Two Days Later
Altan, Captain of the 3rd Company Flesh Tearers felt the g-force of the rapid descent hit him as the Drop Pod punched through the clouds of pollutants and chemical smoke. His face obscured by his helm he concentrated on the altimeter on his optical display as it swiftly counted down. With every thousand feet the pod travelled towards the ground the more he felt the urge for battle sing within his soul.
Drop Pod Wrathful Deliverance was but one of two dozen that screamed towards the ground, their red and black hulls scorched by the heat of re-entry. Within the grav-harness on his conveyance Altan looked about the interior at the battle-brethren of his command squad and he could sense their readiness too, for like him the urge for war and destruction, for killing and bloodletting was strong and it ultimately defined the Chapter as a whole.
It was the Curse of Sanguinius, the Primarch and Genetic-Father of the Blood Angels and through them the Flesh Tearers and though it was a great strength it was a flaw nevertheless.
A flaw more prominent in the Flesh Tearers than any other of the Chapters of Sanguinius' bloodline and the Five Companies that had been deployed to Armageddon, the five hundred battle-brothers of the Flesh Tearers who had followed their Chapter Master to this Ork blighted rock and who now were committed entirely to this offensive were all that was left, the Chapter only at half strength.
Slowly but surely the flaw was killing them off, the Black Rage and Red Thirst overcame them and drove them mad and a Space Marine, forged by ancient geno-surgeries, psycho-conditioning devised by the Emperor at the dawn of the Imperium was already a superhuman killing machine, so one driven mad by bloodlust was a truly dangerous thing to behold.
Even as he dwelt on the curse, Altan felt it call to him from within some deep recess of his soul. It begged him to give in, to allow the legacy of Sanguinius into his mind. He suppressed it with a recitation of the Liturgy of Focus.
Airbrakes auto-deployed with a scream and the sudden decrease in speed jolted the pod violently, enough to kill a mere mortal but to the Flesh Tearers it was as next to nothing. Despite the swift reduction in speed the velocity at which the drop pod travelled was still a terminal one by most standards, standards the warriors of the Adeptus Astartes didn't fall under.
'This is Seth to all Flesh Tearers. Expect fierce resistance immediately. The xenos are waiting for us, they know we come so show them your fury and let them feel them feel the edge of your blade!' the voice of the Chapter Master snarled over the vox and as one, all five-hundred Flesh Tearers answered their Chapter Master's call with a roar of approval.
Seth was a warrior first and foremost, his skill with a blade and his prowess in battle legendary amongst the Sons of Sanguinius. Beneath the image of a ferocious warrior however was a keen tactical mind, imbued with a cunning and wisdom that caught many off guard.
Certainly when he had briefed the Canoness Superior and the militia commandant the scepticism had been plain on their faces. They had not believed that what Seth proposed could work. The Chapter Master had simply addressed their doubts by simply stating that there was a chance of his strategy succeeding whereas not attempting it would lead to a certain defeat.
Seth's plan was to drop at the tail end of the greenskin reinforcements headed for Gaius Point and charge through them towards the captured settlement itself where the Orks' had made camp. The objective was simple. Retake Gaius Point, kill Rukglum and destroy his artillery.
It was hardly a devious strategy, indeed it was very basic and devoid of any flair, but Seth understood that on occasion there was no need to overcomplicate things, a teaching he had passed on to Altan and his fellow Company commanders.
But ultimately the success of the plan relied on a force capable of matching the Orks for fury and savageness but still capable of discipline and adapting to the flow of battle without losing themselves to it. Such a force only existed in the Space Marines and there were none finer at this kind of assault than the Flesh Tearers.
On the altimeter Altan saw the pod had now fallen below a thousand feet and was moments from landing. With those final few moments before he plunged into war once more Altan smiled within his black helm at the thought of combat. It was time to do the Emperor's work once again. He relished the thought.
Below, the greenskin horde headed straight for Gaius Point. Thousands of Orks marched, accompanied by columns of vehicles and phalanxes of walkers, all chanting and shouting in the guttural Ork tongue.
Crude totem banners were carried high and proudly, displaying that particular clan's allegiance to either Gork or Mork, the greenskin gods and Warlord Ghazghkull who united them in their purpose of killing humans rather than each other. It was a display of savagery at its most brutal. Amongst the orks there was no such thing as civilised behaviour, the strongest thrived and the rest suffered for it. Led by their warlords, the strongest of them all, the Orks were a rabble but they had the numbers and brute strength to be a threat.
Trudging through the mounds of ash and dirt towards Gaius Point the Orks were blissfully unaware of the Drop Pods that plummeted towards them until the tear drop shaped assault craft tore through the toxic mists above. Even then only the more quick-witted, observant Orks noticed and their cries of alarm went unnoticed by the majority of their dim-witted comrades.
Moments later two-dozen Drop Pods landed amongst the greenskins, hitting the ground hard and sending up waves of concussive force that sent those Orks not crushed into a bloody mulch flying in every direction, killing even more. Utter chaos reigned as the Orks struggled to make sense of what was happening.
Hatches opened like the petals of a flower and with a roar as savage and ferocious as any the Orks could conjure the Flesh Tearers charged forth from their Drop Pods, blades and guns at the ready.
Altan ignited the power fields of his lightning claws as he charged from the dark confines of the Drop Pod. Quickly scrambling out of the small bloody walled crater created by the impact, Altan reached the lip as an Ork rose to its stumpy feet ahead of him. The Flesh Tearer hacked it off at the knees and then separated its head from its broad shoulders as it fell with two swift swipes of his claws.
The initial assault by the Flesh Tearers was devastating and many Orks fell in those opening few seconds. It was the epitome of a shock assault landing, the enemy caught completely by surprise, ripped to shreds before they could form an adequate response.
It may have only lasted a few seconds but the confusion amongst the Orks was enough, for the Flesh Tearers to form a beachhead and fully extricate themselves from their drop pods.
Realising what was happening to the rear of their column, Ork chieftains barked orders to their troops, warning them of the Astartes suddenly at their backs. Responding in the only way they knew how, countless Orks roared and charged at the newly arrived Flesh Tearers, determined to kill these new foes.
Not ones to stand and wait when there was killing to be done, the Astartes warriors counter-charged, smashing into the Orks like five hundred hammers. Limbs flew in every direction and greenskin blood filled the air as the Flesh Tearers tore apart their foes with ferocious strikes.
Channelling the dark rage deep within them, each Flesh Tearer moved and struck with deadly force, moving like quicksilver as opposed to the Orks who manoeuvred with an almost simian quality. Their strikes though hard hitting often clumsy and focused on power rather than accuracy.
For all their primal fury the Orks could not match the Flesh Tearers, dying in droves as they were beneath Astartes blades and guns.
3rd Company, Altan's command swiftly organised into a single force within the great melee, cutting paths to each other through the tides of greenskins and all converging on Altan's Command Squad, more specifically Ildur, the 3rd Company's oldest warrior at four centuries who held the banner of the 3rd aloft as a rally point. Those warriors who fought under the banner fought even harder than most determined to not let the sacred relic of their Company fall to enemy hands, and encumbered as he was by the standard, Ildur still wielded his chainaxe with deadly effect.
Altan's claws struck left and right, every strike felling an Ork, sometimes more than one. To his left, Sergeant Falyn another of Altan's Command Squad smashed away at Orks with his giant power maul, the spiked head soon covered in blood and gore. Altan's right was protected by young Brother Hexande, who was armed with two chainswords, wielding them with a skill that could put members of the Veteran 1st Company to shame. The young warrior's speed was a sight to behold, his every movement lighting fast and almost impossible to track.
Suddenly Seth's voice boomed over the vox, the background on the Chapter Master's end filled with the sounds of battle and the throaty roar of a mighty chainblade. 'Seth to Altan. What's your Company status?'
Altan slashed through a string of foes. 'All Sergeants report.' he ordered over the vox as he slew.
As he fought on Altan listened intently as the squad leaders of his company sounded off. To his satisfaction he discovered all were present and accounted for. Furthermore they had taken only two losses since landing, more than acceptable considering the potential bloodbath they had dropped into.
'Lord Seth, this is Captain Altan,' he roared as a particularly large Ork threw itself at him, Altan sliced it apart in a flurry of strikes. '3rd Company is ready and eager!'
It was several moments before he received a reply and in that time Altan accounted for several more enemies. His claws' power fields crackled and hissed at all the blood that covered the talons.
'Acknowledged. Onward to Gaius Point, Captain, in the name of the Emperor!' replied Seth and somewhere over the heads of the sea of Orks Altan heard the 1st Company warriors, spearheading the advance cry, "For the Lord Sangunius!"
'For the Lord Sanguinius!' Altan cried, taking up the battlecry with gusto, as did the Flesh Tearers around him until close to five-hundred throats gave voice to the name of their Chapter's fallen gene-father killed in the darkness of the Horus Heresy long ago during the earliest days of the Imperium.
Without hesitation the hundred warriors of the 3rd charged forth after Altan who led the way with his claws flashing left and right as he ran, killing and maiming. Assuming an assault formation the Flesh Tearers, gave no quarter to their foes, for filthy xenos deserved none. Hundred were butchered moment after moment as the Flesh Tearers advanced and the Orks actually seemed to balk at the prospect of facing them, an uncommon sight indeed, amongst the warmongering, savages or the Orkish species.
It was a brutal and bloody charge, as gore-soaked as any in the Flesh Tearers' long history. Chainblades and power weapons were caked in Orkish blood and the armour of the Space Marines was already covered head to toe in blood and gore. This only drove the Flesh Tearers further into their battle-rages and at the spearhead the veteran warriors of the 1st Company element led by Lord Seth caused terrible destruction as their rage coupled with their centuries of experience combined to make each man an engine of dark destruction.
Seth himself, wielding his relic two-handed chainsword, Blood Reaver proved why he had been appointed to his office, and been granted custodianship over that great blade. Each arc of his roaring sword cut down several Orks and as more charged in to replace them Seth merely slew them too. Nothing could even come close to the Flesh Tearers Chapter Master.
But the Veteran 1st were not the foremost element of the Flesh Tearers charge, for even with their experience and almost bottomless reserves of fury, nothing could match that of the thirty black armoured figures ahead of them. Plate marked with red death markings and benedictions to both the Emperor and the Angel, these warriors were the Death Company, those Flesh Tearers lost to the curse of the Black Rage. Led by the skull-masked Chaplain Carnarvon, a rock of calm, cold zeal amongst a sea of anger, the Death Company unleashed a brand of destruction that none of a sane disposition could manage. Though only thirty strong they tore through warbands of hundred within minutes, shrugging off wounds with little effort. Such was the gift and the curse of the Black Rage, to be imbued with a measure of Sanguinius's wrath but to be driven mad by it in the process.
The rest of the Flesh Tearers merely followed in their corpse strewn wake, allowing the Death Company the duty of being the forlorn hope as was tradition and rite. Even with them leading the charge however there were more than enough enemies for the sane brethren to busy themselves with.
Altan's warriors soon joined with those of 4th Company, led by Captain Ezarian, and together the 3rd and 4th butchered their way towards Gaius Point which stood in the not too far distance, the Ork totems now easily recognisable. They were close indeed and this fact only served to drive the Flesh Tearers further into their assault. Altan scythed down several more greenskins, his claws a whirlwind of death. As he slew the Orks, a rage built up deep within him, ancient and powerful. It was the rage every Son of Sanguinius recognised and lived with each day. Much as the captain resisted it he slowly could feel himself slip with each moment.
A roar, bestial and inhuman erupted from Altan's throat and the Orks before him recoiled in primal fear as he dove straight into them, claws bared and butchering. Each strike he landed sent arterial spray across the plates of his Mark VII power armour and the claws themselves, with four long slender blades on each gauntlet were covered in thick, hissing, green blood. The animal urge within Altan to rip off his battlehelm and imbibe the blood upon his gauntlets was almost too strong to resist.
Slashing indiscriminately, alone as he was amongst a horde of Orks, his claws parted limbs and heads from their owners in a dance of death. Every one of Altan's attacks was a single link in a long chain and through the mass of greenskins the 3rd Captain saw the rear of the 1st Company element just ahead. His fury carried him on through the fray, his warriors close behind and eager to catch up with their Captain. With a throaty roar Altan plunged into a mob of Ork boyz and tore them apart as he sought to close with Seth's force. Likewise the 3rd and 4th Companies slaughtered themselves a path through to the 1st Company who welcomed their brothers earnestly with cries of thanks to Sanguinius.
With three Companies linked up, the Ork reinforcements, once such a deadly threat to the Imperial Forces of the Ash Wastes were soon gutted by the fury of the Flesh Tearers. Warlords attempted to lead counter charges against the Space Marines, who met each with pure and violent rage. Fighting side by side, Altan and Seth, epitomised the warrior-spirit of the Chapter, the Ork corpses soon piled high around them. The ground was fast becoming littered with Orks and their body parts as far as the eye could see and eventually the heart of the Orks broke when Seth took the Warboss's head in single combat, felling the mammoth greenskin in three strokes.
What was left of the horde after the Flesh Tearers were finished was a pitiful handful of runts who fled towards Gaius Point, squealing and screaming in terror, fearful of the bloody Angels of Death. It had been three hours since landing upon the ash of Armageddon.
Marching onwards, the Flesh Tearers shook their weapons clean of Orkish blood, cleaned actions and reloaded bolters as they prepared to enter combat anew within mere moments. Adrenaline still pumping but the more animalistic tendencies of their bloodrage subsiding, if but for a moment, the Flesh Tearers crested an ash mound to look upon the outskirts of Gaius Point.
Before the Ork held township sat an expansive Ork camp easily larger than the settlement itself, teeming with greenskin activity. Alerted to the attack of the Flesh Tearers, warbands mustered for battle, eager to get to grips with this new foe, unaware it seemed of the fate that had befallen their comrades in the reinforcement horde.
As the first warbands of Orks made a mad dash for the Flesh Tearers position, Altan watched as Seth readied Blood Reaver and then charge at the foe, gunning the chainsword's motor in overdrive as his feet crunched down on the black ash.
Now willing to be outdone, even by his Chapter Master, Altan brandished his claws, still bloody from the previous battle and charged after Seth, followed by the rest of the Flesh Tearers, who let loose a roar that could have shook mountains and shattered continents.
'FOR THE EMPEROR AND THE LORD SANGUINIUS!' the Flesh Tearers shouted as one before plunging into the foe, completely lost to the bloodlust of the curse.