Nothing But a List of Names to Mark his Ascension
Chapter 11: Potential
Note: I do not own Warhammer 40,000 or Dawn of War, I am simply writing a different perspective to the events portrayed.
Avitus grimaced in pain. He sat with his back against the outer wall of a stone house. His heavy bolter was nowhere to be found and his left hand was clamped over a deep hack in his right abdomen. His side was bleeding thick blood. He looked down with slight worry. The injury was incredibly deep, even his larraman cells were not fully stopping the bleeding. The two bullet wounds in his left leg had long stopped bleeding. If he did not get medical treatment soon, he may pass out or even die. Even Astartes can suffer from blood loss, despite how powerful their physiques are.
It had been horrible. The orks had come from the front, at first. Avitus and his squad had shot them down with barely a thought. In the dead of night eight hours before, the squad had transformed the hamlet into a killing field. The sandbags and rockcrete walls they had set up allowed them to fire upon the charging orks with little need to care for their own safety. The eight of them had killed over three hundred of the wailing greenskins. Avitus, Loron and Arkadios had used their heavy bolters to great effect and the others had proved themselves with their bolters.
It was all for nothing. A group of nobs had found a path that even Cryus had missed. The giant orks had smashed into the side of Avitus' position and tore into his squad. In the struggle, Avitus' heavy bolter had been torn from him and he was thrown bodily from his position by an extremely irate nob. The nobs had provided just the distraction needed. The rest of the mob easily reached the position and joined the melee.
Avitus wasn't sure how he had survived. All he knew was that he was shamed because of it. On the other side of the house he was leaning against, the orks were roaming the hamlet. He wanted to die, in combat against them. His squad was dead and all was lost. He began to drag himself towards the corner of the house, groaning in pain as the wound stretched. More thick, dark blood dripped from his wound, forming a trail behind him as he struggled to move.
He reached the edge of the house and looked around it. Twenty yards from him, the orks were busy setting up their own crude fortifications and talking about something called "dakka deff lanes". Avitus assumed they meant kill zones, but he didn't care. All he wanted to do was face them. He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't support him and he fell back to the ground.
At the sound, an ork turned. Avitus could see the Astartes helmet freshly planted on its trophy rack, the dried blood on its choppy. Disturbingly, there was blood on the trophy spike where the helmet sat. Avitus had the feeling that the helmet wasn't empty.
The ork had spotted him, and Avitus couldn't even stand. He fought with all his might to rise to his feet, but he only kicked at the coarse sand. The greenskin twisted his mouth into a grim smile, his multiple tusks protruding from under his lips, and raised the heavy pistol in his left hand. Before he could raise it past his hip, his head burst with a pop. Avitus' eyes widened, he recognized the aftereffects of an Astartes sniper rifle when he saw it. The orks spun around, looking for the source of the shot.
Then all hell broke loose. The two story stone tower the orks were using to spot from collapsed, its base rocked by a tremendous explosion. Dust spread throughout the hamlet, obscuring the vision of the orks that were wandering about. They were confused. Orks hated being attacked from an unknown location. They enjoyed fighting with their foe directly in front of them.
Through the dust, as if they were answering the wishes of the orks, the Blood Ravens advanced. Avitus could see Tarkus and his squad, following a lone, helmetless Blood Raven. Avitus furrowed his brow in puzzlement. The Astartes' face did not look like a warrior. In fact, his hair was so well combed Avitus at first thought it to be modeled off of the hairstyles of the "pound" artists, popular with the gangers of Meridian. Thaddeus had tried to introduce him to it, and Avitus still remembered the horrible lyrics and grating noises, far worse than the sounds of combat.
Avitus watched as the Astartes with the slightly ridiculous hair charged the orks. His opinion of him as a pretty boy was rapidly changed when the marine had chopped through the first four orks. Tarkus and his squad were keeping the orks from flanking the Commander with accurate bolt fire. The confused orks were slaughtered by the advancing marines. Four boyz armed with crude machine guns dropped behind a piece of sheet metal set up as cover, but before they could fire, a thrown grenade destroyed their position. Avitus retraced the arc of the grenade, and finally noticed Cyrus, who was less than ten feet from him. The scout had remained hidden even from his fellow marines. Brother Xanthis was with him, also covered in the distinctive camoleoline cloak, dark face impassive like his near clone, Ariston.
The last group of orks charged, but was shot dead by Tarkus' squad before they were able to make it half way. The bolts tore out their insides and the greenskins dropped heavily to their faces. With the enemies dead, the Blood Ravens spread across the hamlet. Avitus dragged himself forwards and was intercepted by a white armored marine. Good, thought Avitus, an Apothecary.
Apothecary Harkon looked over the devastator sergeant at his feet. He knelt down and opened his narthecium, browsing through his medical tools. As he did so he turned Avitus onto his back and noticed the deep wound in his side. He quickly filled his syringe with coagulants and injected it directly into the site of the wound. Avitus did not even shudder, this pain was nothing. The bleeding slowed, and then stopped as Avitus' larraman cells were supercharged by the drug. Next, Harkon stapled the wound shut, and covered it with sealing clay, which would protect it until they could get to a proper facility.
Avitus struggled to his feet with the help of the Apothecary. "Gah" he groaned, "damn orks found another pass through the hills."
The Astartes with the combed hair walked up to the two of them as Tarkus and his squad established a perimeter, watching every direction. The Astartes said "Apothecary, others require your ministrations. Sergeant, it is good you are alive. Your death would have cost us greatly."
"I do not die so easily. I must assume you are the new Commander?"
"Indeed, I am Aramus." He replied, and without another word left Avitus to meet with Tarkus. Avitus examined the now battle-scarred hamlet, and saw a suit of red armor lying amongst the green and brown bodies of the orks. He took a shaky step towards them, finally feeling his strength start to return. He was stopped by a hand on his pauldron. He turned, and saw the figure of Cyrus.
"Wait for the Apothecary to finish," the scout said.
"The damn greenskins slaughtered them, I have to go"
"You will do nothing but interrupt the Apothecary's work if you go now. The dead can wait. They are already with the Emperor."
Avitus scowled. He knew the scout did not mean to offend him, but his squad had paid the ultimate price for the Chapter and the Emperor. Cyrus stepped back and spoke into his vox piece.
"Cyrus to Thule," he said, "We have taken the hamlet. Avitus is wounded but alive. He is too stubborn to die". His mouth turned a bit at the edges at the response. Even such a small smile was rare for Cyrus, Avitus thought. He turned, hoping the Apothecary was done with his work, and saw the ork that had been killed with the sniper shot. He knelt down and jerked the Astartes helmet off the trophy spike; no marine deserved such an ignoble fate. As he had thought, the helmet was not empty. He removed the head, and closed his eyes in anger when he recognized the brutalized face.
Nikephoros watched the Apothecary work with gritted teeth. The Apothecary moved from body to body, laid out before him, and checked for life signs. Two were saved, barely clinging to life. The others were not so lucky. He swiftly tore their chests open with his reductor and cut the precious progenoid glands out with a long scalpel. Harkon's motions were fluid, evident of experience, and a quite unpleasant one for the Apothecary.
One body was headless, its bolter fallen just out of its hands. The weapon was empty and the body was covered in dozens of bullet and blade wounds. Nikephoros prayed for the marine's soul. Whoever he was, the Emperor had him now. Then Avitus dropped to his knees next to the body, clutching something in is gauntlets. He placed the red bundle near the stump of the corpse's neck and muttered a quick prayer to the Emperor. Nikephoros' eyes widened in horror, and then squinted in hate.
Tyrion was dead. Nikephoros' battle-brother was almost unrecognizable under the gore that coated his face. He had not gone without a fight evidently. Nikephoros was beyond simple anger. Tyrion had served with him during the battles on Meridian. They had fought side by side against the Coalition. They were never friends, neither of them was talkative enough to warrant that, but they both had a yearning for victory and combat. This was the first brother that Nikephoros had lost. Only vengeance was on his mind now.
Ocella Lyon stood on the same spot that Avitus commanded before the orks had killed them. His bolter was held loosely in his hands as he watched the other buildings of the hamlet. They were large enough to conceal large groups of orks. The strike force needed to be on guard. His helmet auto-senses helped him, but it never hurt to be vigilant. A dust storm was coming in, and vision was severely reduced. He thought he saw a flash of green in the swirling dust, and shouted out a warning as the ork warcries filled the air.
Tarkus' squad began firing as one, and leapt over the defense to advance into the foe, led by Aramus. The helmetless Commander shouted as he ran, "There has been a reckoning greenskin! The end of days is upon you!"
Harkon ran at Aramus' side, firing his bolter into the horde. The group of orks was small, a mere remnant of the mob that had attacked the hamlet hours before. The orks charged, swinging their choppas and firing their crude pistols. Nikephoros ran, the desire for vengeance filling his heart. He squeezed the trigger over and over, each bolt leaving a dead ork in its wake. As the orks grew closer, he broke out of formation and charged up ahead, drawing his combat knife.
Aramus was the first to reach the horde, with Harkon at his heels. The Commander's first slash was horizontal, the power sword tearing through the chests of two orks. He had already emptied his bolt pistol in the charge. An ork swung a choppa at him. He dodged and drove his knee into the ork's chest, shattering its ribcage. Pushing off from it, he swung his sword diagonally and split an ork from chest to groin. He ducked a choppa and impaled the ork who carried it. Four bullets plinked off his armor and he turned to see a shoota boy firing at him in the melee. Before it could adjust its aim, another marine tackled him. Aramus looked around as he fought. Harkon was to his left, stomping a slugga boy's head into the ground while strangling another to death. The marine that just helped him must be one of Tarkus'.
Nikephoros had killed the shoota boy with his charge. He stood and hacked the combat knife into the neck of a slugga boy that was reloading its pistol. The ork screamed as Nikephoros tore out its throat. Using the body as a shield, he plowed through a larger cluster of boyz. He threw the body away and jammed his knife into the eyesocket of a stumbling ork. The ork fought for a moment as the knife sunk into its brain, before it went limp. Nikephoros felt a terrible impact on his back, and turned to find an ork trying to pull its axe out of his pauldron. He punched the ork in the face, and crouched over its fallen body, pounding it repeatedly. "For Tyrion, for a fallen brother", he muttered as he mutilated the ork.
He heard a roar in his ear, and realized he had been ignoring the swirling melee around him. He spun around, but realized he would never be quick enough to dodge the nob that was about to tear him in half with its giant chainaxe. Before it could swing, the nob stepped back, a jet of blood spurting from its chest. Another jet appeared, and another, and finally the nob slumped to its knees. A bolt round sailed past Nikephoros and shattered the face of the nob. As the nob died, Harkon pulled the last ork into a headlock, slowly crushing its skull. He stood, and then examined realized how many times he had been hit. Harkon's armor was covered in dents, but he only had a thin gash in his right forearm which wasn't even bleeding.
Aramus turned to the marine who had saved him, indignation on his face. "Why did you charge? You broke formation to enter an assault. The Codex Astartes directly forbids this!"
Nikephoros was speechless, he had no excuse. "Commander I-"
"Be silent when I speak!" Aramus snapped, "Sergeant Tarkus, what do you plan to do?"
"Commander," said Tarkus, his tone even, "Nikephoros is a newly promoted marine, he will learn."
"That is-" Aramus started to say as Cyrus stepped forward and grabbed Nikephoros' arm, pulling him away.
"Commander," said Cyrus, "Nikephoros, broke the Codex yes, as did Harkon and yourself. The Codex does not advise charging into combat when the enemy can be gunned down."
"That is so." Aramus said, subdued. Cyrus thought that it was good for the Commander to realize his own mistakes as well.
Cyrus dragged Nikephoros to the rear and said, "I know what it is like to lose a brother, more than you realize. However, duty comes first. Vengeance is useless if you die for it."
"I- yes Sergeant Cyrus. My apologies," Muttered Nikephoros, after taking off his helmet. He realized that Cyrus had saved his life, shooting the nob multiple times before someone had finally killed it.
"Listen Nikephoros, you are a warrior, fight with all you have. You do not need trickery like me. But never succumb to the thirst for glory that your Commander has. It will get you, and more importantly, other brothers killed. A Commander that fights for glory can die for it, but he should never be allowed to sacrifice those under his command."
"Sergeant Cyrus, is it right to be saying such things?" Nikephoros was shocked. He never expected to hear the Sergeant he looked up to speak like that.
"No, do not make a habit of thinking thoughts such as these. They should be mine to bear alone."
Avitus found his heavy bolter among the bodies. Though he was injured, he was prepared to fight, although his still living brothers were returning to the Armageddon for further medical treatment. When he returned to the force of Astartes, they were gathered around Commander Aramus, who was listening to orders from Captain Thule from a speaker vox.
"Commander, the orks are moving in force. A large force is preparing to attack Argus, while another moves towards the Fellhammer mines. There is nothing there that would interest orks. This must be investigated."
"Orks congregate to battle," said Tarkus. "Perhaps their warboss was slain and they are fighting each other?"
"It does not seem that there were any orks previously in Fellhammer, Tarkus" replied Thule over the vox. "I have already dispatched two thunderhawks. One to return Sergeant Cyrus and the wounded to Argus for the time being, and the other to transport you to Fellhammer".
"What of Avitus, Captain?" asked Aramus. Avitus was surprised the Commander thought to ask.
"No matter how wounded, I did not think Avitus would back away from something like this, and I need a good shooter. Cyrus will perform perfectly." said Thule with a bit of amusement in his voice.
"I'll teach the greenskins a lesson for each of my dead, I will go to Fellhammer and kill them all." interjected Avitus.
"Very good. Get to the bottom of this Commander. Thule out". With the vox off, the strike force was left in silence.
Twenty miles from Fellhammer mine, Thaddeus had stopped his squad to await further orders. Augustine now sat under an outcropping of rock with his other three brothers in the assault squad. They had all removed their helmets. Their armor was coated in dust, the colors of the Blood Ravens nearly obscured. They had not been back to base in weeks. Thaddeus had allowed them to make a fire, quite the luxury for a Space Marine in the field.
After they had gathered the sticks, they watched as Augustine leaned forwards over the fire. After a moment, he stepped back, and the kindling was alight.
"How?" asked Draco, a bit puzzled. They did not carry any tools with them, and had to start the fire manually. Augustine cupped his hands in front of them, and in a moment, sparks began appearing, solidifying into a tiny ball of swirling flame the size of a marble.
"Psyker? Have you seen the librarians brother? That should not be left unexamined," Said Draco. Augustine had shown up a psyker with little potential when examined the first time by the librarians, and now he could produce flame.
"I saw Codicier Iyason before we set out. He says it's latent. That Astartes training can bring out potential, though he found it odd that it appeared so late. No matter, it has not improved from this pitiful state in three weeks. I am no more of a psyker than Brother Mnason is."
Brother Hypion, face still wary, nodded. Mnason was another marine in their squad, his psychic power manifested in his aim. His bolts struck their targets quite precisely, even in situations where someone like Cyrus may miss. The librarians had called it psychic potential, yet not enough to join the prestigious ranks of the Librarium. There were many like this in the Blood Ravens. Recruits that would be forged, trained and cherished in other chapters were sent back to their squads in the Blood Ravens due to the high amount of powerful psykers in their ranks.
"Brother Augustine, what do you intend to do with your power? They warn against consciously using it without training."
"If it will help, I will hone it."
"But the Codex Astartes states…" Replied Brother Draco, his face wary.
"The Codex is a book. If my powers can eventually result in victory, if using them is necessary to hone their power, I will use them. A book with not keep us from victory, Brother Draco."
Draco wanted to protest, but didn't. He hated that someone would disrespect the Codex Astartes, but it was not strictly adhered to by the Blood Ravens. The amount of Librarians attested to that. It was simply used as a guideline. Despite that, he decided to watch Augustine. If he used the power responsibly, then Draco would have nothing to worry about. Augustine was not stupid, but Draco would watch him nonetheless.
"Put out that fire brother, our Commander has arrived." The voice came from the cliff above them. Augustine looked up as Draco stomped out the fire. Thaddeus stood on the cliff, power sword in hand, Mnason next to him. Thaddeus had a grin on his face as he put on his helmet, no doubt thinking about how blessed he was to be able to serve the Emperor this way.
In moments, the five Astartes were on the move, jump packs shooting them over rough terrain. They were on the way to meet their new commander for the first time.
Author's Note: I had a lot of free time, so I decided to get this one out tonight. The next chapter will be long. Really long. I'm always entertained when I write about Apothecary Harkon, both because he represents the professional wrestler in all of us as well as his origin. I originally created him as a one shot character for a Dark Heresy game. My group loved him so much they followed him for the whole campaign. I really enjoy writing him and his murderous tendencies. But I digress, enjoy the new chapter.