wave was almost totally destroyed but a select few made it down. The air was filled with Vox communications from cut off guardsmen calling for info, or help or just for death as the cultists, led by the Red Souls counter-struck. The battle was pitched, a mirror for the fight that was even now playing out above them. The Red Souls were holding their own, slaughtering most of the Imperials before they hit the ground. All this changed when a flight of pre-programmed drop-pods smashed into the roof of the titanic weapons control centre of the civic palace. Most were burned up or destroyed by the AA fire, but enough made it down that a mighty Space Marine strike-force was able to launch an assault on the building itself. The guns were silenced thereafter and the Astartes prepared to hold until they were ether reinforced, or destroyed. Without the constant barrage of enemy anti-air fire, the Imperials were able to land far more easily. Soon, the battle for the miles-wide city itself was taking places. It was a city fight, up close and dirty. No respite, no warning, no mercy.

The bangs and echoes of the war for the soul of the planet reverberated through the maze-like tunnel system buried miles below the city. Here was where the loyalist faction had fled when the planet first fell and here was where the survivors still fought to be free.

Trooper Alera, formerly of the Planetary Defence Force but now probably freelance, pushed back the lock of sweaty hair that was hanging over her goggles. Down here, the light was virtually none-existent and they had to use these to see. To her, the bleak tunnel was a red-tainted landscape with dripping water in lighter tones. Of course, it had a full colour mode as well but Alera was far more used to this. Grunting, she finished manhandling the heavy-stubber into position on the barricade. Cole took up the controls and started to sweep the deadly weapon across the corridor, fingers inches from the firing trigger.

The barricade was made up of crates and armour pulled from wrecked vehicles. Curl and Vear were already taking cover behind it, checking their lasguns for the last time as they poked through holes left for this very purpose. Krim took up his sniper rifle, setting farther back and aimed the cross-hairs. This was an important location, here was where the PDF would make their final stand.

Here, the cave system narrowed to a gap just large enough for a man -- or an Astartes, if he squeezed. It was a natural checkpoint and also happened to be the only way to the rest of the tunnels. Tunnels which were swarming with escaped civies. Acording to command ( Or rather, the ragged battle-worn remainders of command) reinforcements were en-route. Not frucking likely. She thought, grimly. The caves had a smell all of their own and it surrounded them here. Anywhere else, they would be brushed aside by the numerically superior cultists, but this was a chock-point. They could hold it until ammo ran out, or they received back-up. The sounds from above were like a constant storm. They all knew what it meant, salvation beckoned the brave warriors of the Imperium -- if they could but survive long enough.

Sounds, the echoing thump of many feet. Travelling towards them like an obscene millipede. Many legged death, cultist clothed in torn shrouds of red silk. Welding stolen lasguns. They moved forward briskly, clearly expecting no resistance. As far as they knew, the PDF had been crushed within days of the fall.

" Here they come," mouthed Vear. The sweat on his brow betraying the rising tension they all felt inside. To his credit, his hands were steady -- Alera always suspected that Vear would have made a better guardsmen then PDFer. He was cool under fire, calm and always in control. He had lost his family in the first few clashes and now, now he simply lived to kill in the name of the Emperor.

" Lets fruck 'em up." Growled Cole, the stubber warming even as he prepared to unleash a hellstorm of death.

" First shot's mine." Said Krim, " then we open up at full power and hold 'em as long as possible. We'll make them pay for all the people they've killed."

The sound was louder now, they would be appearing any second. Alera found herself whispering prayers to the Emperor, not for her own survival but for the death of the enemy, please let me take as many of them with me as I can, please let me fight at my best, please don't let me fail now after I've been though so much.

Then, they were there. Appearing suddenly as if teleported, the first of the cultists was walking confidently through the narrow pass. He was bald, scarred hideously and wrapped in red silk. A lasgun was by his side.

Bang! He dropped, his head exploding in a gory mess. The dead man fell without making a sound and judging by their reaction, his comrades were not experienced. Two rushed forwards to aid their fallen friend. Krim calmly took aim and blew them both apart with head-shots.

Krim was a good sniper, a former guardsmen he had retired here in the hopes of peace, but recently there had been a shortage of peace and now he found himself returning to his old ways. With two dead, the rest of the cultists seemed to get the message. They ducked into cover where they could, blindly returning fire. It splattered harmlessly against the barricade. Krim continued his methodical fire. Curl and Vear opened up as well. All together, they did not score many hits but they succeeded in their goal: to keep the cultists in cover and to buy themselves time.

Apparently deciding that the only way they would be able to win was to make a frontal assault, the cultists streaked from the pass like a red tide, their shots redoubled in ferocity. Cole opened up with his stubber and mowed them down Curl and Vear both contributed to the fire as well. Many died in the first few seconds. One's head exploded even as he fell backwards, knocking down the man behind him. Two lost their legs and cried in pain even as Krim sent them to their final judgement. It was a bloody massacre, not a battle. The cultists could not bring their full numbers to bare until the got through the pass, but Cole and to a lesser extent, Curl and Vear kept up a continual stream of fire that slaughtered anyone who made the effort. Soon the bodies were thick, even as the front of the barricade was blackened by return fire.

" How many are there?" Demanded Cole, making another sweep, the stubber ripping a man to meaty shreds and leaving two more to bleed to death even as they tried to crawl to safety. A cultist lost his nerve and Krim shot him in the back of the head, a massive man roared like an animal and charged the barricade. Curl's shot burned his arm to a bloody stump and Vear's struck his chest even as he screamed in agony. His blood splashed the walls as he sunk to the ground.

Alera tried to ignore the heated battle going on, the shots arching over her head, again she tried the Vox but again she got only static.

" This is the PDF squad alpha six, we've got them in a checkpoint but we need help. Unarmed civies are in danger if we do not receive reinforcements. Is there anyone there?"

Static. Apprehension knotting her bowls, Alera knew there would be no reply. The caves could sometimes block Vox transmissions and she had no doubt that they were now on their own. In disgust, she threw down the Vox set and drew her laspistol. Rushing to the barricade, she entered firing mode. Her goggles instantly shifted colours, adding targets and various other aids to her vision. Alera had always prided herself on her marksmanship -- not to the level of a scout, but only just below it she was able to score a single shot to the forehead of the next attacker. Suddenly, a big monster of a man, doubtless driven insane by the Dark Gods bellowed as he charged. He was holding shotgun -- navy edition by the looks of it. The others seemed to regard him with some importance.

Krim shot him between the eyes. Unlike the others, his head did not burst like an over-rip melon that was just struck by a power-hammer. Only a single bloody hole showed where he had been hit and to the squad's utter astonishment, he kept coming. Cole wrecked him with stubber rounds, Alera punched two shots into him -- one in the chest, one in the arm. Curl and Vear each hit him in the leg. Blood flew as the man was torn apart under the combined volley. He hit the ground in meaty chunks. The cultists suddenly fell back, moral broken. The PDFers fired into their backs, dropping as many as they could before they got back to cover.

That's the first wave. Thought Alera, looking at the piles of red-robed dead that littered the floor like an obscene carpet.

" They'll be back," said Cole. Taking the opportunity to check the stubber for faults.

" Easier than I expected," said Krim," the fools charged us. Incompetent heretics."

Alera put away her pistol, " anyone hurt?"

" No," Krim answered for them all, " but it looks like they'll be back any minute. Have they not an ounce of sound sense in their bodies?"

" Common sense is something that most heretics lack," spoke Curl dryly, " it interferes with the whole '' mindless worship'' portion of their existence. People with sense worship the God-Emperor. "

" Let 'em come," said Vear, checking his lasgun, " more to die." Unlike the others, Vear had never really recovered from the occupation. Like many of the surviving PDF troopers he had lost his family. Vears had never been an emotional man; self-expression had always been a hard task for him. After the death of his daughter. He'd just locked up. The only flickers of emotion he displayed nowadays were when he was fighting.

Alera, having decided that the Vox would be useless, took up position behind the armour plate of a Leman Russ. Her laspistol was an heirloom from her father, it had been marked with the crest of her family --- a bronze shield surrounded by a spiral. She too had no surviving family on-planet. Her father, Tactim had died during the initial invasion. Impaled by a Daemon weapon, his blood pooling around him as he dropped this very weapon. The image still brought tears to her eyes if she thought about it for too long. Her mother had been lucky, dying in bed just weeks before the invasion. She had one brother, who she had not seen for twenty years. As far as she knew, he too was ether dead or altered to such an extent that he no longer cared for his family. So, Alera had been left alone. Alone that is, save for her duty. Duty was a virtue much prized in her family and it had been ingrained painfully into each new generation. Her duty was to her world, her family and the Imperium. In that order. She spared another look at the Vox set. Totally useless, the thick stones practically teemed with tiny crystals capable of disrupting the signal -- to anyone above, they would be useless.

Thump. Krim heard it first, the heavy foot-falls of something not all together human. Alera felt the hair on the back of her neck stand erect, an unholy feeling invaded the barricaded section of the pass. Her hand was shaking and it took an effort of will to hold it steady.

" What's happening?" She hissed, looking around and seeing that the others were encountering the same troubles.

A loud sound cut through the brittle quiet, Alera's ears throbbed just listening to the word-like noises that she was sure were blasphemies. It was a loud voice, cruel, it shouted, someone answered, there was the unmistakable sound of a weapon discharging and a thump that probably indicated a body hitting the ground. That guttural shout again,this time it was echoed by many throats. They were too high pitched, scared rather than threatening.

" They come," said Krim coldly, his goggles linking to the weapon and preparing for another burst of fire. " Take your positions, by the Emperor we will let none of them pass."

Cole grunted, raising the stubber in its supports, " The Emperor protects."

The rest of the squad murmured the same, Alera spoke it with all her heart. The Emperor Protects. And they would need his protection now. It was like an unspoken current running through them, they all knew it. They could hold here for a long time, but eventually ammo would be used up, people would be wounded. The sound of the battle waging overhead was a stark backdrop for their own fight. The Emperor had better protect them, thought Alera, because once they had run out of ammo no one else could.

The red tide of corrupted humanity swept from the pass again, stepping over the crumpled forms of the fallen, red silk swinging with each movement. Krim took the first shot again, a man in the centre fell screaming. The heavy-stubber opened up with a hungry roar and filled the intervening space with fire. Cultists dropped in the dozens, and Alera realized that they might actually stand a chance of victory! If their numbers truly were being tied up on the surface then they may be able to handle the units down here. With a rising heart, she snapped off fire at them. She couldn't miss; the close pass was forcing the cultists together like packed food. They had no chance to dodge or duck, dying by the droves as the stubber chewed into them like a bloody swarm of biting insects, as Krim's sniper rifle took down anyone who made it too close to the point where the passage widened out. Curl and Vear added their fire to the inferno as well. It would be nice to say it was liking shooting fish in a barrel but that is not true at all -- fish in a barrel still have a limited amount of space to move. These cultists did not. It was almost enough to feel sorry for them. Almost. Alera and the others hacked away at them, killing them as they pushed forwards over the dead or dying bodies of the newly fallen. They showed no sense of tactics or even self-preservation, rushing into the fire as if their worst fears were behind them.

Then, there came a change in the pace of the battle. The loud bark of an unfamiliar projectile weapon cut through the normal sounds of war. Alera, who was the closest, saw the stubber go up in smoke. Exploding in a lethal shower of shrapnel and death. Cole was cut to bloody ribbons, screaming as he flopped onto the ground. Alera felt a savage rush of grief, seeing another of her friends die. For he was dead, he just hadn't stopped moving yet. In retaliation, she turned her fire on the source of the attack, taking down three cultists by the time the true attacker showed himself. He was a giant, clearly he had to squeeze through the pass. He was clothed in bloody power-armour shrouded in red rags of silk. A bolt-pistol was clasped in one meaty hand, the other held the pummel of a chainsword. His face was bare, a bald head, two small eyes, red with madness and anger locking firmly onto their position. The corrupted Space Marine raised his sword high, it was dripping with blood but where it had got it was a mystery. He bellowed a wordless, meaningless scream of rage and hatred. Pointed at them, " For Chaos!"

" For the Emperor!" Krim called out, Alera herself had been frozen in place by the grim warrior, but his words shocked new strength into her as well as the rest of the squad. Working on unspoken agreement, they fired at the marine. His armour laughed off the lasbolts, striding through the swarming cultists like they were shallow water. When one was too close, he would cut down and kill the man for no other crime than being in his way. Vear and Curl poured fire against it, but the marine answered with his bolt-pistol. Bolts are small, self-propelled high explosive armour piercing rounds. They tore through the barricade like wet tissue, Curl let loose an agonized scream, his shoulder a mess of fractured bone and bloody meat. Vear held his ground, sensing death he launched shot after shot at the marine. He showed no fear, images of his dead family played out before him. Overwriting the scene of death that was the battlefield, he got off six powerful shots. Each one was enough to down any human cultists easily. Five of them splattered harmlessly against his ceramite armour. The sixth, by luck, skill or the Emperor's blessing, was a shot to the face. Blood flowed from the gaping wound as the blast ploughed across the cheek. The marine showed no pain, his crazed eyes not even registering the wound as the blood coagulated far more rapidly than a human's could ever do. His return shot -- just one shot -- piercing the roof place of the salamander that made up that part of the barricade. It lanced into Vear's belly, the man's face twisted in pain, but he could feel his family all around him now. Some part of Vear knew that it was all over. The bolt exploded inside the man, killing him and splattering his innards across the barricade.

" Vear!" Snarled Alera, tears running down her face, she was crouched over the fallen body of Curl, who was bleeding profusely. His face white with blood loss and pain. He gasped, breathing painfully, each heartbeat a triumph. She looked down at him, so weak, so fragile, " You're not going to die on me today, Curl. I've lost too many."

The woman got to work feverishly bandaging his wounds, even as the tide of cultists got closer to the barricade, Krim's shouts to get back to the fight went unheard, and the constant snap of his rifle was simply edited out of her hearing. For Alera, the universe currently consisted of her, Curl, and the memories of the two men who had already met their deaths. Vear had never been particularly close to her, but he was one of them. There were certain unwritten laws the PDF, as well as any Imperial Guard unit originating from Hivnom. One of these, the most important of these: you look after your own.

Curl looked up. It was hard to concentrate now, so hard... harder still to see and make sense of the wavering hazy vision that until recently had been the world around him. The pain in his shoulder was dull, far away and unimportant. The battle around him was the same, it could not effect him, it could not harm him. Is this how it feels, to die? Curl had never been particularly religious beyond the norm for not being declared a heretic. He was vaguely sure that he was supposed to be meeting someone important now. He didn't know if it was the Emperor, or one of the saints. Alera leaned over him, working on him, he realized. She was a nice girl, strong family ties, he recalled. Abruptly, he realized someone was speaking. The voice was slow to his ear, " Back to the fight, Emperor-damn it! They're swarming us! Get back to the fight!"

Krim wasn't it? Curl knew that he was already dead, even the small amount of sensation left to him was rapidly fading. It took all his strength to un-holster his own laspistol. Curl had also once served in the guard, this weapon was a memento of his time there. It had saved his life more than he could count, he had sworn never to go to battle without it. Now he hoped that it would do the same for her. Using the last of his strength reserves, he held it out for Alera. The world rapidly darkened around him and he knew peace.

Alera fought back yet more tears as Curl's motion ceased, his up stretched hand now limp on the ground, the pistol resting in his fingers. Another one of her family dead -- not blood-family. The concept was one most of the world had subscribed to, the Astartes had a term for it, battle-brother. It meant someone who was bound closer to you than any mere blood-relative. That was how she felt about Curl, her bowl tightened even as she watched helplessly and the last life drained from his eyes. Her free hand darted out and took up his pistol. It felt strange in her hands, as if it shouldn't have been there. She knew the story behind it, standard guard issue, it was a miracle gun. With this gun, Curl had made impossible shots, back before his eyesight started to fade. The background sound of battle was suddenly incredibly sharp. A laspistol in each hand, she rose like an avenging angel. Moving to the barricade, she saw that the cultists had cleared the pass and were now spreading out. Their dead carpeted the rocky ground . There were visibly fewer of them now and she thought wastefully that if the marine had not shown up, they could easily have held this position.

Speaking of the marine, he could be seen amidst the troops. Roaring like an animal, inspiring them, driving them onwards with his own bloodlust. The cut on his cheek just served to punctuate the deadly aura about him. Here was a monster built from the blood up to do nothing but kill in service to the Dark Gods. There was something in his ears as well, she saw in a daze, microbeeds? He was in contact with the rest of the forces then. Apparently he knew something they didn't because he was now desperate to finish them off. A shouted command was interrupted when a shot from Krim took him in the neck, blood fountained sickeningly but he didn't fall and die. He raised his bolt-pistol and returned fire, Alera was helpless as the last of her battle-family died, his blood spraying the wall behind him and the sniper rifle dropping from his hands.

If Alera had ever held any hope of winning or even just getting out of this alive, it was gone now. Instead she felt only a grim fury and a determination to take as many of them with her as she could.

" Emperor watch over me," she growled, discharging her twin pistols into the mass of cultists. Screams as two died, return fire lanced at her but she ducked behind the protective cover of the lip of the barricade. She could hear them, they were very close. They'd probably just jump the barricade and strike at her directly. She could smell the battle. Blood and sweat. She knew that this would be her final resting place, this would be her tomb. She rose for the last round of the combat. Prayers filled her mind as she imagined her death. Would it be painful? Quick? She didn't care anymore. Eyes like the finest telegraphic instruments locked on to her target, both pistols barked her anger and grief. The Chaos Space Marine found himself weathering one last barrage. All in all, she fired twelve shots -- six from each pistol, they bounced harmlessly from the armour or scored light wounds. However, the last few were better. Guided by her prayers, perhaps, or just luck, they took the marine dead-centre. His un-armoured face was gory with blood as four shots slammed into it. The fifth and final attack pierced the weakened bone and lanced like fire into the corrupted brain itself. As if in slow motion, the Astartes crumpled to the ground, even his enhanced body not enough to survive the killing blow. The cultists mulled uncertainly for a second, seeing their leader fall before their very eyes. Then, almost as one they raised their weapons, Alera considered ducking down again but discarded it. They would kill her sooner or later anyway, better that she could get off another shot or two first. Behind her, the bodies of her squad cooled, their blood soaking the hard earth.

" The Emperor protects," she whispered to herself as she prepared to pull the trigger a final time. Little known to her, he did.

The explosion rocked the corridor, it was like an earthquake and many of the cultists were thrown from their feet, then a barrage of splintered rocks was exhaled from the narrowest point of the passage. Men screamed as the shards were driven into them like stakes. Two giants burst through the newly enlarged pass. Clothed in red armour, their bolters ripped through the unprepared cultists. With a lurch in her gut, Alera recognised the armour and the Chapter insignia. Reinvigorated, she took aim and launched an attack of her own, behind the space marines a true giant stomped into the room. A Space Marine Dreadnought, a massive armoured body containing an entombed Chapter legend. The heavy bolter ripped into action, spilling heretic blood like an ocean, under the cover of their large defender, the twin marines hurried into the swarming mob of cultists, using confusion to their advantage as they cut through them. In mere minutes, the cultists had broken and were running for their lives, the dradnought and a single marine mowed them down as they ran, no survivors, no second chances. This was the Emperor's justice.

The other marine jumped the barricade with ease, landing beside Alera with the agility of a cat. Up close, she could see his medals and heraldry, he nodded to her, " Brother Vente, Lost Warriors Chapter."

She nodded shakily. She had been expecting death, not salvation, and certainly not from this Chapter! Of all the Chapters in the universe, why did it have to be this one?

" Alera." She said, suddenly a second explosion rocked them and they turned to see that the passage had collapsed, the last of the cultists were dead around them. The other marine and the dreadnought walked over, " Brother Antoc," he said, hefting a bolter, " We were sent to help hold the pass." He glanced at the caved in entrance," I think we did a good job of that."

His businesslike tone threw her for a few seconds, " I don't know these tunnels," he continued, " is there another way out? I heard you had Imperial citizens in the lower levels."

She nodded, for as long as the occupation had lasted they had tried to save as many civies as they could and bring them safely underground, " they'll have gotten them away by now," she said with a confidence she didn't feel. Alera had never been this close to a living Space Marine, she didn't know what to say or do. And always, hidden below the surface was that yawning pit of grief caused by the death of the squad. She forced it aside, time to grieve later, they had to make it to the surface.

" There's two other passages to the surface," she explained, " one of them's quite close and the other's far away. Last I heard both were in enemy hands."

Vente looked at his brothers, " I think we can safely say that that will pose no problem."