The Clash at Vorbek

Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer 40,000

Prologue

Vorbek, a minor hive world on the edge of known space. It primarily produces bolter rounds, lasguns, and average Imperial Guard Regiments. It is of little value, beyond what value it contributes to the Munitorum. War has not touched Vorbek in over a century. Tonight, that changes. Tonight, the Eaters of Worlds would come for Vorbek.

Meteor showers were common on Vorbek, the clutter of wreckage in space often raining down to the planet's surface. Many of Vorbek's people made a living salvaging space scrap and selling the metal. The lights of falling meteors were extensive that night, but they were no meteors.

Guardsman Daniel Montegard was on watch at position 1231, warming his hands with his breath as he strode the parapet of his observation post. He cursed his squad leader for giving him watch this late at night, the man had it in for him, the young guardsman swore.

The young man stretched, trying to keep his eyes from closing and condemning him to slumber. If he was caught on watch their would be Hell to pay, no doubt a public flogging, if the unit Commissar had his way. The man in the high peaked cap had just transferred from duty with the Armageddon Steel Legions, and had yet to realize he had been relegated to a backwater command. Montegard would've felt bad for him if the man hadn't been such an insufferable ass.

Screams started filling the night air from the nearby town, shots echoed through the night as explosions lit the sky. Howling men were amongst the shrieking civilians, with a start Montegard sought the alarm bell, his hands shaking from the adrenaline coursing in his veins, but the entire platoon was already awake and in motion. The grizzled commissar was shouting in his hoarse voice, extolling the men to move faster.

Commissar Josef Vandenreich, hardly a day over thirty and already a veteran of over fifty campaigns. They said that the man had come from the storm troopers straight to the commissariat, being raised in a schola before joining the glory boys at age sixteen. The man's hair was steel grey, his face was always in a sneer that could have been cast from iron, and the bionic that had replaced his left hand was said to be a gift from a Lord-General of Cadia. What he had done to wind up on Vorbek, no one knew.

Montegard was running with the rest of his platoon, straight into the fray. No one knew what was going on, the vox was alive with the cries of confused operators and furious officers. Reports flooded from everywhere, hives were falling to screaming, crazed cultists, giants in armor the color of fresh blood amongst them wielding axes the size of a man. Traitor Angels, the fallen of the God-Emperor, Montegard had assumed them to be a myth. If the vox was to be believed, they were very real and they were here. All the young guardsman could do was grit his teeth, fight down his fear, and soldier on.

Chaos Space Marines, the bane of any Imperial force. Loyal Astartes were eight feet tall, covered in tokens professing loyalty to the God-Emperor, and would treat guardsmen like humans. Traitor Astartes were rabid, raging beasts. Montegard had heard the stories before, from veterans who had fought out of the system. They spoke of giants ripping men in half with only their hands, screaming maniacs covered in the tanned skins of their enemy. One man had told him, in hushed tones, of seeing a traitor hunched over the body of a fallen guardsman, tearing chunks from the man's body and stuffing them greedily into his own mouth.

None of the Traitor Angels were here, for that Montegard was grateful. Instead, a shirtless man screaming and waving a snarling chainsword ran at him. The young lad was so startled, he almost didn't fire his lasgun till it was too late, the rifle going off with a quick snap. The beam sheared the cultist almost in half as Guardsman Daniel Montegard fought for his life for the first time. It would not be the last time, and several more opportunities to lose it would happen that very night.

Commissar Vandenreich led them, the slowly dwindling men of his platoon, through the night. Screaming orders at them, killing heretics with his plasma pistol, leading them through fire and blood to their main base. They couldn't afford to wait for the chimeras they had been promised at the end of the week, they needed to combine their numbers in order to hold out, the only way to do that was to fight the hordes and try and reach their regiment.

A squad lived, Montegard included, to make it to the regiments base on the third day of their trek. The men had come through five separate skirmishes to reach their base, and the commissar had led them through them all. But, something was not quite right, no sentries manned the walls.

They still went in to investigate, and instead of finding a regiment assembling for war, Montegard found an abattoir. The remains of the regiment were gathered in a large pile, blood soaking the walls, heretical symbols painted onto them with the lifeblood of guardsmen. He noticed something, inbetween retching, something that disturbed him further.

Every single man in the pile was headless, and there was no evidence pointing to where the heads had gone. They went further into the base, investigating the chapel first. Commissar Vandenreich cursed, they had found where the heads had gone.

A massive alter had been built, to what, Montegard had no idea. Every single missing head was on a stake, forming a massive symbol. Of what, the young guardsman had no clue. He only knew that by the way his head pulsed and his teeth bled, that it was heresy of a major degree. He forced his eyes away, not daring to take a second look.

"Bring forward a flamer," Commissar Vandenreich rasped, "we must burn this, to save the souls of these poor men, and to take away something important to the enemy."

"What could be important about this to heretics, isn't it just to scare us?" Montegard asked incredulously.

The Commissar's gaze was sharp, "it is not simply to scare us, I have fought heretics of the Blood God before, and this is a place for gathering trophies, they will not be far gone from here."

Before anything more could be said, the revving of chain weapons could be heard, and brutal cries erupted from the buildings around them. Screaming heretics came on, baying for blood. But, amongst them, were brass and blood armored giants, Traitor Angels.

"Stand ready, not one step back!" Vandenreich screamed, "men of Vorbek, sell your lives dearly!" the Commissar leveled his plasma pistol at a charging cultist, vaporizing the man's chest with a single shot. Montegard took aim and fired, plenty of other cultists were coming on, and they would need to kill them all if they wanted to live.

1

Sergeant Mikael Red Axe was cleaning his armor. As a sergeant of the Howling Hunters, he could wear Terminator pattern armor when it suited him. He often chose to wear the mix of Mark VI and Mark VII that his brothers wore. For now, he was clad in a simple set of fatigues reserved for Astartes not in combat. Some chapters preferred robes, but not the Hunters, they had their own way of doing business. Let the Dark Angels have their robes and stoicism, let the Wolves have their furs and boisterousness. The Hunters were sons of the Gorgon, and carried their primarch's stoicism as a badge of honor.

Mikael finished his armor's chest piece, fixing a slash in it from an ork cleaver that had almost gone straight through to his heart. He would have left it be, but the gash was too deep, it would have compromised the armor's integrity. The greenskin's head now adorned Mikael's mantel, it had been a good trophy to claim. The greenskin had been abnormally large for it's race, and was one of it's species bodyguards for their warbosses. Captain Aldo Stone Tooth had taken the warbosses head, leaving the planet of Agrippa free to use it's guard regiments to clean up the rest. Astartes were needed elsewhere, especially in the segment of space the Howling Hunters fought for.

Even now, when the Sixth company was supposed to be resting and refitting, they were on their way to a new conflict. Vorbek, a world they had long ago claimed as their own to protect, was under invasion from the forces of Chaos. Mikael grimaced as he thought of that. Traitor Astartes were the worst to fight, they always brought the anger to the surface, the Gorgon's Engine that every Howling Hunter fought to keep under control. They could not let their passion rule them, as the Wolves did, they had to keep themselves restrained.

The Gorgon's Engine, the fighting heart of the Chapter, was only let loose in dire times. It had served them well in the Second War of Armageddon, where they had set it loose outside Hive Volcanus to save the lives of millions. It had been turned on the foul Emperor's Children at the siege of Corinthe, where they had bathed the volcanic soil of that world with traitor blood. Mikael prayed he would not need to use his engine, but he touched his axe respectfully, all the same. It had taken the Ork's head, it would soon take traitor heads.

Mikael took his reflection further, looking upon himself as he thought of the chapter he belonged to. All his limbs were bionic now, lost in conflict with a good majority of his inner organs. Both eyes had been replaced with green orbs, which served him far better than his organics had. He was not cold, though, as some saw their progenitors, merely stern. His mind would remain mortal, even if his body lost the weakness of flesh.

A polite knocking came from the door, Mikael knew it wouldn't be an Astartes, it could be only one possible person. He opened the door, to reveal a slip of a girl that happened to carry the authority of the Ordos Xenos. Inquisitor Lucilla Kane, who had enlisted the help of him and his squad down on the surface of Agrippa.

The inquisitor barely came up to Mikael's chest, was blond, and no doubt was considered attractive to mortals. Mikael, as an Astartes, had no time for such feelings. But, he could appreciate the Inquisitor as one appreciates a sculpture. He found he had a taste for the arts, after five hundred years of service, they were a welcome reprieve when not in battle.

Her retinue was behind her, two women wrapped in form fitting leather with power swords on their hips. A savant of the Mechanicum clad in a red robe, mechadendrites waving. Their were a few veterans of the guard, a tough Cadian in carapace armor with a hellgun strapped on and two Mordians, a man and woman, with boltguns. Lastly, their was a man in a trench coat, carrying a rifle longer than he was tall. His face was hidden from Mikael by a plain, white mask. If he didn't know any better, the man could have passed for a Vindicare. He hadn't bothered to learn their names, and he doubted he would, he wouldn't see the Inquisitor again, nor her retinue, so why bother?

"Inquisitor," he nodded at her retinue as well, "to what do I owe this visit? I figured you would be on your way to another assignment."

She smiled, it reminded Mikael of an ice bear baring it's teeth at prey, "it seems our paths will continue on in the same direction for a little while longer, my business takes me to Vorbek as well, Mikael."

"I have told you several times, you may address me as Sergeant," the inquisitor merely smirked at that.

"Ah, but you hold little sway over me, just as I hold little sway over you, Mikael, that is the way you Astartes like it, is it not?"

"If you are looking for someone to bandy rhetoric with, I'm sure Chaplain Lauri is available, and always enjoys a verbal spar."

"But the good Chaplain doesn't get irritated like you do, my dear Mikael, and it is so fun to watch you fight to control yourself."

Mikael snorted, if this impudent woman could get under his skin, then clearly his scout sergeant had failed. No, what the woman saw on his face was the same look of bother he always had. A stern setting of the jaw and eyes that scared away mortals, all but this one it seemed.

Lucilla turned serious, "I will need help from you and your squad again, I'm afraid. I require the power of Astartes again."

"We go to fight traitors, not xenos, what are you even doing going to Vorbek, Inquisitor?"

"You don't need to know yet, Sergeant, but trust me when I say, it will take you and all your brothers to quell it."

Mikael nodded, rubbing his jaw with a single hand, the Mordian woman let out a small gasp, no doubt at how much metal Mikael was actually composed of. Both of his arms were bare to the world, no doubt she had only just noticed them. Typical of mortals, Mikael had already cataloged every flaw and every physical trait that could be used to identify the retinue. Somehow, he doubted he'd been so unaware when he was like them, but that hadn't been since he was a boy of ten.

"Do these bother you girl?" he questioned, getting a small amount of amusement from her blush and stuttering, "if that is all Inquisitor, good day." With that said, he closed his door, and returned to his armor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Inquisitor Lucilla Thorne was a woman who seldom didn't get what she wanted. Striding down the hallway of the Battle Barge Ravager, she had the appearance of a woman who hadn't gotten what she wanted.

"Really Cordelia, could you have stared any harder at him, you practically bored holes into him," her comments cut into the Mordian guardsman's skin, and the girl had the grace to look ashamed, mumbling an apology. She was a new addition to the retinue, having been recommended by her brother, Rudolf. Rudolf, walked behind them all, at the rear of the retinue. His combat shotgun was slung downwards, as the bear of a man attempted to make conversation with Hess, the sniper. Hess, as usual, did not entertain the Mordian, and merely kept pace with the rest.

Sergeant Mikael Red Axe was an enigma to the Inquisitor, she turned back to these thoughts as she made for her quarters. He was like all of the Hunters, in that he seemed to enjoy the bionics he had. But, there was a spark of fire underneath it all that thoroughly intrigued her. His records, what the Inquisition had on him that wasn't sealed, indicated he was almost five hundred years old, had served in the Death Watch, and been in more wars than some Guard Regiments.

By all rights, he should be dead, Lucilla reflected, her master had spoken well of him, having been his kill teams handler when Mikael was in the Death Watch. He had told her, when he had gifted her her signet, that should she need something killed, Mikael Red Axe was the man for it. The old bastard knew what he was talking about. Lucilla had given the Sergeant the mission of destroying a valuable ork manufacturing site, where the bastards were constructing Gargants, he had come through where Lucilla had expected to have to use Deathstrike missiles.

An added bonus had come when the good Sergeant had almost single handedly killed the bodyguard of the warboss Gut Stompa. If anything, it proved that he was the kind of man she needed in her retinue. One final test would come, while she talked with Captain Aldo, hopefully, he would be wiling to relinquish one of his finest to her service. Experience told her that Astartes always guarded their best toys jealously, it would be a long argument.

Her retinue disappeared to their quarters, all in the vicinity of her own. Vette and Sette, the two death cult assassins, stayed with her. The leather wrapped women were her constant companions and guardians. The only way she could tell them apart was the fact that Sette was blond where Vette was redheaded. While she lounged on a couch, draping her coat across a chair leaving her in a black vest and white dress shirt, the pair of assassins took up positions in corners of the room.

"Mikael Red Axe," she murmured as she settled down for a nap, yawning, "you will be mine."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Daniel Montegard was amazed he was still alive. A month had come and gone since the forces of Chaos had landed on Vorbek. He and the Commissar were the only ones from their unit still breathing, but they had found fellow survivors in the ruins of Hive Bailoc. Hardly any of them had left the battle in the chapel alive. Commissar Vandenreich continued to lead them, if anything the man's face just got grimmer with every curve ball thrown their way.

He was on guard, though it was the middle of the day. A horde of cultists had been spotted in the area, and no one wanted to risk combat just yet. Last night they had committed a raid on the enemy camps, everyone was exhausted. Montegard had experience with exhaustion, so he stayed on watch while the newer men slept.

The lasgun in his hands was different from the one he had started out with, his first one had snapped in half under the workings of a chainsword in a ravin lunatics hands. Vandenreich had pressed this one into his hands, still splattered with its former owners blood. So far, it hadn't failed him. He hoped it wouldn't.

Gerard walked over to him, nodding as a form of greeting, the bespectacled guardsman sat beside Montegard. The two didn't say anything, they didn't need to. It was merely enough to have the company of someone that wasn't a raving lunatic. Gerard grinned suddenly, pulling a flask from his belt and offering it to Montegard.

He had heard about the distilleries that some of the troops ran out of the barracks. He had never seen them though, he was still considered a raw trooper until the war broke out. Now, he was proud to say he was a veteran, even if it would no doubt end violently soon, just like his life. Being only nineteen, he had never had a legal drink, or an illegal one, seeing as he hadn't gone for that sort of thing in the schola.

The clear liquid burned, and had a smell reminiscent of polish remover. He wheezed and choked as Gerard laughed at him. Still, the pleasant warmth in his gut, face, and chest was worth it. He took another swallow, barely coughing this time. It made him dizzy, and hot, he thought idly to himself that it probably was against the rules for him to be drinking right now. He found he really didn't give a damn.

Commissar Vandenreich was suddenly in Montegard's vision, how long the man had been there, he couldn't say. The man's lips curled into a sneer, looking from Gerard to the flask, then to Montegard.

"If we were not in such dire need of men, I could have you shot," the commissar let a breath out, "but, war is not a time for such things to happen, not when it is this desperate. Guardsman Gerard, you will give me that flask of illicit substance and we will never speak of this again. You will then return to the main bivouac area and not come back."

Gerard did as he was ordered, and didn't need any more stern words to do it in a hurry. He cast Montegard a sympathetic glance, before hurrying away, no doubt to tell anyone awake what a hard ass the Commissar was. Vandenreich watched him go, and when he was out of sight, grinned and sat beside Montegard. He took a pull from the flask before handing it to Montegard.

"Well, we live to fight another day, don't we Monty?" The Commissar let out a dry chuckle, his whole tone cynical.

Somehow, Daniel Montegard kept his jaw from dropping in disbelief, the Commissar was talking to him as if he were an equal? Was this some kind of test, some sort of mind game that they taught them at the Commissariat? He was not sure how to respond, so he stayed quiet.

"Now now, we're comrades, the only two survivors from our original platoon now that young Bic is scattered across the street in chunks. We are equals right now, no one else is around."

"Then, may I call you Josef," stuttered Montegard, "or would you prefer Commissar?"

"Josef is fine for now, just don't forget, it's Commissar in front of the others. Can't have discipline be lost, even if you're my second."

"Second what?"

Vandenriech looked at him like he was stupid, "second in command, if I go down, the men will look to you for leadership. If I were able to, I would have it be made official with a proper rank and what not, but for now we will have to do with my word, won't we?"

"I'm flattered, but I don't think I'm the man for the job," Him in a leadership position? No way, Daniel Montegard had long ago resolved to do his tour of duty and then go off and work in a factory somewhere.

"Nonsense, you're better than this lot at leading, and they look to you already when I'm not their to answer. I know, I've seen it happen already, just keep doing your job and we'll be square," Vandenreich took another drink, passing Montegard back the flask.

The night was not over, the pair adjourned to a separate area where they talked shop. They had almost twenty men in their care, they needed to get some sort of supply for them, and a command structure set up. The two spent most of the day 'confiscating' illicit liquor and shooting the breeze.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Captain Aldo Stonetooth was not a happy man. Mikael could see that etched into his superiors face. The mountain of Astartes was clad in terminator armor the mixed greens and bone white pauldrons of the chapter. His bearded face was revealed to the world, his helmet on the table beside him.

"Well Mikael, it seems the dear lady Inquisitor wants you again, doing something with her that I should know about?" Stonetooth joked, having a penchant for them.

"The Inquisitor forgets herself, Astartes are meant for war, not the cloak and dagger operations the Inquistion find themselves in. I served in the Watch for more than forty years, I've had my share of her like."

"So, I'll take that as a no to you wanting to be seconded to her service?" Aldo was suddenly serious, the red bionic eye on the right of his face boring into Mikael's green ones.

"I wasn't aware she was asking for that, she certainly never asked me," Mikael growled, "I'm assuming she's trying to convince you to let me go to her service?"

"She's yowling about it like a cat with a boot on it's tail. Frankly, it's annoying, but we don't want a war with the Inquisition. The Wolves barely got away with it, and they're a founding legion. No one will care if some Third Founding upstarts get crushed like the Celestial Lions are said to have been. There aren't enough of us, and they know who we are."

"So you're giving me away to her?" Mikael ground out.

"I didn't say that," Aldo snapped, "I told her she can petition Chapter Master Schwars, and if he deigns to notice her, maybe you'll do twenty years work with the Inquisition. Could be worse, you could be one of the honor guard that has to go with the Rogue Traders. They hardly see anything that amounts to war with them, most of it's pomp and exploration with those explorers."

"Captain, I do not want to work with that woman, she annoys me."

"Better annoyance than war with the Inquisition, relations with them are already strained enough after Arkadi in the Fourth put one down for being tainted. Some of them still think we were trying to hide something he found."

"Did he find anything?"

"No, we have nothing to hide, and if they want to whine about the fact we have more than the codex allows, we can point them to our friends in the Templars and let them have it out. Besides, they can't prove how many we've got, that's the beauty of being fleet based. Our home is the stars."

Mikael sighs then, brushing his blond hair back with an armored hand, he had donned it when he was summoned to the Captain's quarters. It is rare to see Captain Stonetooth out of armor, some say he can't get out of it anymore, that his bionics bind him to it. Mikael certainly hasn't seen him out of it in over a century.

"I liked it better when I just killed things, instead of getting wrapped up in politics. I am a warrior, not a winder of words."

Stonetooth chuckles, "then you know what it is to be a Captain. I used to live for the charge, leading a squad of Astartes into the fray, now, I barely get to do that. They gave me a Company Champion for fighting my duels, and all I do now is point at maps and bark orders."

Aldo sighs, "it will be your turn one day, to take up the mantle of a Captain. I'm surprised it hasn't happened yet, why is that?"

"I keep turning it down, and Master Schwars doesn't have the heart to make me do it, yet."

"Yet is the key word there, sooner or later he'll slap you with the chains of command, and you'll have your own company to worry about. Just as soon as one of us croaks, you'll get yours." Aldo grinned, "or maybe they'll keep you here with me in the Sixth till I bite the dust, and you'll be my successor, eh?"

"You are incorrigible," Mikael replied brusquely.

"Aye, you said the same when we were scouts, and it still applies now, that's why we make Chaplain Lauri do the talking." The two laughed at that, the young Chaplain found the pairs antics annoying. Still, he let them be, theirs was a bond that transcended rank.

"So, how much longer will it take to reach Vorbek, I'm aching to get into battle once more, that suicide mission the Inquisitor gave me wasn't enough to tide me over."

Aldo nodded, "two weeks, give or take. The warp is a strange place, we might get there to find a minute has taken place, we might get there to find a year has passed. Navigator Eri has a good sense for it though, and she says two weeks should be all the time that passes."

"Whats the plan for the battle, rain fire down on them with drop pods or go in on landers?"

"I'll let you know when we get there, no one's sure what the state of the Defense Force fleet is, or what strength the traitors have in space. We might fight boarding actions before anything else, but if we don't get down to the surface quickly enough, we might not have anyone left to save. Vorbek is a planet of millions, we can afford to lose them, but we don't want to."

"I wouldn't mind getting my squad into the boarding parties, do we still have the boarding shields in the armory?"

"Just got them refurbished, Iron Father Erik claims they're ready to go, even the one that shorted out on the last hulk we searched."

"I'll take the shields then, we'll need them if it's a traitor ship, it'll keep the flamers from roasting us as we burn our way through the decks."

Aldo looked at him, "get your squad ready then, two weeks is hardly enough time to get three new brothers inducted in breaching tactics. The one looks like he can barely tell which end of a bolter works, and he's a full blooded brother for Thrones sakes."

"Who, Breki? He's a bit lost still, I'll give you that, but the lad has a good heart," Mikael laughed, "and a strong arm, he'll be the first one in with the shields, the lad could do with a good smacking around from blocking bolts with a slab of adamantium."

Mikael had lost three brothers in the fight to destroy the Gargant factory, Daedalus, Konnor, and Lief. Three Astartes that would never fight again. They had managed to salvage their gene seed, which was cause enough to celebrate, and the three had died fighting a horde of worthy foes. Mikael had their names tattooed on his back, as he had all the names of his fallen brothers tattooed there. The list was extensive.

Breki, Joros, and Gunther were the three new brothers in his squad, drawn up from the assault squads of the Sixth company to serve as tactical squad brothers. From here, they could only go to being a sergeant, or the honored First. There was no going back. The only thing that was in his three charges future was glory, or death.

After finishing his talk with the Captain, Mikael found himself heading to the squad bay, where his men were billeted. Lucas, his second, was tinkering with the plasma gun he wielded and cared for like a son. Einar was cleaning his blade, etching fresh runes he had learned from a Space Wolf Iron Priest onto the blade. They had served with the Wolves at Anvil Gate on Hadrian IV, and some of their teachings had rubbed off on Einar. The band tattoos across the long faced Astartes face were a mark from that time, as were the runes he now had on his sword.

"Where are the rest of the men, I didn't expect to find only the two of you in here?"

Lucas shrugged, "some of them wanted to test their mettle in the cages, Breki in particular seemed to want to prove himself. He challenged Hans to a match, and the rest of them just had to see the result."

"And you did not?" Mikael asked.

Lucas shrugged, "Hans is going to wipe the floor with the kid, he's built from the same rock he tried to farm as a kid. Breki just came from the assault squads, he's needing a peg or two knocked off him."

Mikael sighed, "I'd best check on them then, come by my quarters tonight, you two, we have work to discuss for the landing. We might be a boarding party."

Einar perked up at that, "really, a boarding party? It's been a long time since the last one, you aren't just playing with my head?"

"I really mean it, Einar," Mikael answered, already leaving for the training cages.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Didn't like the original chapter, so I rewrote the whole thing. Granted, I originally wrote it to get an idea on the internet while in Korea, but I feel it's come along nicely.