24/01/2010 06:42:00

Okay, this is the chapter where I will actually begin to reply to the feedback given to me instead of posting it on my profile, which I don't think is where many of you readers go to.

Lawrence96: It was something that I was bound to fall into as why write about just an ordinary Space Marine, I know it isn't a fair fight to all those orks but think about it; there is no such thing as a fair fight, one side is always luckier, better equipped, better numerically etc. I'm just giving Alexandro a unique ability; I guess that I might have to 'nerf' his powers down (so to speak) to make it more believable, how I will achieve it will be revealed later (if I even do it at all).

Mattrocks: Thank you for the feedback, it was a wakeup call that hastily made me re-think my options. I'm undergoing the process of revamping my current chapters (they will be posted up in the next month or so). Glad to know that people enjoy this story.

Jarrick32: Hi there. I don't think that I've made Alexandro's recovery very clear, I'll have to edit that nothingness part once I have time, and the full details as to how much Alexandro has changed ("more than just geneseed" as quoted by Apothecary Asclepius) will be revealed later on in the book. Since this reply is quite late, you already know that he's survived and is now stomping around in massive Artificers armour. And to your earlier review, yes this Chapter is keeping their members safe, especially from those in the Inquisition.

Salience: Yes your question is similar to that of Lawrence so I'll be brief; looks like our protagonist might have to get a little sick again. And yeah, this Chapter has an entire Forge World to do its bidding so don't be surprised if Harbinger-class super battle-tanks and Titan Legions aren't the only things you see at its disposal.

Someone101: Hello, nice to know that I have an almost fanatical devotion to the storyline from you, I will keep on surprising you, be sure of that.

MattyGG: Thanks a lot

Guys, keep the reviews coming, and I'll need an intro quote into every chapter as I'm beginning to run out of them, put a quote you think will be effective at the bottom of your reviews! Thanks!

Chapter 8

"Sometimes it all comes down to a gun and a handful of faith."

- Veteran Sergeant Octavius of the Sagittarians Chapter

*

The sound of the huge shadow entering the atmosphere made everything pause to watch. It dropped down to the horizon tens of kilometres away, on pillars of retro-rocket fire before, colliding with the force of a bomb. A massive cylinder was standing upright amidst a cloud of steam that spurted from multiple joints and seals, surrounded by a shoal of smaller Space Marine drop-pods had already set down, silent having already unleashed its deadly cargo. It was easily the size of a hangar bay, with its guidance fins glowing red hot from the heat of re-entry. A moan of stressed metal ensued as the sides of the cylinder dropped away to reveal vapour that hid the only occupant of the gargantuan drop-pod. A booming war-horn echoed through the plains as a massive shape emerged from the fog; striding out like a god of war, bristling with big guns and heavy armour. With steps like thunderclaps the massive Imperator-class Titan, an immense machine sixty metres in height, strode amongst the Astartes to bring death to the enemy.

*

Patroclus stared grimly across the flat grassland illuminated by the planet's moon to where a greenskin force had made a fortified encampment, about a mile away, from the cover of an oasis. He looked to his left and right to see the rest of Squad Patroclus – a temporary scout squad made up of half of the newest additions to the Chapter, currently bound to the Second Company, with Patroclus himself leading it – and affectionately regarded his battle-brothers who he had been blooded with for the past few months. Cletus, always the zealous and hotheaded one. Rhode, quiet, pragmatic and usually found tending their wargear. Sam, his exuberance and youth being the glue that bonded them together. A perfect mix of personalities; something that helped them from the beginning to rise triumphant where others had failed. But in recent weeks that delicate balance had been destabilised with the absence of Alexandro, he deserved to be the leader of this squad. Though Patroclus knew that he wasn't incompetent in leading the squad, he knew that his honour-brother – always the idealist – would have succeeded where he had failed. He occasionally looked to the bronze chevron on his left vambrace and smiled at the turn of events, he felt as if the symbol belonged to someone else.

His nostalgic train of thought brought back unbidden memories that made him shiver, like the failed defence of Verona a mere week before where a slip in his concentration had led to an opening in the lines that the orks were only too happy to oblige in filling. Dozens of brave souls had died under his command that day, trying to stem the flow of orks into the city, souls that could have been saved. Patroclus, horrified at what a simple mistake had done, spent two days fasting over what had happened, beseeching the Emperor to forgive him for what he had done. He emerged from the experience a changed man, whereas before he thought that the death of a good Imperial servant was a waste, he now knew that it was a necessary loss that was needed to keep the Imperium running.

He shifted in his bulky carapace armour uncomfortably, the thin plates of ceramite scraping against each other, before raising the binoculars to his augmented eyes and surveying the ramshackle defences. This was no technologically advanced enemy, crude walls made of stakes were all that made the outer defences, but it was what inhabited the inside that made this foe as dangerous as the fickle Eldar; unmatched brutality and sheer, animalistic strength. Since they had no artillery support, they would have to go in and fight the orks face-to-face, a way of war that both the Space Marines and the Orks excelled at, it would be a fight where upper body strength would decide the victor.

Clamping the binoculars to his waist he drew his bolter from its holster, the other members of the squad mirroring his move, and turned to face the three hundred commandos that had joined his squad in the hunt. Normal guardsmen wouldn't have stood a chance in the battle ahead, serving only as a distraction, but these elite of the Chiron Regiments was up to the task ahead.

'Bring up the plasma guns and heavy bolters,' he hand-signalled to the commando captain, using the ancient battle-language developed in the Unification Wars as their general vox had a chance of being overheard by the enemy, who briskly nodded before sending out the orders. Within minutes the assembled heavy weapons were brought to play as they began advancing under the cover of darkness.

Ten tense minutes were spent trudging across the muddied fields, the men watching the vapour in their breath freezing in front of them and constantly cleaning the muzzle of their lasguns, before they were within firing range of the ork fort. Ork sentries patrolling the defences might as well have been blind and deaf, distracted by the yelling and gunfire coming from the inside. Patroclus signalled for the heavy weapons team to climb up an abandoned watchtower accompanied by a squad of snipers, a few minutes of hauling later they raised their hands to signal readiness, and the Space Marine mirrored that gesture. Patroclus put on his helmet and checked his squads' vitals signs on his HUD. Once he was sure that everything was just right, he brought down his hand and all hell broke loose.

The jubilant cries turned into howls of agony as four heavy bolters opened fire, accompanied by the Space Marines' own weapons, the shells tearing into ork flesh before detonating into miniature fireballs. Balls of superheated gases whizzed from the plasma guns that began to glow cherry red with the heat of storing such unnatural forces – the telltale signs of overheating – orks clutched their faces as, without any glare protection like the Imperials had, the images of the flying plasma burned their way into the retinas of the enemy.

'Ride swiftly brothers, in the name of the Emperor!' Patroclus heard Cletus yell as he pressed the activation stud on his chainsword, his words then drowned out by the massive blade spinning into life as the massive Marine dove forward into the fray. Sam had climbed up to the top of the watchtower and began felling orks with precise double-taps from his Artificers bolter, gifted to him by the Chapter after pulling off the heroic deed of holding off forty cultists single-handedly, raining hot death upon the foul greenskins from afar. Rhode hefted his flamer and pulled the trigger, dousing any ork in the vicinity with burning promethium, latching onto flesh and reducing the masses of muscle and bone into ash.

A deep war cry came from behind him. Instantly ready, his armour flooding his already hormone-rich blood with additional adrenaline that made his reflexes as swift as death, he turned to see an ork charging at him with a massive two-handed axe raised above its hairless head. He deftly turned away at the last moment, using his opponent's cumbersome weapon against it, before breaking the passing greenskin's neck with a backhanded blow. The impact jarred his minimally protected hand for an instant, the scout carapace armour not covering the hands in the tough ceramite found in an Astartes' suit, Patroclus grimaced before taking out his weapon; a beautifully crafted mace given to him by Scion Vanir of House Finn after saving the nobleman's life at the cost of fifty men. Raising the heavy but delicately balanced weapon above him with a chant on his lips, he ran into the tangle of orks and brought it down on the first one he saw.

*

Mekboy Dugalnor watched from a distant ridge as the massive figures of the Marines striding across the camp like gods of war, killing orks at a whim with their massive swords and guns. A man would have run at the sight of such carnage, but Dugalnor was no man, he was an ork, and orks would throw themselves where the fighting was thickest.

A red flare flew up in the air, the ambush was set, a howl that echoed in a thousand throats led the charge. Dugalnor stayed back, letting the waves of cannon fodder rush past him, where they were hardwired to run into combat and into melee, he was more suited to firing heavy shells from afar. He smiled through cracked teeth as he hefted his customised plasma gun, aiming the patchwork weapon towards one of the bulky figures, cackling madly as he pulled the greasy trigger.

*

Patroclus was blinded by a wave of heat and light that hit his left arm at the shoulder, incinerating the limb as it was subjected to the heat of a star. His HUD display was filled with static and so was his mind, the pain that he was subjected to paralysed him for an instant until his hypnotherapy kicked in, blocking out the trauma that would incapacitate him and forcing him to move into cover. His armour reacted an instant later, pumping a massive amount of sedatives and increasing his already superhuman healing factor, easing the pain by a notch and allowing him to think clearly. All this had happened in less than a second, so fast that it was over before he could open his mouth to scream.

He turned to see a wave of orks running towards them from the rear, despair rose up for an instant before he quashed it down into the recesses of his mind, he would know no fear today, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. The Intel had been wrong, the orks did know that they were coming, and there was something else; someone with brains was leading them, for it was unorthodox for an ork to ambush when all they wanted was a good close-up fight.

Patroclus tried to reach for his bolter before feeling an awkward sensation and looking at the charred remains of his bolter-arm that greeted his eyes. His arm had been cauterised at the shoulder, leaving a burnt and tangy smell in the air, the heat of the wound had sealed off the vessels, stopping any unnecessary bleeding. He looked over the short wall that he had dove at to see an ork, holding a plasma gun that glowed red at the muzzle, laughing wildly as it aimed for another Marine.

Righteous anger filled him as the prospect of a mere ork felling a Marine got to him, he would not give it the satisfaction. He holstered his hammer, covered in ork viscera, before taking his bolter in his right hand before standing up in full view of the enemy, smiling behind his helmet at the look of shock that passed over the ork's face, before raising his arm up and pulling the trigger, the putrid head was replaced by a swaying neck as the headless body toppled to the ground.

A sense of calm enveloped him as he looked over to the enemy, outnumbering them at least twenty-to-one, they were all going to die here, the realisation was sudden and yet calming, a world away from the fears that he had left behind as a boy not too long ago. They still had a duty to the Emperor, the duty to fight. He looked to his squad and saw his eyes in their faces, they would fight this enemy till their dying breath as Space Marines, despite their short time in the Chapter.

A column of fire erupted from the ground a dozen metres away from him, throwing shredded orks into the air and tingeing it with red mist, before multiple blocky crafts with twisting entrails in its wake passed overhead.

'What are they?' asked a surviving commando lieutenant warily.

'Thunderhawks,' Patroclus replied quietly, smiling behind his mask.

*

The cohesion that the orks had fell quickly in the face of the relief force that made planet fall, those who had decided not to run now lying dead on the now saturated plains. An apothecary immediately put Patroclus and the other injured Marines, their wounds ranging from minor scrapes to massive internal damage that would require days to recover, under his care; the future of the Chapter too important to ignore. He now lay in the makeshift medicae within a Thunderhawk feeling stronger with every passing moment, his arm had been deemed a lost cause and a bionic replacement was well underway, he would be able to leave in a couple of hours. He had spent the rest of the night talking away with his squad mates, who constantly glanced at the remains of his left arm, on what they did in the battle.

'I saw that shot you made on the kine who took off your arm,' Sam said whilst pointedly looking at Patroclus's stump, using the derogatory term for orks made by their Crimson Fists brethren, 'you made a mess of its head, I could have made it cleaner.'

'You try aiming a weapon that well with your sword arm,' Patroclus shot back before coughing and swiftly massaging his charred throat, 'where were you anyways? You should have been covering my back.'

Sam grinned sheepishly, 'Sorry, I was helping Rhode over here, saved his neck from those elite orks when he was too busy dispatching a simple gretchin,' before reaching over his bed and mock-punching his battle-brother on the arm.

A dark shadow suddenly appeared at the ramp of the vessel and the conversation died away. Though he was certain that no enemy could have passed the defensive lines around the area, he tensed himself for a fight. He was greeted by the sight of a massive Marine encased in an ornate piece of blue-black power armour lined with silver, cut like that of the bulky Terminator armour but worn like of normal Astartes plate, its every line and curve suggesting that it was as deadly as it was beautiful. But it was what was inside that made him shiver, an immense mind, somewhat familiar, pressed against his, the strength power was gargantuan and would have crushed them all if it wasn't kept in check by an immense reserve of willpower and fortitude dedicated to none other than the Master of Mankind. Though this Astartes was obviously a psyker, he didn't wear the protective psychic hood that shielded librarians from ethereal assaults and possession.

'What brings a noble Terminator of the First within our midst?' he croaked, awestruck.

The Marine laughed, the lightning claws on his gauntlets catching the dim light and glowing with lethal power. 'Do you not recognise me Brother Patroclus or the rest of you? Have I changed so much?'

The voice was resonant and calm yet it had a familiarity to it, as if he had talked to this mysterious Marine before, the pitch, the almost perfect High Gothic with the undertone of Chiron Beta hive-city speak, the confidence and the oh-so-angelic charisma. Something clicked.

'Alexandro...what the hell have you been up to lately?'

Alexandro lifted the knightly helmet to reveal a grinning face with shocking blue eyes that radiated a cold light. 'Its about damn time.'

*

'So let me get this straight,' Rhode said, interrupting Alexandro's recount of recent events, 'you're saying that I'm looking at the most powerful psyker ever fielded by this Chapter?'

'I never said that,' Alexandro groaned is his low voice, his eyes smoking with eldritch fire, 'all I said was that they categorised me as an Alpha-Plus psyker.'

'And how many of those do you find in a Chapter let alone within humanity?' Rhode asked sarcastically, 'listen brother, what I want to know is why you didn't tell us about your little problem.'

'I tried, brother, it's just that, not only was I unsure of it myself, I was also unsure of the reaction that you would have if you found out that I was a psyker.'

Sam suddenly broke the short silence that followed; he found the strength to get off his bed and heartily slap Alexandro on the shoulder. 'Brother this isn't the Great Crusade where we would have grabbed for our pitchforks and torches, our proud Chapter has had the luck of having multiple gifted individuals pass through its history, all of them just as noble a warrior as the next Astartes in line, take Lord Lepidus for instance who died fighting the forces of Chaos.'

Alexandro smiled, quietly relieved at their nonchalance towards his change, they were probably more concerned at the disfigurement that Patroclus had received. 'Since when have you been the master of words little Sam?' he asked, clapping his hand on the smaller Astartes' back, forcing him to stumble slightly. 'So you've been reading a few books whilst I was away.'

'I see your wit hasn't changed in your absence Brother.'

Alexandro grinned, 'Nor has your spirit, its good to be back.'

*

After four hours of REM, the Astartes woke up from their dreamless sleep, fully awake in an instant. Cletus led the morning prayers in the interior of Thunderhawk II, whispering rites older than the Ecclesiarchy as massive figures behind him knelt in supplication. Alexandro didn't feel the need to join them, feeling that such devotion was unnecessary as he considered himself more than loyal enough to be involved with the task at hand, and thus watched in silent vigil from the shadows of the makeshift chapel. His eyes pulsed with arcane energies under his helmet as he contemplated the fate of humanity and his place in the grand designs of the Emperor.

He remembered the horrifying visions that he had witnessed whilst under the possession of the Greater Daemon and grimaced, the unspeakable horrors that threatened to drown the Imperium in its own blood, something had to be done. Humanity wasn't prepared yet, the psychic population needed a few more millennia to develop into their full potential as the master race, but that was time that they currently did not have, a solution had to be found within the next two thousand years for that was how long the Imperium had left, the clock was ticking.

Just as one of the first astronauts from Merica of Old Terra went delusional after seeing the planet below from orbit as he finally began to grasp the scope of infinity, Alexandro considered the vast space that the Imperium occupied, the result of one man's vision ten thousand years ago, and how humanity, as numerous as they were, occupied just a blip in the universe. It would be nothing in universal affairs.

The ideals of the Great Crusade had been lost after the integration of the Emperor to the Golden Throne, replaced by the fledgling cult that grew to become the present-day Ecclesiarchy, and it had to be embraced once again by the commoners of the Imperium. The insect alien had been right in saying that humanity would have no hope in staying the way it was. A crusade would have to be called, not like the zealous holy crusade manned by the Black Templars but an immense undertaking even larger than the ones that the Warmasters underwent, a crusade where warriors would lead, spreading the words of science, bringing them back to the time when demigods walked amongst men.

His thoughts were cut short as Cletus finished the Hymn of Atonement, standing up slowly and reverently closing the tome in his hands. Alexandro then led the procession out of the Thunderhawk towards the command tent where Captain Nero of the Fourth Company debated with the weary Imperial commanders on the right course of action to deal with the many orks before them. The force was small, numbering only twenty Marines – mostly new initiates to the Chapter like himself with a few Sternguard Veterans – and the hundred or so stormtroopers who had managed to survive the ambush, to be joined by the Pandoran Fifth Grenadiers Battalion.

'Ah,' the Captain said without looking around, 'it seems that Squad Patroclus and the young Librarian have arrived early.'

'Always ready to serve sir,' Alexandro replied crisply, saluting, 'what seems to be the problem?'

Nero turned with a smile on his face, 'At ease Marines, just explaining to Lieutenant Kara how we could use our small force best against the enemy.'

'Then how could we be of service sir?' Sam interjected.

'By analysing the terrain on the hololith for one,' Nero said, gesturing with his gauntlet at the table in front of him.

'How many orks are left in the area Captain?' Alexandro asked whilst Patroclus observed the map.

'In this sector? Probably several thousand, but we won't meet any greenskins for a few kilometres, but for now, our Chapter Master has commanded that we do a bit of reconnaissance in locating the base where the local warboss is most likely to be in. Satellite feedback shows ten possible bases, spread out across a hundred square-kilometres of dense forest, but it can't tell us anything else apart from the number of orks in each base.'

'Then strike for the one with the most green in it,' Cletus said bluntly, 'that's where the leader is bound to be; surrounded by a gaggle of cannon fodder.'

'No,' Alexandro replied, shaking his head, 'they have a leader who knows what he's doing, striking at the most concentrated zone would be exactly what he would want us to do, he wants us to get bogged down by the slaves whilst he either ambushes us from behind or goes off to find a military target to strike at, thus making our relief efforts considerably more difficult. Besides, my senses tell me that he's in this camp,' pointing at a particular zone of green, 'it has the perfect positioning to do either of these things.'

'Ah I see that our Brother is using that mind of his,' Captain Nero said, 'you scouts should learn a thing or two from him, I agree with you Librarian, the ork's method of fighting so far have been unorthodox from the usual, I say we strike at that camp with the forces we have in the speartip move.'

'We do not have the numbers here Captain,' said Rhode, 'it's a risky venture, twenty Battle-Brothers and a few hundred Guardsmen against thousands of orks head-to-head is not what I had imagined.'

'We are Sagittarians; forged in the anvils of war and moulded to the Emperor's image,' the Captain replied tersely, 'though there are more on their side, there will be more fighting on ours, do you understand scout?'

'Yes sir.'

'Besides, we have a weapon that will turn the tables against the orks' he said before turning to Alexandro, 'we will need your abilities by the end of today if we are to have a chance in winning this fight.'

Alexandro nodded, 'my powers are at your disposal.'

'Very well, we move out as soon as the Guard commanders kick their boys out of bed, this meeting is dismissed, it is time for war.'

*

Alexandro was a giant. The looks that he had received from the Grenadiers as he strode to the APC Rhinos before they had rubbed their Aquila figurines was discomforting, it reminded him of how far he had come to serve the Emperor, how he had sacrificed his humanity for Mankind. But, as he reflected on his decision multiple times before, he would not regret it, he was a warrior at heart and this physical embodiment of war was all he could ever wish for. He was still getting used to looking down on everyone, even though he was tall as a non-Astartes it would take a while to look on the Guard who were now half his height in full power-armor.

It would have been bearable for the men if it weren't for the chilling mist that poured out of the orbs that were his eyes; he heard their whispers of superstition when they thought he was out of earshot. They feared him, no amount of coaxing would snuff the millennia of ingrained-prejudice against psykers that the Emperor-fearing folk had, and Alexandro was doubtful of utilizing that fear to achieve his aims.

'Sir?' came a strangled and muffled voice from below, 'General Anthony is looking for you.'

Alexandro looked down to see a terrified file trooper shaking as she held a standard grenade launcher across her chest with her friends peering at them from the safety of a pile of ammo crates. 'Your message has been acknowledged trooper,' he replied with a smile that only served to frighten her even more, 'though I think that my vox systems are well equipped for receiving transmissions from the command bunker.'

'Ah…' she trailed off, clutching the crude weapon even tighter, 'well it has been a pleasure meeting you sir…'

'Don't call me sir trooper, I'm simply a novice just like you, younger than you in years I might add.'

The grenadier took this bit of information with a bit of shock, her expression changing rapidly between awe and fear as she finally looked up to meet his eyes.

'Then what should I call you?' she said, more composed.

'Brother Alexandro would be a good start,' he grinned, mirrored uncertainly in the woman's face as she deliberated whether he was just pulling her leg, 'and I'm not kidding.'

'You can read my thoughts?' she gasped, peering deeper into his eyes as if trying to glean something from the fell-orbs.

'It doesn't take a mind-reader to guess what you are thinking…though I can' he thought, 'now I'll be off, I don't think that General Anthony likes to be kept waiting…oh and what is your name?'

'Siobhan, why…Alexandro?'

'Oh just that you were the first Guardsman to talk to me, I'll see you in battle soon enough Siobhan.'

Siobhan saluted. 'It will be my honor fighting beside the Emperor's finest.'

'And it will be mine fighting next to an unsung hero whose actions decide the fate of the Imperium every single day. Now off with you, it seems like you have quite a tale to give to your friends.'

Those within earshot of the discussion suddenly stood up straighter or loaded faster as they heard the praise that the Space Marine had given to them. Siobhan merely nodded and turned before walking proudly back to her associates.

Opening a beeping icon on his vox with a thought, he asked 'Commander?'

'Ah Marine,' came an low yet unsteady voice, full of youth, that suggested that this was a man not born to lead but one born into a world of politics, 'you were right, the warboss has been spotted by scouts in the area that you've pinpointed.'

'And soon it will be dead, its head will be given as a trophy to you so that all will know that the Fifth Grenadiers Regiment are a force to be reckoned with. What else is there sir?'

'Oh, yes, just wondering if your men are alright.'

'Let me check,' Alexandro said sarcastically before clamping his helmet firmly over his head, hearing the hiss of decompression as the seal was locked, to see several green lights flashing on his HUD, 'no misfortune seems to have befallen my Brothers in the past few minutes since I've last seen them, is that all sir?'

'No, that is all,' the general said nervously.

'Then I shall see you in battle General, for the Emperor.'

Alexandro shook his head as he cut off the connection, the commanding hierarchy would need a change once this campaign was over, the Imperium could not afford to have its soldiers led by those who had never known the kiss of war. He walked past his veteran Battle-Brothers who were helping the Guard's cranes in loading the crates of Dragonfire bolts, a round perfectly suited for fighting enemies in dense cover, into the Rhinos, they all made the Aquila sign when he walked past; a gesture that was returned. He walked over to Rhino Three to where his squad had just finished loading the last of the ammo crates into their APC.

'Who's driving?' he asked when he got to the vehicle.

It was Patroclus who answered, 'That would be Rhode of course,' pointing to the Marine at the front testing the specs of the massive machine.

'Ah, the wannabe Techmarine,' he smiled, 'I wouldn't trust anyone else for such a task, especially Sam who would probably drive us into the first ditch outside the camp.'

This comment brought smirks and laughs from the rest of the squad who then gathered around him.

'Hey,' said Sam, acting hurt, 'why do you always pick on me? I thought we were all past that.'

'Because old habits die hard Brother, now who's ready to kill some greenskins?' he roared, unsheathing his lightning claws for effect, with arcane energies now arcing across its impossibly sharp edge.'

This brought a chorus of 'we are' from the Marines and the Guardsmen around him. The magnitude of the response that came from around him shocked him into silence for a moment before he found his voice again.

'We fight in the name of He who lies on Terra, for the Emperor!' he yelled, it didn't take long for every man and woman in the camp to pick up the chant that echoed for miles around.

They would bring the fight to the orks and annihilate them on this day. Alexandro smiled behind his helm.